These are a series of articles, which I wrote while we spent the summer in Ireland in the year 2000. If any of these notes provide you with some sort of comfort, I am most happy to cherish that moment with you.

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Sketching the Mind Image -- from Ireland *

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It was a small house. One of connected houses developed by the government. I happened to visit there to pick up a key and was introduced into the house. The outside wall is covered by ivy. John and Mary have lived there for many years and seem to be happy. The living room is tiny by any standard but well organized and had a view of the neighbor's garden. We talked about the weather and some such things.

They have their own garden too and Mary took me around. It is always nice to do a tour like this and discover something new or different. John had built two small huts to store garden utensils and some such things. They were built with inexpensive materials but painted in green all around - very nicely. She showed me the potato patch and some vegetables they grow there. Whenever I ask a question, she tells me everything she knows about what to do and what not to do.

Mary then showed me her flower garden but this is not a large backyard. They just draw a line between themselves and what they are responsible for; John for vegetables, Mary for flowers. Between the huts and the house they also have a small area for a garden table and a few chairs. There I noticed a nicely built wooden wall from what seem like scrap raw wood. Again this is not expensive stuff but a creative work. (I know that they are living with a small amount of pension money.)

There were roses, gladiolus, begonia, lilies, etc. etc. The flowers looked happy under the sunny sky as much as they looked like a very happy old couple, quite fit to the environment. Living quietly in a small village called Screen…. making their life the best of everything… Oh, and with a little cat, I should remember… I felt like I had found a beautiful hidden treasure that I did not know it existed.

Fish.... I eat them when I catch them; small ones I release. Typically I like fly fishing in a remote location. Here I go to the River Slaney, ten minutes drive away, for the sea trout, or white trout as it is called here. This evening there are about five-six guys gathering at a lake nearby. Every year Paddy releases brown and rainbow trout into two of his private lakes and invites a few of his friends every Monday - more like members of a club. It just happens that I am invited. This has been going on for several years now. They are 45-80's range in ages. Most of them wear jackets and ties to come fishing. I can get by without wearing them as an ignorant "foreigner" they just accept me... as it is. My wife, Barbara, and our son, Kenji are invited but they never come fishing.

The pond is nice, especially in the evening with the red evening sky and a big oak tree in silhouette. Many of the guys like to joke around. I understand perhaps less than 50% of it, yet I like the characters and the atmosphere. So perhaps, on the next Monday, as is my usual ritual I will bring a bottle of Champaign and some snacks like smoked salmon for a little feast by the pond. Then I set up a beaten-up table but with a tablecloth on it - it seems somehow to fit the setting. Usually there are swans, adults and their children at the lake. Last year I brought brandy and Albert stopped fishing at a record speed by catching enough trout to bring home. He then started drinking to the point that he hit the car a bit on the way back. No serious thing but this year I may just bring light alcohol.

Albert is a gentleman at 72 years old. We fish together at Paddy's lake. He is an architect and still works out of his office in the town called Wexford. When he fishes, he always wears the Sherlock Holmes hat (I don’t know the proper name given to that hat). He keeps a few of his flies attached to the hat, which he has worn for perhaps the last 25 years. He always brings Troy, a brown hairy dog. (Sorry Troy, I don't know the proper name to identify you.)

There are many things to say about Albert because he is such a character. Let me try… For example; he speaks slowly, checking if I am following his talk, confirming here and there. His story goes this way and that way. It seems like a drunken guy walking on the street but soon everybody realizes that he has a sharp mind under that hat. For some reason (because I am not smart enough to figure this out), he's got the respect. I like to talk with him and feel he has a good life going.

Troy is also a character on his own. He is a very loyal and affectionate dog - and of course a smart dog. (Yes, Troy, you are...) Whenever he comes to the lake, he goes straight into the lake to swim for a few minuets. He is just happy and we all accept that he does that, not minding that he scatters the fish. (Maybe it is because there are enough fish in the lake anyway.) Every day, Troy goes to Albert's office on his own through the town traffic so that they can walk back home together. Everyone in the town knows this and we hope that there's no accident for this loyal dog. As I look at the eyes of Albert and Troy, I feel that there is something very common in there.

