Canal Locks and Rain:It is all in the specifics

We woke up today to very cool weather and endless drizzle. 

Me: Where shall we go today?

Him: Let's check out Victoria Lock, the first lock on the Shannon river upstream from Lough Derg, to begin with. 

Me: (checking Google maps) Lock or Loch? 

Him: Hope the rain will stop

Me: I'll pray that the rain will stop at our destination (s). You have to be very specific so as not to deprive others who need the rain. 

I like to learn. Never being exposed to much engineering knowledge, Wikipedia told me that a lock is a device used for raising and lowering all sorts of watercraft (think boats, ships etc) between stretches of water of different levels on river and canal waterways. 

Clear enough. 

Anything beyond that, the brain will scream : Cannot compute. Information overload. 

The trail to Victoria Lock went cold. Faded signposts led us to muddy farms and dead end roads. Not uncommon. After all, we were not searching for what Father Ted would say a Class One relic. 

But we did find another lock tucked away in Shannon Harbour. Lock 35. (not to be confused with Phantom of the Opera's  Lot 666 a chandelier in pieces.)

The rain stopped. 

I was watching the engineering wonder very closely. 

It is all in the specifics. 

Behind the gates of the lock, the water was crushing at great force, as if trying to break through. Pounding hard like medieval marauders with a huge log of wood thumping at the castle gate, trying to break into the castle while soldiers defending the castle poured hot oil on the invaders from the turrets above. 

On the other side of the gates the water was very calm, totally oblivious of its raging neighbour. 

Me: Which side personifies you? 

Him: I don't know. 

Me: I'm the raging side trying to smash down the gates. 

The thing is the gates cannot be opened all at once or the water will just gush down. They have to be opened gradually so the water can be regulated and the impact gradual. 

That would be the most frustrating process for me. 

Because let's say I want improvement  but am met with resistance. 

I'll have to learn to be long-suffering and patient. I have to accept that some things might change but it may not be now. So it is this process of thinking, negotiating and hoping that keeps the adrenalin pumping. This is what is called the excitement of living. 

As we made our way home, we noticed that clear skies had become grey again. The moment we reached our neighbourhood, the rain started. 

Me: Did you notice that it didn't rain at our destinations but it is raining now? 

Him: Yeah

Me: It is all in the specifics. 😊

THE BEAUTY OF DESOLATION AND SILENCE COMBINED

 

Isn't it strange that when you revisit a place that you like, you get different associations and feelings?

 Just like when you watch your favourite movie over and over again and each time you notice something that you never noticed before.

I'm talking about the Burren, the place that never fails to evoke strong impressions on me. In fact it has left such an impact that this is my 3rd post about it in a span of 9 years.

When I think about desolation, I think of the state of being deserted, the state that draws a blank, the state of loneliness. It is like the aftermath of something catastrophic. A post Covid 19 scenario. An apocalypse.

And the silence. It is the peace in the silence that strikes me. Nothing but grikes and clints that stretch for miles.

Himself asked me why I wanted to see the Poulnabrone or the Portal Tomb again as I had seen it so many times before.

Every logical question deserves an illogical answer.

My answer is because I have changed from the last time I saw it but the Poulnabrone has not.

That is the reason why I keep taking photos of places I have been before.

There's this interplay of transience and permanence.

I would like to think that I am transient. And when I look at the Poulnabrone  that has withstood the onslaught of time, that is permanence. 

But then again, by a sudden change of wind or an unprecedented climatic disaster, the Poulnabrone that I saw today could also be gone tomorrow, flattened and broken into smithereens. 

The beautiful thing is even in this karst landscape, a flower grows. That is the last thing anyone would expect. That is what I call hope. And it is absolutely beautiful.

INSIDE LOOKING OUT

We went to a lovely restaurant the other day, just to celebrate the fact that we could go out and dine somewhere else other than home. The little things that we have been used to have become so much more precious. I was sitting INSIDE, LOOKING OUT at the people passing by. 

And I thought to myself. Here I am, reading the menu and choosing what I want. No holds barred.

Imagine many years ago, when I was travelling on my own presenting papers at international conferences on a shoe string budget. Especially during winter when I saw people laughing and dining in fancy restaurants behind frosted windows and I wondered what it was like, eating in the comfort of great smells and warmth. I was on the OUTSIDE, LOOKING IN.

Instead, I would have walked into Sainsbury or Mercato and bought a drumstick and a roll - that would have sufficed as dinner. Just because there were greater concerns of the day and expenses that needed to be met.

Recently a small company approached me to make fabric masks. What started off as making masks for family and friends had suddenly evolved into a possible business. (Sometimes I see myself as having the Midas touch because I am never short of people who want to buy my handmade things) 

But I said NO. Not now, not ever I hope. Because my 'working' days are over - days when I had to work very hard to make ends meet, to raise a family. Indeed I have made my million and the children are well and capable.

So time is precious. How I want to spend my time is precious.

Just like Anthony Warlow's 'This is the Moment'.

This is the time when the momentum and the moment are in rhyme. This is the day I want to live for, to see it sparkle and shine. Where every endeavour I have made is coming to play, is here and now. 

Today.