tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61948392866095597662024-03-05T04:56:37.962+00:00PiperHawk's WayPiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-65677847566983434852021-09-01T00:37:00.000+01:002021-09-01T08:20:32.983+01:00Horse of the Dead.<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://flic.kr/p/2mktaqC">Horse of the Dead</a> </b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZ064KgqLIXK3jrUuz66VLVvVO6dQr0W6Xxlh9ewvxj6_7vtVe5eNz_MDqyl2mgk2ofhGaMrBQiRz9c8ChXZO2dzItZ8wiB95uht0qvuXE4fr8-UNTY87BwR4zXLsdDq6dpmwXkKuGC0/s2048/1-20210831_130413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1155" data-original-width="2048" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIZ064KgqLIXK3jrUuz66VLVvVO6dQr0W6Xxlh9ewvxj6_7vtVe5eNz_MDqyl2mgk2ofhGaMrBQiRz9c8ChXZO2dzItZ8wiB95uht0qvuXE4fr8-UNTY87BwR4zXLsdDq6dpmwXkKuGC0/w491-h276/1-20210831_130413.jpg" width="491" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><b>I included a bit of the street rather than cropping it out. I wanted to suggest a destination for the galloping horse, Escaping from the world of the dead into the world of realm of the living. </b></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>I believe the name of the artist is Key Rogue.</b></p>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-44166312224311722082021-08-28T18:11:00.001+01:002021-08-28T18:20:30.745+01:00Zumba Saturday in Limerick <div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div></div><div><br></div><div><a href="https://youtu.be/TiIlOUQ4WVg" style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><b>Zumba Saturday in Limerick</b></a><br></div><div><br></div>Whilst in town today I came across a group of Zumba students strutting their stuff. They were inviting members of the public to join in, some did. I most admit, I would loved to join in myself except for having some leg problems at the moment. I very much-loved the spirit that it brought to my day after the lock down and self isolation of the previous eighteen months. I am grateful to those wonderful folk who, "Strutted their stuff" today.PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-23781398850369802752021-08-15T02:03:00.000+01:002021-08-15T02:03:04.376+01:00Service with a Smile<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> <b>George Russell, Corcoran's Family Butcher. John's Square.</b></p><p style="text-align: center;">I took this approximately six years but mislaid the file. George is one of life's gentlemen, always ready with a kind word and a smile.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oD7LjoJYnPQLrMTYBdC7roOqa1SCXte3tQpb7qy8HXWd4S8Mgj3U6oCPpl3ALhxLPUNIICT-680BwIevwx_3G_3rZS_4vciaZOduxPo9wUu89KLvbZD0sacFxTjAEY-ElL0TEiA4WxA/s1781/1-IMG_2875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="1781" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1oD7LjoJYnPQLrMTYBdC7roOqa1SCXte3tQpb7qy8HXWd4S8Mgj3U6oCPpl3ALhxLPUNIICT-680BwIevwx_3G_3rZS_4vciaZOduxPo9wUu89KLvbZD0sacFxTjAEY-ElL0TEiA4WxA/w495-h329/1-IMG_2875.JPG" width="495" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-81632217392694488412021-08-15T00:34:00.000+01:002021-08-15T00:34:33.502+01:00A Man and his Accordion.<p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">85-year-old Limerick Street Musician and Poet, Tom McNamara</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeN9Pp_z0GY7UnxyFwZqhEaQl7l_yoCwftOOCsW9HeIoMxXL9HGRCUbmlWRNaLyYohSJ2RPvlLlB3buSiNEjtmqIsfTz7nfYztlcdGt0zPksq5JEW3PUt_mzmlcTSb3ab9FKzPxDBZ7DQ/s2048/51373600215_87c9e56779_k.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeN9Pp_z0GY7UnxyFwZqhEaQl7l_yoCwftOOCsW9HeIoMxXL9HGRCUbmlWRNaLyYohSJ2RPvlLlB3buSiNEjtmqIsfTz7nfYztlcdGt0zPksq5JEW3PUt_mzmlcTSb3ab9FKzPxDBZ7DQ/w494-h369/51373600215_87c9e56779_k.jpg" width="494" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-68304042945781848042021-03-27T18:14:00.001+00:002021-03-27T18:14:22.351+00:00<p></p><h1 style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Small Tortoiseshell</h1><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHZXwRWS0Xkz05jV37jM_H2gd7XqYndqzkOBMQlKZI6MgbKxef4hb8gcLbD8MDg9lzBXzFgsuvDvK8wGFg015qGyQii_iZtJP70qa9CbeldRTy9VoUql9gC070ZbHIUGNh_aRIFsuBr0I/s1366/IMG_2283_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="1366" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHZXwRWS0Xkz05jV37jM_H2gd7XqYndqzkOBMQlKZI6MgbKxef4hb8gcLbD8MDg9lzBXzFgsuvDvK8wGFg015qGyQii_iZtJP70qa9CbeldRTy9VoUql9gC070ZbHIUGNh_aRIFsuBr0I/w540-h305/IMG_2283_edited.jpg" width="540" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;">Lavender is great for attracting Bees and Butterflies.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: times;">#nature #naturalhistory #butterflies #lavender #cannon #handheld #limerick #ireland #macro</span></div></div><p><br /> </p>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-19187175956427866922020-07-25T18:59:00.001+01:002020-07-25T18:59:06.673+01:00Music & The Spoken Word | Live Stream July 12, 2020<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Rw3nE8lRbEE" width="480"></iframe>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-38958897496377156032014-03-08T17:34:00.000+00:002014-03-13T19:36:13.704+00:00These Things I Know<br>