I don’t think I told you about Albert's Jacket. There are quite a few people who wear jackets to go fishing around here. Yes, it is only proper to do so even if the jacket is worn out and with holes here and there. Also, as I mentioned, it is proper to wear a tie. When Albert is tired of fishing he may sit on his Sherlock Holmes hat or just lie down and start to enjoy his pipe in such a carefree manner. I did not inspect his jacket but I am sure he has worn it for many years.

Last week when we had a little party by the lake, Albert did not show up. So, I was a bit concerned because I was told that he is not allowed to drink now, his liver is not in a good shape as I understand. This week however, he showed up; he fished next to me and we had a good chat. Until then I did not know that he drank a whole bottle of whisky (BTW, they spell it as "whiskey" here) "every single day." (I still cannot believe this.) According to another fishing friend, Billy, this is true. No wonder that he's got his liver problem!

Eventually, he went on to tell me the story of how he started drinking from the age of 17. As we see "Guinness is good for you" signs on the billboards, it is true that they serve Guineas in hospitals here. I forget why Albert was in hospital but his first encounter was a nurse asking him if he would like to have a glass of Guineas with his lunch. He asks me if I have tasted Guineas (of course, I have) but this is the way the conversation goes with Albert. Anyway, after confirming that I know that bitter taste, he says that he did not like it at the first sip. Yet, when the nurse came back to remove the tray, apparently he was a happy man…. So that was Albert's first encounter with alcohol.

It was a beautiful evening. Clouds were high, and the air was crisp and transparent. There was almost no wind. So I went for a short walk, just around the house. I saw the ocean far away where the ferry goes in and out of Wexford bay. I also looked at our neighbor's farmland where sheep and cattle roam. Then there was a smell of the straw recently cut from the field. On the way back from this little walk, I saw clouds in the high sky breaking up and the sun started shining through.

It reminded me perhaps of a movie scene from the bible when the earth was being created. The sun rays started to penetrate the clouds, spreading its golden lights onto the rolling hills of the farmland. From the fields, trees, farmhouses to the gentle hills of Mt. Leinster; the cone of light spread gradually but forcefully. The light then spread more and reached the church and its graveyard nearby. "What a beautiful contrast" I thought, the sun, rolling hills and the graveyard in the golden color…

Just seconds later, I realized that my whole body was covered by the sun and saw that bright golden sun coming out of the clouds! Wow… It happened so quickly and I felt like the bright sun rays penetrated through my eyes, brain, and body and washed everything inside me. Sort of like cleansing the stuff inside. I was awe struck….without words. It took a while before my mind started to function again. I just felt what is most beautiful and godly - words cannot explain.

After we bought a summerhouse here in Ireland, which has a story of its own, I picked up fly-fishing as a hobby several years ago. Here, it rains fairly regularly and of course that is the reason why the whole country is covered in green. Also because of the rain, the river water is typically held well and fish live in this clear constant flow of water. Where we live, in the country, people take fishing as a pastime activity. I do occasional acrylic painting and some such things but I thought I give it a try on this fishing stuff.

Prior to this occasion, I have not fished since I was little and I was not particularly good at it. I remember one of my friends had a knack for catching fish and always caught more fish than me. Anyway, here in a different country, I bought all the necessary gear and license at about 200 Irish pounds which was perhaps like 300 U.S. Dollars at the time. Since I needed to buy a rod, flies, reel, net, wader, lines, etc., etc., to set the whole thing up, it turned out to be quite a preparation. (Later, I figured out that I spent something like $100 for each fish I caught that season.)

I also bought the "Fly-casting handbook" by Peter Mackenzie-Philips for 11 pounds because the casting of a fly line is something you cannot figure out by yourself - so I was told at the tackle shop. At the time I had never seen anyone fly-fishing nor did I know anyone who could teach me. So I tried casting on the lawn but it did not take much time to realize that I could not cast far enough. Immediately, I called back to the shop in town, complaining "how in the hell I should fish after spending so much money". In response they gave me a phone number of a person who could instruct me. Come to think of it, there are occasions (perhaps many occasions) that the words in the books are quite useless to acquire skills.

