Easter Rising (Ireland). Armenian Genocide.
Who Fears to Speak of Easter Week – Brenden Behan
Amhrainn Na Bfhiann (Gaelic Version) – Pearse
The Irish National Anthem (Traditional Instrumental Version) – Various Artists
The Boys of the Old Brigade – Paddy McGuigan
Men of Easter Week – Mark’s Men
Padraic Pearse – The Wolfe Tones
James Connolly – Dropkick Murphy’s
Tom Clarke (Unrepentant Fenian) – The Irish Brigade
Michael Collins – Brian Moore
Touched by Fire – Black 47
Foggy Dew – Declan Hunt
My Last Farewell – Brier
Banna Strand – Eugene McEldowney
Ireland Unfree – Paddy’s Dream
The Tri-Colored Ribbon – Lori Holland
Freedom’s Sons – The Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem
The Dying Rebel – Shamrog
Mise Eire – Celtic Woman
Grace – Jim McCann
Merry Ploughboy – Derek Wakefield
The Soldiers Song – The Bogside Volunteers
Mer Hayrenik – Armenian National Anthem [Instrumental] – Global Orchestra
Armenian Rhapsody – V. Knushevitsky & A. Ayvazian Orchestra
Armenian Folk Song – A. Ter-Abramian, National Folk Instrument Ensemble of Erevan & A. Merangulian
Lezginka from Suite No. 5 – Aram Khachaturian & Orchestra of the Bolshoi Theatre
Saber Dance From The Ballet Gayne – Aram Khachaturian & Orchestra of the Bolshoi Theatre
Lezginka from Ballet Gayne – Orchestra of the Bolshoi Theatre & Aram Khachaturian
The Armenian Genocide – Julian Cope
Mer Hayrenik – Armenian National Anthem [Sung] – Global Orchestra
Tag Archives: Ireland
24 April 2024
Easter Rising (Ireland). Armenian Genocide.
Filed under Louisville, Music, playlist
Workout 17 March 2018
Gym at the Shire. Treadmill. Arm work. Core work. Stretching.
How Can I Keep from Singing – Celtic Woman
Coming Home – Eileen Ivers
Long Journey Home – Elvis Costello with Anuna
Song for Ireland – Mary Black
Thousands Are Sailing – The Pogues
Weep Not for the Memories – Seamus Egan
On Raglan Road – Sinead O’Connor
The People Have Spoken – Tommy Sands
Peace Has Broken Out – Eric Bogle
Daughters & Sons – The Sands Family
Against the Wind – Maire Brennan
Peace on Earth – U2
Give Me Your Hand – The Wolfe Tones
Erin Go Bragh – The Wakes
San Patricio Brigade – Black 47
Soldier’s Song – The Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem
My Heart’s Tonight in Ireland – Andy Irvine
Purple flowers: why I post them
My friend Judy set me wondering when she asked about the “purple flower collection.”
Why do I post photos of purple flowers?
I have never liked flowers. In some ways, I dislike flowers. With my life-long allergies, many flowers flat-out make me sneeze.
I also dislike taking care of flowers. Gardening holds no appeal. I can barely keep flowers or other plants alive indoors.
When I moved to New York, I received a gorgeous potted setting of several plants for my office. Plants. No flowers. Those who gave it to me know of my allergies. The plants survive only because Ricky cares for them.
I confess that I sometimes ponder getting cacti as a reminder of New Mexico. Someday I may do that. For now, even the minimal care that cacti require seems more than I want to expend.
I do understand that others like to receive flowers. From time to time over the years, on what I hope were appropriate occasions, my mother and Tricia have received gifts from FTD.
When he played a senior solo at Heights High, son Sean received many flowers from friends. I wonder at this concept and then rejoiced when he shared the flowers with shut-in friends.
My lack of interest in things floral does not come naturally. My grandfather loved to garden. He did so at home and on the family farm. In retirement he worked at the local college – as a gardener.
I spent time in gardens working with him. I carried tools I could not name and cans of water. But I learned little. My joy came not from caring for the flowers and shrubs and trees but from being in my grandfather’s presence.
His love for gardening and for flowers passed to my mother. Again I helped but never quite got the point. No green thumbs came to me. I am fine with that.
Sifting through the sands of memory, one floral experience does bring a smile. We lived for a number of years on Neville Island in the Ohio River – 7007 Front River Road. Why can I remember that but forget passwords I created yesterday?
Between our back yard and the Ohio River stood an inclined bank where each spring wild flowers grew. I can still see my pudgy little hand proudly clutching bouquets for my mother – bouquets of wild violets – purple flowers.
The color purple is easier. I have always liked purple. At one point, I persuaded my parents to paint my room a deep, dark, rich, royal purple.
A few years back, I started taking photos. Sons Sean and Eric began before me and it looked like fun. One summer, Sean loaned me his camera to take to Ghost Ranch. I was hooked.
I started saving money and reached the goal. Then, a few days before I went shopping, the washing machine at the Shire died. I knew it was not a good sign when the repairwoman spent fifteen minutes in her truck trying to track down the part. She pointed out that the dryer was the same age as the washing machine so it might make sense to replace them both. Darned if that did not cost about the same as the camera I wanted to buy.
I saved again. Time passed. The major appliances cooperated. I took the plunge.
I am not any good at it. I freely confess that. But every once in a while the camera carries me. Foolish and fearless, I post some of the results.
This spring I posted photos from Ireland and Northern Ireland where Tricia and I traveled for Roja and Joel’s wedding. Among the photos was one of purple flowers at the Titanic Memorial Garden.
After that, as I sorted through my photos, I realized how many photos of purple flowers I have. I had not been aware of that. But there they are. And the series was born. Now I take photos of purple flowers intentionally.
I cannot name the flowers and have little interest in learning their names. But I know where I took the photos and with the aid of the time and date stamp when I took them.
Perhaps they touch my childhood in some way I will some day understand. For now, they are purple.
They are memory.
That is good.
That is enough.
See you along the Trail.
Before the wedding
The Trail has recently taken Tricia and me on a quick trip to Dublin, other parts of Ireland, Belfast, and some of the region around that city. Perhaps quick is not the right word to use, the trip did last most of ten days. But many places remain unseen, calling for a return visit.
The wedding of two friends led to this trip. I have already posted about that joy-filled event: a reflection on a party before the wedding and some notes on the sermon. Here’s one more. Others may follow. This picture of my friends with her mother and sister has received many positive comments on Facebook:
See you along the Trail.
- Henna Night in Dublin (graybeardtrail.wordpress.com)
Remembered again, for the first time
The lilt of uilleann pipes
fills my soul
while memories of
green fields never seen,
gentle rains never felt,
and cobblestone streets never walked,
haunt my heart.
27 June 2011
Shire on the Hudson
Filed under Poem