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I recently came across this poem in a talk by Boyd K. Packer. I was so touched by it that I felt compelled to share it.</b><div><b><br></b><div><b><br></b>
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I reached the age of 68. I felt impressed to start what I called an “Unfinished Composition.” The first part of that work goes like this:</div>
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I had a thought the other night,</div>
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A thought profound and deep.</div>
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It came when I was too worn down,</div>
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Too tired to go to sleep.</div>
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I’d had a very busy day</div>
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And pondered on my fate.</div>
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The thought was this:</div>
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When I was young, I wasn’t 68!</div>
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I could walk without a limp;</div>
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I had no shoulder pain.</div>
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I could read a line through twice</div>
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And quote it back again.</div>
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I could work for endless hours</div>
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And hardly stop to breathe.</div>
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And things that now I cannot do</div>
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I mastered then with ease.</div>
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If I could now turn back the years,</div>
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If that were mine to choose,</div>
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I would not barter age for youth,</div>
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I’d have too much to lose.</div>
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I am quite content to move ahead,</div>
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To yield my youth, however grand.</div>
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The thing I’d lose if I went back</div>
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Is what I understand.</div>
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Ten years later, I decided to add a few more lines to that poem:</div>
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Ten years have flown to who knows where</div>
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And with them much of pain.</div>
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A metal hip erased my limp;</div>
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I walk quite straight again.</div>
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Another plate holds neck bones fast--</div>
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A wonderful creation!</div>
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It backed my polio away;</div>
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I’ve joined the stiff-necked generation.</div>
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The signs of aging can be seen.</div>
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Those things will not get better.</div>
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The only thing that grows in strength</div>
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With me is my forgetter.</div>
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You ask, “Do I remember you?”</div>
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Of course, you’re much the same.</div>
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Now don’t go getting all upset</div>
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If I can’t recall your name.</div>
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I would agree I’ve learned some things</div>
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I did not want to know,</div>
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But age has brought those precious truths</div>
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That make the spirit grow.</div>
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Of all the blessings that have come,</div>
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The best thing in my life</div>
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Is the companionship and comfort</div>
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I get from my dear wife.</div>
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Our children all have married well,</div>
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With families of their own,</div>
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With children and grandchildren,</div>