* BTW, sorry that I make many English mistakes. I still hope the idea is communicated OK. When I asked Barbara, my wife, if she would edit my article; as I suspected, she laughed and ignored me. Pleading for her to at least take a look at it (without any pride left in me) I showed her one article on the computer screen. She glanced for a fraction of a second, noticed a few mistakes like, Paddy not Patty, or Sherlock Holmes, not Sharlock Holmes - said it would be a waste of time, and left. Now, do you the reader, get the sense of atmosphere we have in our family? I just think she is busy in her own way to edit my life, but not my article. Oh, well.

(FYI: Since Barbara showed no interest, I asked our 11 year-old son Kenji, to edit this. For the work he did, I let him go out and play, thus skipping his Math work.)

For some reason, I happen to be the kind of person who likes to do things on my own. I cannot deny this even if I realize that such a trait may bring occasional troubles. In other words, even if the path is not smooth, I find pleasure in trying my own way, challenging the ‘conventional wisdom.’ Yes, somewhere in my blood lives that Don Quixote!! Anyway, instead of calling someone for a fly casting lesson, I decided to go to the river and see what might be happening there first.

It was one afternoon, overcast and not much wind. Kenji, my son was perhaps five years old at that time. I drove to a place called Borodale. The people at the tackle shop told me that men are catching many sea trout there, or white trout as it is called in this area. I heard that one person caught 20 of them in one night. I was told to go fishing in the dark for sea trout as the fish start to bite more actively then; the darker the better, so they say. Even if that is the case, I did not want to go in the evening as it sounded too troublesome and not much fun.

When we arrived at the Borodale, where the river is about 20-40 feet wide with several nice pools here and there, we found a young 'lad' fishing with bait. ('Lad'… I am trying to add some local colour here.) Anyway, I'd say I am rather easy going and can talk to anyone without much hesitation, I 'reckon'. (I got this one from my career as a management consultant - trying to add the local accent as well.) I started to ‘interview’ him. "How are things going?" And we conversed for a while. Then it started to drizzle… Misty rain at the riverside, and a chat with a lad to figure out how to fish…I thought it was an odd setting. However, I had already invested a fair chunk of money so there was no way to go back, I had to figure out what I might be able to do from here.

Pointing to the small area in front of us, the lad told me that there are hundreds of fish just in this area. While he had not caught any fish, perhaps because of too much light in the sky, I could see a fish’s white belly flickering occasionally under the deep tan coloured water. As nothing seemed to be happening, I left this young lad and checked the river upstream. Just around the bend of the river I met another guy, this time he was carrying a fly-fishing rod. He was the first fly-fisherman I met on the earth!! He happened to be the guy named Don and became my fishing teacher and friend from that time on.

From the beginning, Don was very helpful. All I remember now is that he stopped what he was doing and took me further upstream where he said, "Here you can catch fish!" As I knew nothing about casting or whatever needed to go with it, not to mention how to tie the fly to a tippet (which is a name for a thin nylon line at the end of the fly line) he showed me the basics. So, that was my first fly-fishing lesson. We did not do any serious fishing that evening, but he offered to take me to a ‘special place’ at the River Slaney in a few days. Of course, I jumped at this offer. Don was perhaps in his early 30’s at that time; clean cut, quite open, easy to talk with, and kind… What a nice fellow I had met!

Just few days later, about an hour before sunset, we went to the River Slaney. He told me to just observe him so that I can learn the trick. The river was much wider here and it was situated in the middle of farm land. We went through the bushes, crossed the railroad and walked into the river with our waders on. We walked up the river for a while and keeping me to his left, he started to show me the trick.

I still remember this picture vividly in full panorama. The movement of the line, co-ordinated with the delicate and well-timed action of his hands and body, was nothing short of art. Without apparent effort, the 30 to 40 feet of the fly-line became alive and danced magically like a snake. It flew forward just above the water but without touching it. At the next instant it bounced backward, with the spring action of the rod tip adding more momentum to the line. Going back and forth like this more line was added until finally the line was released and flew straight. Eventually, it lost the momentum and landed on the water - like the gentle fall of a feather, so that the fish wouldn't get spooked. There was a harmony, a symphony, and magic shown right in front of my eyes.

We gradually walked down the river without much trouble because the water was not too deep and its flow was gentle. We talked about fishing and life in general. The sun was setting over the hills of Mount Leinster and the whole western sky was coloured red. The wind had died down but had left the smell of the cornfield in the air. There was the quietly flowing water and an occasional dancing of fly line in the air. These two men were standing in the river, now in silhouette while the whole universe watched them in silence.

It was back at Borodale where I caught my first fish. I was alone and I remember that it was an evening without wind but with clouds - a perfect condition for fishing. I went to the location where Don indicated to me that I could catch a fish. I parked my car and went down to the farmland right next to the old stone bridge. I walked up river 50 yards and stationed myself on top of a rock, which was sticking out a bit into the river. The river was only 20-30 feet wide and it did not look too deep. On the other bank there were high trees hanging over the river and behind me a farmland where cattle roamed around. The fly I used is called "Kill Devil Spider" on a size 14 hook with black hackle and peacock feather body. There was enough casting room but somehow I still managed to hook a bush behind me every now and then.

The method I used is called ‘wet fly’ fishing. It means you cast out a fly, say 40 yards downstream, but with some angle so that the fly drifts downstream and is slowly retrieved back by the open hand. As it comes back I lift the rod and get the fly out of the water so that it can be cast again. I am now fond of the technique called ‘dry fly’ fishing, which I think is more complex but wet fly technique is the one I learned first. It is a simple manoeuver, back and forth, back and forth. I kept on doing the same thing from the same spot, as I knew of no other places to go. I tried a different angle, and a different speed of retrieval. Perhaps the process might look very boring to some people. Still, there has to be that well timed coordination of line, rod, and action of the whole body to keep the fisherman focused.

For anything we learn, there is a time when you just have to do it and this was such a time to just try it out and to see what happens. Back and forth, back and forth, I kept on trying. Occasionally, noises of cattle made me realize that I am doing this alone in the middle of the country with nobody around. As time went by and the darkness settled in, together with no feeling of any fish around, I pictured myself in a comfortable room contrasting to what I found myself in there. Listening to the continuous sound of river, fishing alone away form any villages nearby, I felt eerie and cold around my neck.

Then, it started to rain - a misty rain. Dark trees in front, occasional cattle noise from the back and now a misty rain. Facing such foreign situations reminded me an occasion when I was little rushing back home through the dark street where there was no lights. Nowhere to go, but resigned to try it out, I kept on casting the fly back and forth. Funny, but after a while I noticed the very delicate sound of small raindrops hitting the water, making that light touching noise. It was almost like the humming of a thousand musical instruments, or a tremolo of guiters made in nature. Yes, there was this new world, away from civilisation that I did not know existed before.

The misty rain, with the sound that I am now so much fond of, stopped after a while only to realize the deepening of the evening. Then, suddenly, a bite!!! An electric shock went through my whole body! Such a strong pull that I never expected. I did not know what to do. The fish come to this point of the river from the sea, travelling some 20 to 30 miles to spawn eggs. They have to be strong to do that manoeuvre! At that moment, with the fish hooked, there was no time to think of such things. I was shaking, hoping to get the trout that I had awaited for so long. As the fish went across the river, I could see the thin nylon line cutting through the water like an arrow!

I saw a glimpse of the white body shining under the water. Dark in that water on the other end of the line was the fish fighting vigorously. I am connected to him only with this thin nylon line. Turning this way and that, making splashing noises in the water, he did his best to escape from the hook. Keeping the line tight, I only hoped that he tire himself out soon. After what seemed like an eternal battle, I had him in my hand with my heart pounding so fast. My note says, it was 11:08PM, July 26, 1995. It was at that time when I discovered the existence of that underwater world.

* Perhaps you may want to know how big the fish was. It was only a pound or so and 14 inches long but it was the largest fish and mightiest fish I ever caught.