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How soon they all have grown.</div>
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I have not changed my mind one bit</div>
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About regaining youth.</div>
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We’re meant to age, for with it</div>
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Comes a knowledge of the truth.</div>
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You ask, “What will the future bring?</div>
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Just what will be my fate?”</div>
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I’ll go along and not complain.</div>
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Ask when I’m 88!</div>
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And last year I added these lines:</div>
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And now you see I’m 88.</div>
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The years have flown so fast.</div>
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I walked, I limped, I held a cane,</div>
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And now I ride at last.</div>
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I take a nap now and again,</div>
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But priesthood power remains.</div>
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For all the physical things I lack</div>
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There are great spiritual gains.</div>
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I have traveled the world a million miles</div>
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And another million too.</div>
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And with the help of satellites,</div>
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My journeys are not through.</div>
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I now can say with all certainty</div>
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That I know and love the Lord.</div>
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I can testify with them of old</div>
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As I preach His holy word.</div>
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I know what He felt in Gethsemane</div>
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Is too much to comprehend.</div>
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I know He did it all for us;</div>
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We have no greater Friend.</div>
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I know that He will come anew</div>
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With power and in glory.</div>
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I know I will see Him once again</div>
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At the end of my life’s story.</div>
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I’ll kneel before His wounded feet;</div>
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I’ll feel His Spirit glow.</div>
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My whispering, quivering voice will say,</div>
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“My Lord, my God, I know.”</div>
</div></div>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-35111697250521465432014-01-17T19:48:00.001+00:002014-01-17T19:55:08.455+00:00There is No Royal Road!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WmF59CzQ03EuXO6diE9Lk3ijwjAYfK5sM1uURHifNu2V8XJddXENC0251V0pQZj-NWH2jHrFwiFNBuk-4wx9hs90dz4KGee-6RTKjI4prqbezLLV574Y9YbJT-4cQgNkMmaqX6WAtZA/s1600/DSC_0240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WmF59CzQ03EuXO6diE9Lk3ijwjAYfK5sM1uURHifNu2V8XJddXENC0251V0pQZj-NWH2jHrFwiFNBuk-4wx9hs90dz4KGee-6RTKjI4prqbezLLV574Y9YbJT-4cQgNkMmaqX6WAtZA/s1600/DSC_0240.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: large;">“There is no royal road to any learning, no matter what it is. There is no royal road to any righteous living, no matter who you are or where you are. There is no royal road to anything that is worth while. Nothing that is deserving of earning or of cherishing comes except through hard work. I care not how much of a genius you may be, the rule will still hold.”</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: large;">— J. Reuben Clark, Jr.</span>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-1984935362616512502013-04-11T18:33:00.001+01:002013-04-11T18:33:59.199+01:00Cork City - Home of the Happy Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://img.youtube.com/vi/P1SBG3lix_s/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/P1SBG3lix_s&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://youtube.googleapis.com/v/P1SBG3lix_s&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Nearly every major event of my early life took place in close proximity to the River Lee. It used to even visit our home :-)</span></div>
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PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-46844256914920810552013-03-02T16:06:00.000+00:002013-03-02T20:31:02.696+00:00Surprisingly Squeaky Frog<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/cBkWhkAZ9ds" width="480"></iframe>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-57567512570602200392012-12-13T01:05:00.001+00:002013-12-12T01:44:13.668+00:00Hidden Deep Within <span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-large;">Hidden deep within each of us, totally uninfluenced by circumstances, is that little core of happiness. Find that and you find power beyond your dreams - PiperHawk</span><br />
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<br />PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-72110788656043036312012-11-09T19:34:00.001+00:002012-11-09T20:56:12.047+00:00Honour and Divinity<font size="5">Honour, integrity and moral courage make up the qualities which add divinity to our lives.<br /></font><br />PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-36346127062972797362012-05-24T02:17:00.001+01:002012-05-24T02:17:15.091+01:00How To Tell A Story -The Seanachaí (Eamon Kelly)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/BzP4FM3WqwY?fs=1" width="459"></iframe>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-78501079906909569602012-04-06T21:36:00.001+01:002012-04-06T21:36:40.903+01:00Dana Milano presents " Maurice Roncalli "<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/MTDz01VmkDI?fs=1" width="480"></iframe>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-27695401481535394932012-04-05T09:37:00.001+01:002012-04-05T09:37:13.476+01:00Landscapes in Ireland<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ikb13VU98FU?fs=1" width="480"></iframe>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-52744182410329327632011-12-26T11:24:00.005+00:002020-07-25T20:25:16.595+01:00'Molly Chamberpots' and The Wren Boys<div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "courier new";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywzbNF7SRwuv1RpI7CUFoq6ynzhKwznzEEyHbtboZ8GvBlHVYjsqnLoiwia5lPjs6uak9gaL8NlzD503s7TQJmPEOtiI_dOLrKziZpe6M2whwp9lWQal76Dt_34LxMNk-LceSYKz4RcM/s240/thumbs_Goulds-Square-1966.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiywzbNF7SRwuv1RpI7CUFoq6ynzhKwznzEEyHbtboZ8GvBlHVYjsqnLoiwia5lPjs6uak9gaL8NlzD503s7TQJmPEOtiI_dOLrKziZpe6M2whwp9lWQal76Dt_34LxMNk-LceSYKz4RcM/s0/thumbs_Goulds-Square-1966.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">My earliest memories of St Steven's day would certainly include the
'wren' or 'wran' boys coming around to the doors of the houses early
in the morning. You would first hear them at the neighbouring houses,
getting louder and louder until the racket would arrive at our door. I
call it a racket because they would beat out the time of the song on the
front door with a large bunch of ivy. The song they sang in my part of
Cork was quite often unrecognisable but quite often went like this:</span></span>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new";"><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><em>The wran the wran the king of all birds,<br />
Up in the holly and ivy tree,<br />
Whether its big or whether its small,<br />
Give us a copper and we'll leave ye alone.<br />
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Knock at the knocker,<br />
Ring at the bell,<br />
Give us a copper,<br />
For singing so well.</em></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">In our lane one house was always avoided, as the woman of the house was
well known for emptying the contents of a chamber pot out of the upstairs
window over the unwelcome callers. She became known locally as 'Molly
Chamberpots'.</span>
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PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-60899445762782203532011-08-05T15:04:00.001+01:002011-08-06T14:12:18.314+01:00Ireland a Living Entity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPnxOV4Uq624Imh7t-W_tJBPC2FGNTRVyrC0DB9wd5VW7V8_zDLrCQUA_O3lKpbcpkjrl10Q9AhBpZmcKCc7s8jsqE3SSrPdVxWyj9r2jDVaj66NmbBsQNkU9wP_qaXLWlqjjMiuQqDo/s1600/eveningscape-bw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAPnxOV4Uq624Imh7t-W_tJBPC2FGNTRVyrC0DB9wd5VW7V8_zDLrCQUA_O3lKpbcpkjrl10Q9AhBpZmcKCc7s8jsqE3SSrPdVxWyj9r2jDVaj66NmbBsQNkU9wP_qaXLWlqjjMiuQqDo/s320/eveningscape-bw.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I see Ireland like a living entity; a mother who provides for her children with all that they need. However, like all petulant children we don't always choose that which is good for us, but instead follow our own whims. We make foolish choices based upon the predatory suggestions of bigger children abroad, then blame each other when everything goes pear shaped. Like the children of any family, there will be amongst the children of Ireland disagreements and sibling rivalry, there will be fallings-out and even estrangements.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In these turbulent times, we must put an end to the blame and accusations, and putting aside the old discordances of the past, we need to unite in the rebuilding of this nation - this family of Ireland.