Yesterday, Barbara and I went to pick up Kenji from Sharon's. Kenji, our son, has been staying at her place at Brittus Bay to play around at the beach and to attend a kid's soccer camp. Sharon is Barbara's friend from her teenage days and married to an Irishman. The sky was blue and there was almost no wind - a perfect day to go to the beach. Driving on the new road built two years ago with European money after the union, the one hour trip was pleasant except that there are still many narrow and winding country roads where the driver has to pay attention. As usual, Barbara drove the car as she does not trust my driving. I dozed most of the way. (In our family we have an unspoken rule: whoever has the need is the one to take the initiative to address that need. Even if it becomes an endurance test; so, it is simple, and clear.)

In this complex at Brittus, there are about thirty houses and most of them have an ocean view. They have a large community area with lots of grass and the beach is just behind. When we arrived there were several kids playing soccer. Behind them was the open view of calm Brittus Bay, reflecting the sun in the blue sky above. I have been here several times after they bought the house and yet, I felt again, "This is heaven!" The kids are busy playing in the field and may not be aware of the sun, green lawn, and sea behind to make this a heaven; yet it appears to me as such.

I read a book called "Three Men on an Island" on the lawn. It was a story of three painters spending a month in a little hut on a small island west of Ireland. Sophie, Sharon's dog came to interrupt me but I managed to finish the book. There were many humorous stories of innocent nature in this book. However, as I found out at the end of the book that the story was the experience of the author 40 years ago, it stirred up some deep feelings in me. In the epilogue it mentioned that two of the men had already passed away and when the author revisited this small island, where so many events took place, it was now totally deserted. Since I bought the book because I liked the numerous inserted pictures and the carefree nature of such a setting; this unexpected ending brought tears to my eyes.

Worn out a little, but after spending a pleasant time eating a sandwich for lunch, I followed the kids to the beach. On the way down the steps to the beach, I saw Sophie looking at me about 50 yards away at the beach. So I barked at her (Yes, barked.) Then, she barked back at me. I do not know how to describe this dog but… well, she is a small, chubby, brown short-haired dog. Anyway, getting her attention and being encouraged to communicate with her, I again barked back to her, this time a little louder. Immediately, she barked back to me with much more alarmed look in her eyes. There were perhaps fifteen or so people in the cove watching this happenning. I felt like a matador facing the bull. I do not know if this event had something to do with the book I read, but the the next thing I did certainly frightened her. I started to run down the steps as if I was a dangerous wolf, making vicious howling noise and chasing this little animal.

Oh Sophie, poor dog! Leaving with a little cry, she went wild and started to run with full speed. In just a few seconds, she ran straight to the next cove, and disappeared behind a rock. Sharon’s 14-year daughter, Lauren, was on the beach with half a dozen younger kids. When she saw this, she called Sophie's name and ran after her with the rest of the kids following. I also followed them but there was no sign of Sophie anywhere. There were only footprints of Sohie left on the sand leading to steps trailing up the cliff.

Having given up to look for Sophie any more, we played games on the beach. After I lost a baseball in the trees, kids played in the water. Kenji got hurt when one of the kids threw a big sized shell at him during a sand fight. Then, after a little break, I came up with a game but the penalty for the loser I had set got escalated to the point that three kids had to put handfuls of sand into their mouths. I have to admit that I was not a good supervisor for these kids. Later, Sophie came back and took a nap right next to me. She kept sleeping quite peacefully even though kids put a pile of sands on her. So, such was the day at Brittus Bay. There were the sun, white clouds, and trees on the cliff watching these events taking place at the beach.

Screen is the name of the village, where we spend time every summer. In this small village, there are church, elementary school, pub, general store, and several houses along the road. Our house is across the church, it was used to be a rectory. Now, the priest lives in a house little down the road from us. Behind the corner are some more houses and Mary and John lives in one of them. There are few houses with traditional thatched roof. I believe government provides them with subsidy for tourism purpose. One of them is small perhaps only two rooms in it, and they are putting the straws to redo the roof this summer.

The village is less than a half mile long. There are farmland around but some commute to the town Wexford about 10 minutes away by car. If we walk around the village, there are rolling hills where sheep, horses, and cattle roam around. About five minutes by car is a ten mile long sandy beach of Curracloe. So, in the summer time, there are people coming to this beach for their vacation. There are forest nearby the beach, and wetland where people go hunting ducks in the fall/winter season. We can see the town of Wexford from our house, and the ferry in distance coming from Wales as well.