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I watch in sadness as our leaders spend more time on recrimination than on showing the example of positivity. I watch in frustration the greed of financial speculators, as they try and squeeze the last drop from the tit of our Mother Ireland. And then I watch in pride the entrepreneurial spirit of those who, struggling against great odds in these troubled times, start up businesses and enterprises in the cities, towns, villages and parishes throughout this land. These men and women are the true heroes of our time. These men and women are our true leaders.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Ireland is indeed a living entity and I am proud to be one of Her children.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: large;">~</span></div>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-52278209274429015612011-07-28T18:00:00.000+01:002014-03-07T22:42:11.753+00:00A Woman in My Eyes<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoUBJjIxIJUEf7u3u3bDhUxVm0yvtsvhyphenhypheny3kBDr2zkXe0PEvVQbA2KA3JZqsIvsd58dR-_X1Y1w8Y17ymzR-1qPUJL9sPkiZ_ZvTz0pLyAdbhJWmYvH1-5Vwu_ZxZKT8yEmL7OFccb8Y/s1600/Rosa-Parks-9433715-1-402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Rosa Parks 1913 - 2005" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkoUBJjIxIJUEf7u3u3bDhUxVm0yvtsvhyphenhypheny3kBDr2zkXe0PEvVQbA2KA3JZqsIvsd58dR-_X1Y1w8Y17ymzR-1qPUJL9sPkiZ_ZvTz0pLyAdbhJWmYvH1-5Vwu_ZxZKT8yEmL7OFccb8Y/s1600/Rosa-Parks-9433715-1-402.jpg" height="200" title="Rosa Parks" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">If you were to ask me what my ideal woman would be, it would not take me long to reflect; for my answer would be the same as it would had you asked me about a man. A woman, like a man, is a fellow human being - a person. Therefore, my ideal person is one of honour and courage; a person who is trustworthy and idealistic. While I may have preferences as to physical characteristics, these are secondary and temporary.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">When I think of an ideal woman, I think of people like Rosa Parks, who in December of 1955 refused to give up her seat on a Montgomery bus, to make room for a white passenger. I think of a young woman, Anne Frank, who spent two years hiding in an attic, during WWII, before her capture and death in March 1945. Anne´s diary, translated into 67 different languages, has been an inspiration to so many. I think of contralto Marian Anderson, who despite segregation, worked scrubbing steps before finally singing her way out of poverty in South Philadelphia.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">I think of the many millions of women around the world, working in factories, shops and offices; in hospitals, hotels and restaurants. I think of those women struggling to bring up families in these difficult times. I think of my own mother, who strove against all the odds to provide me with an education and who instilled in me a love for others.</span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: white;"> </span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white;">I find it an insult to our humanity when the advertising, fashion and cosmetic industries, who in the interest of profits, objectify women treat and them like uneducated brainless human accessories. Happily, there are many women who will not allow themselves to be objectified for neither fame nor fortune, but maintan the status of their gender with dignity and pride.</span></span></div>
PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-35023026364380328332011-07-13T12:29:00.002+01:002020-07-25T20:33:23.454+01:00All That it Takes For It To Be A Good Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTyRRbj9fp7cSsGzU8xiZvzeD8VKUsAczGNgc5wY0hMDzLkmZPGYiToqdsHYUPjxfF9SKCuIt0RDW1v3ZoM5J9jLhSGj9cEF9sbLkHQBZCA4xX5Lcx4By4AiQjYNHYaaF92Vyppl3sEI/s1600/img223+sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" m="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTyRRbj9fp7cSsGzU8xiZvzeD8VKUsAczGNgc5wY0hMDzLkmZPGYiToqdsHYUPjxfF9SKCuIt0RDW1v3ZoM5J9jLhSGj9cEF9sbLkHQBZCA4xX5Lcx4By4AiQjYNHYaaF92Vyppl3sEI/s1600/img223+sm.jpg" true="" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><p style="text-align: center;"><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">For me, all that it takes to win is that I awaken in the morning.</span></strong></font></p><p style="text-align: center;"><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></strong></font><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
If I wake up, it is a good day. </span></strong></font></p><p style="text-align: center;"><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></strong></font><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
If I wake up feeling wonderful, then it’s a good day in which I feel wonderful.<br /></span></strong></font><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
If I wake up not feeling great, it is a good day in which I’m not feeling great.</span></strong></font></p><p style="text-align: center;"><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></strong></font><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
Well, I awoke today, and it feels good to be a winner.</span></strong></font></p><p style="text-align: center;"><font size="3"><strong><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"><br /></span></strong></font><font size="3"><strong><span>~</span></strong></font></p>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-10214397140733112712011-05-12T08:33:00.000+01:002011-05-13T21:33:17.529+01:00The Ultimate FreedomThere is nothing I fear enough to be coerced and nothing I want enough to be induced! I have the ultimate freedom, that to choose how I feel.<br />I may experience the sensation of fear and I may experience the sensation of desire but that point, I am free to choose how I feel about those sensations. That is the ultimate freedom.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-32546921842728168882011-05-10T02:43:00.001+01:002011-05-10T02:45:53.902+01:00Could Not Afford to Buy One of his Own Paintings<span lang="EN-GB"></span><br />
<div align="justify">While talking with some people about the late Limerick artist, Finian Horan. I assumed that they would be able to read about him on Google. I was deeply saddened, when I tried to Google him myself, to find that as far as the Internet was concerned, he had faded into obscurity. It was this sadness that prompted me to write about him from my original notes of an interview I did with him, in December of 1991.</div><div align="justify"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimD0gSr07ZxKzRRAwwd2dI2x9q7-aOiksZN1kU7ki1kyVw7UnDQID8ynuLEuteMbdgr62cH_mBDMtY7ScXFbzX3gpApd1N6P2UyJ3-Ydgr1nhjxJR2-Ht7h60utT-tXO8FzH6xSzO074s/s1600/Finian+Horan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimD0gSr07ZxKzRRAwwd2dI2x9q7-aOiksZN1kU7ki1kyVw7UnDQID8ynuLEuteMbdgr62cH_mBDMtY7ScXFbzX3gpApd1N6P2UyJ3-Ydgr1nhjxJR2-Ht7h60utT-tXO8FzH6xSzO074s/s320/Finian+Horan.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The late Finian Horan</span></div><div align="center"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB">The first dream of any artist is to have an exhibition of his or her own, and such was the case with Finian Horan. Though he had shown and sold some of his paintings previously, his dream was about to be realised, only to be shattered because he could not afford the frames.</span><br />
</div><div align="justify">I spoke with the owner of, what used to be the Willow Gallery, on George’s Quay in Limerick, who said, "I loved his work as soon as I saw it, if only he could find some sponsorship for his frames, I would be delighted to exhibit it".<br />
</div><div align="justify">With the help of a photojournalist, who liked his work, Finian got his sponsorship and his exhibition which sold out. I still have one of his paintings, in pride of place, over my mantelpiece.<br />
</div><div align="justify">Back in December of 1991, I met Finian Horan, then a thirty six year old Limerick artist. He told me how he would sometimes go for days without sleep in order to finish a painting. I was introduced to Finian by in one of the local art galleries, where I was at once impressed by an enthusiasm seen only in young children. He carried under his arm a bundle of paintings, which represented a small sample of his work from over the previous two years. Finian told me how he had always been interested in art as a young child, and when the opportunity to study it came up, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.<br />
</div><div align="justify">He was born in Limerick and educated at St. Mary’s CBS. Not being the most scholarly of students, he would amuse his friends by drawing cartoons.<br />
</div><div align="justify">He started work by serving his time as an electrician but later worked for himself, repairing shoes. However, when the solvents made him ill, he started painting on a regular basis. He later went to the Limerick’s art college, where he began by studying sculpture and then painting.<br />
</div><div align="justify">Finian liked to work in pastels, though he did sometime use oils. He explained, "With pastels, I just hold them and they seem to take on a life of their own". Having seen some of his work, I could believe him, for it certainly did seem to have a life of it’s own about it. "Some people may laugh at this," he went on, "But when I start painting, it seems as it were, that I have left my body and that I am watching myself work."</div><div align="justify">"I could be kneeling or bending for hours in the most uncomfortable position, but I wont feel or notice it until the painting is finished." He then describes how, "I have often been in agony for hours afterwards, unable to move my knees and with my finger tips burnt and raw from rubbing in the pastels." While painting, Finian would listen to Bob Dylan or Beethoven, explaining that he found a lot of inspiration from music.<br />
</div><div align="justify">When I spoke with him he was teaching art classes, under a state FAS art scheme, to feed himself and his daughter. Sometimes he would do street paintings to help finance his materials, though that could at times use up more than he could afford.<br />