Kenji went to the school in Curracloe for six months, because we thought the school there is better than the one in Screen. It was about three years ago when we spent seven or eight months here. As I used to travel around the world because of my business, it did not matter where I lived, then. Otherwise, we typically come here every summer. We used to come also in Christmas time. Even if the environment is so deserted and the day time only 5 hours or so, we liked the quiet setting and had a custom of cutting a Christmas tree every winter. As Kenji grows up, we may change our routine and may just stay in California.

Original idea was to keep the house for five years or so. But it is one of those things that we need to keep up with to find the timing if we do so. Overall, during the ten years we visited here, we had peace without much trouble. Especially for Kenji to run around the farmland and get to know few kids around the area, we think the place provided an open and less structured environment for his growth. I picked up painting, fishing, and engaged in few other activities. People around are generally very low key. But as we do not socialize so much and without TV, the life in Screen is quiet as anybody can imagine. In this room I type these notes, I hear a sound of wind from the chimney above. The life in Screen is as ordinary as the wind blowing across the field. I see sunset, I hear birds, I see white clouds blowing in the sky. Tomorrow, Barbara's friend will visit us from U.K. In about a week, we will go back home.

John Webster is a painter I met on the street in the town called Enniscorthy, where the River Slaney runs through and salmons are caught in the middle of this town - between old and new bridges. He is a short but well built fellow, perhaps around 50 years old. As I was strolling in that town one day, I saw a guy painting the store with a long ladder. Of course, there should be someone doing the painting job as many houses in Ireland are painted in vivid colors like green, blue, yellow, white, etc. Our house is a two story stone house, which used to be a rectory and needed a good painting job. So, after observing how he worked for a while, I asked him if he might be interested in the job at our house.

He looked at me, perhaps smiled and hesitated a little for a moment or two, and said something. While I admit that I do not have a good memory of most events that happen in my life, it is especially difficult to remember the conversation with John. I know the contents we discussed and understanding we developed, but any specifics usually fade away from my memory. I am sure that he said he would stop by and take a look at it. Because that was what happened and we got to know well from that time on. But, it is his typical pose, his eyes, facial expression, and slightly hesitant and slow response that made me quite interested in him.

As I reflect now, and because we had him until late last night for a conversation over a cup of tea, I know now that John always delivers the message as he put it yesterday, "Basically, we just know what to do. And, we do not have to think to know that." Perhaps, he said differently. But, I think that was the basic message. John always carried some un-describable image, but when I heard this, it explained all. At the time, I was steering our conversation along the line of living in a mechanical way vs. living from the heart. Probably, he or Barbara did not know in such context as we were simply comparing different habits of people in different countries or in different settings.

Well, let me capture yesterday's scene a little more. It was ten O'clock when I came back from fishing and found that my wife and John were having a conversation over a cup of tea. I joined them. But knowing that he is booked heavily this summer, I was puzzled to see him still enjoying the tea. So, I asked him, "How often are you invited to a tea and spend time like this with your clients?" After a little pose, and looking at me with usual smile, he said, "I don't know. I don't think about it. It just happens." I felt like I was talking to myself. I like John as he does not carry any "shells" around him, and he is always as he is. He may not be wealthy by any standard. And, on surface, we may not be able to detect this, but I think he has a good grasp of life.

Now, it was past eleven O'clock and we were having a good time. But, he did not seem to care much about time in spite of the fact that he was to work the next day. As much as I can remember, every time he came to work for us, he stayed a long time having a tea or playing game with us. And when he was to leave, he looked at me with that innocent puppy-like eyes, and he carried on only after a few seconds of silence - as if it was the last time we saw with each other and to confirm that everything was OK. Then, when he left us, his visit often gave me a feeling as if there was nothing left of him and nothing happened. It was almost like he went through the hole in the wall to a different universe until we saw him the next time.

What was a bit funny that night was when John was to leave, he stopped at the car for a few seconds and said to me, "Remember the conversation about going to California?" It was about us asking if they want to come visit us in California sometime. He said, "I think we will take on that." Apparently, he and his wife discussed about our idea of visiting us or use our house while we may be traveling in the spring time. As he has been only to England outside the country, I thought it might be an interesting idea. But I was not sure if they would take it seriously. Obviously, they did and now we have to figure out the arrangement - somewhat by surprise.