</div><div align="justify">Back then, Finian lived with his daughter, Sarah, who was eleven at the time and also shared his passion for painting and music. "My daughter, my painting and music are now my life", he told me as we walked along Limerick’s George’s Quay. "I am driven by a burning desire to be recognised, not for fame but to be able to provide a decent life for my daughter and so she can be proud of me".</div><div align="justify"><br />
</div>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-1471720948266686532011-05-09T16:53:00.002+01:002021-08-15T01:42:11.260+01:00Knackered or Just Tired<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I had about an hour's sleep last night, so I woke up this morning feeling knackered. I should feel grumpy, but I don't; anyway, that job is already well filled by others. Life is far too short to be waisted on self-pity. One day this journey of my life will end and the next step of my journey will begin. The only thing that I will be able to take with me is that which I have become. Maybe I might get a little break in between and get some sleep then. <br />
<br />
Every year, hundreds of people come to see me and each one of them believe that the crises they are in are the most unique. With a little help, they recover, having forgotten how they felt when they came to see me. I recall one man whose wife had left him.</span> "My life is over!" he exclaimed. I replied, reminding him his marriage was over, whereas his life was still intact.<div><div><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Perhaps like him, I am not really knackered. I just feel tired. </span></div></div>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-79828944175372631762011-05-02T18:34:00.001+01:002011-05-02T18:34:37.926+01:00Our Own Humanity Dies<br />No matter who they may be or what they may have have done, the day we celebrate the death of a human, a little bit of our own humanity dies.<br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br />PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-49321138211162905542011-03-19T00:43:00.001+00:002011-03-19T00:43:13.909+00:00Who's looking after Table Three?<br /><font size="3" face="Helvetica">While nearly everybody has eaten in a restaurant, not everyone has experienced the restaurant kitchen. Contrary to the belief, held by some people, that kitchens are dirty and that the enthusiastic chef is one who puts everything he's got into a stew; most commercial kitchens are clean and well run. Sometimes however, near chaos does ensue during a busy sitting. While you are enjoying a leisurely bottle of Chateau Blotto, the smiling face of the waiter/waitress is going through a transformation as he or she passes through to the inner sanctum.<br /><br />'Table four says the Steak Tartar is underdone and if that sheep's boyfriend at table one snaps his fingers at me, once more, he will be wearing his Chicken Pascal in his ear-hole", exclaims the beleaguered waitress. But who's listening? In the kitchen they have their own problems. The Chef de Partie is just after phoning in sick. The Pastry Chef is hopping around the kitchen clutching her hand, having burned it by trying to lift a hot and heavy baking tray, with a cloth that was folded too thin. The dish washer has broken down again and one of the party at table seven wants to change his order of Trout to a Fillet Steak, now that it's nearly cooked<br /><br />Meanwhile, the waiter/waitress' face is once again going, through a transformation, as he or she returns to the restaurant with a pair of Beef Wellingtons, for table three.<br /><br />The next time you are enjoying a meal out, be it alone or in company, spare a thought for the faceless ones behind the scenes, who daily brave nervous breakdowns to attend to our entertainment.<br /><br />- Posted</font> using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Limerick,%20Ireland&z=10'>Limerick, Ireland</a></p>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6194839286609559766.post-16438973177501510522011-03-18T11:19:00.001+00:002011-03-18T11:19:20.119+00:00New to Blogging<font size="2" face="Georgia"></font>Blogging is a new pursuit for me. I must admit, I have been reticent about it up to now. However if I don't do it at this point, then when? I am sure I will make many mistakes but, at this stage of my life, I seldom make the same mistake twice. I am trying out the BlogPress application, which so far seems simple enough (and for me it would need to be). If you have any advice or suggestions (other than don't do it) I would be more than happy to here from you. I have asked myself, what do I have to offer, by the way of blogging and right now I have only my feelings about this and that.<font size="2" face="Georgia"></font><br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad<br /><p class='blogpress_location'>Location:<a href='http://maps.google.com/maps?q=Limerick,%20Ireland&z=10'>Limerick, Ireland</a></p>PiperHawk's Wayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14229360949972672995noreply@blogger.com0