When we started to have John to do the work for us several years ago, Barbara used to tell me that I hired an incompetent man. He did not show up on time, and workmanship was not to her standard. She inspected everything in detail and gave John a hard time. But I always defended him, as I knew that he had a good heart. He had his reason of doing things the way he does and I could understand that. He was always reserved and seemed to have a good control of what he does. Barbara still inspects the work very carefully, but from the way she carries the conversation, she now have much better understanding of John.

During the last few years, I made a point to Barbara in several occasions, which we seemed to agree. That is about what we expect of Kenji's future. I said, nothing is as important as for him to be happy in whatever he chooses to do in his life. And, I referred John to make that point saying that it is perfectly OK for Kenji to become a painter like John if that is what he likes to do so far as he is happy in doing it. Even though we may want him to go through a good school and find an interesting job in our eyes, I do not think we have any right to push him to meet our expectations. I think our job is, hopefully, to prepare him well by providing certain environment for him to make such a decision. As for the five children John and Sherlott, his wife, has raised, it seems that all of them are doing great.

It is raining now. There is not much wind. Yet, the raindrops hit the window with occasional wind. I see the trees standing still behind the wet glass window. There are no birds flying. I hear a cooing sound of pigeon in the distance. It has been a dry summer and grass was turning brown. Fishing was not so good this season as I confirmed my experience with few fishermen. This fresh water from this rain may help, perhaps.

People need to be prepared for the rain if they travel to come to this country. Barbara's friends came one summer and of all the two weeks they spent time, it rained every single day. It may be quite an exception to be like that. But, I guess that may be possible especially if you visit the west of Ireland.

Compared to where we live in Los Angeles, weather in this country is quite different, not to mention the pace of life. And that is the reason why we used to come here even in the wintertime - to hibernate, so to speak. A day like this, just putting some woods in the fireplace and drink something hot, we may feel secure and cozy, perhaps reflecting the life in general. Living in modern days with so many things going on, I think that is the reason why I go out fishing, or come here where there is no TV or much of anything.

We may be busy during the day and come back to rest in the nighttime. We may work hard for a while, then take time off for rest. Listening to the rain drops falling, and taking a long, deep breath, my mind is quiet. Even though my mind may start to move again when it is too quiet, let me cherish this quiet moment.

This morning, the day started with the golden sun rising over the Eastern hill with a deep blue sky and no clouds around. In the warm sun, I relaxed in a chair out on the lawn while Barbara went for a long walk at Curracloe beach. Our son, Kenji, stayed in bed and kept on reading a book Barbara found last night from the closet. At lunch time, the sky was overcast. We did some gardening job, and prepared for us to leave from here and for Barbara's friends to come visit here from the U.S. In a few days, we will be leaving Ireland.

I feel somewhat sad. Maybe, because we may be selling this house. Or, perhaps, we are into a different phase in life for Kenji to grow into and we adjust our life pattern accordingly. We had this house for about ten years and many things happened in that time period. The furniture we bought, little souvenirs from different countries we collected, paintings I finished, trees I see from the window out of my room, song of birds, sheep in the field, and even occasional flies hitting the window. Now, they became a part of me, a part of my universe. I gain something, and I lose something. In the meantime, the birds sing the song of God.

If being alive is to channel the flow of energy for exploration, aging may be like accumulating the memories and sitting in the sediments. In this country, there was a big famine and many people died while many others left the country years ago. I feel there is something left in the atmosphere - perhaps in the delicate shade of sun rays or quietly standing trees in the forest. If we were in Hawaii, the sense I have upon departure may be quite different. On and on, my thoughts move looking for a place to rest. Now, it started to rain. Without any knowledge of human stories, birds are busy chirping in the rain.

* Perhaps, I was also feeling sad to end this "from Ireland" series of posts. In a way, I wish all of us happened to meet here on the net sit together in a room with perhaps a glass of wine or brandy and share some stories - endlessly. Thank you! Cheers! Good day!! Take care!!!

* Thank you, Sue, for wonderful Haiku! And thank you for encouraging me to write!