Karen flew into the Dublin airport with only one carry on bag and the hope that two weeks in Ireland would untangle her creative funk and heavy heart. Her friends back home asked, "Why Ireland?" She told them that her mother was half Irish and she always wanted to visit the old country. But that was only half true. When Karen was a little girl, her Irish grandmother gave her an old 1910 book of poems and faerie drawings by Paddy O'Flannigan. Her grandmother said she had known the artist, and that the book was magical and brought good luck. The drawings and watercolors in the book delighted Karen, and she used to spend hours copying them. Before long, Karen knew she wanted to become an artist. She went on to get a fine art degree and found employment as a staff artist for Hallmark. Designing greeting cards broadened her artistic abilities, but soon marriage and children derailed her work. She stayed home to raise her two girls while her husband Doug worked long hours in the law firm. The girls later graduated high school and went off to college. Karen finally had the time to take up her art again, crafting detailed ink and watercolor pieces.
Calm before the storm Karen had entered her drawings and watercolors in local art competitions and won a few ribbons. Her years at Hallmark fetched an income but she always dreamed of becoming a fine artist. She was thinking about creating a website for her artwork, but one night Doug said this: "Honey, your drawings are detailed and well done, but, I dunno. Don't you think more vibrant color and a modern look would make them more marketable?" "A more modern look?" Karen asked. "Do you mean, more abstract?" "Yeah, I guess so. Just not so old fashioned looking. People aren't into that," Doug said. With that, her heart sank. Funny, how sometimes loved ones can wound the deepest. Karen began to question her artwork and sought instruction at the local community college. She tried her hand at an expressionist painting class, but the work she produced felt awkward, inauthentic and ugly. Around this time, she also noticed Doug was working late quite a bit. He claimed the law partners had assigned him an impossible case. In reality, the impossible case was named Fiona, an attractive new attorney who joined the firm. By the end of the year, Doug came clean about the affair and most of their subsequent divorce was amicable. When she told her daughters that she needed a break and was thinking about a visit to Ireland to clear her head, they encouraged her to go. "It will be good for you, Mom. You deserve to be happy again," her youngest said.
Breakdown in County Clare The Park House hotel in Galway was welcoming and the local pubs and surrounding streets were vibrant and lively. Music seemed to be everywhere. Buskers on the walkways and singing within the pubs. Still, Karen felt restive and rented a car to visit the famed cliffs of Moher. Traveling away from town, she took in the rolling green hills, stone fences and errant sheep wandering about the countryside. So peaceful and serene. Her GPS blurted directions in an Irish accent. She ventured into County Clare where the roads narrowed and civilization seemed more remote. And then it happened. A sputter sound from the engine, followed by a lurch. Driving on the left side of the road with a left handed stick shift had been difficult enough. But now her engine began smoking and she was stalled in a grass turnout.
The Irish Gentleman Thankfully, Karen's mobile phone worked and she phoned the Park House hotel. Karen described the roadway and area where she broke down. The hotel reassured her they would send someone, but it would probably take an hour or two. "Well isn't this just my life," Karen thought to herself. She grabbed her little sketch book and decided to kill time and stroll to a nearby ring of trees. Much to her surprise, she heard the faint sound of an accordion from within the thicket of trees. Edging closer, she worked her way up the circular mound that encased a few dozen trees and tall grass. There, seated beneath a tree, was an elderly Irish gentleman playing an accordion. "Well hello there, lass," he said to her. "Are you lost, my dear?" He had rosy cheeks, a shock of white hair and a glint in his eye, but his manner was kind and gentle. "No, my car broke down, so I'm sort of stuck here until the hotel sends someone," Karen said. "Perhaps you're not stuck, my dear. Sometimes the wee ones invite you. After all, you're standing in a faerie circle. You'll find them around these parts. Some are even government protected. Farmers work around them because it's bad luck to disturb the faerie circles. Some say it's bad luck to sit in them, but I like to take me chances." The old gentleman smiled as he pulled a smoking pipe out of his little leather bag. "I've always loved Irish folklore. Compared to today's world it's just so..." but before she could finish the old gentleman said, "comforting?" Karen smiled. "Yes, comforting." She sat down, across from him. He puffed a moment on his pipe, looked out beyond her, and then spoke. "My dear, there was a time when life was simpler. Before this modern world with its noise, computers, commotion, rudeness and artifice. But when you leave Dublin and Galway and the cities, and venture into the country, we're still here. The aging but happy faces. With our simple kitchens, living rooms, wall hangings, cupboards, thatch roof cottages and wool sweaters. We are here with our sheep and stories and earthen rings. We still sing in our pubs and tend to the land." "And I love that about Ireland. I feel like I can breath here," Karen said. "That's because people here are better connected to the things that matter. By the way, is that a sketch book you have there, lass?" And with that Karen told him her story. Her childhood faerie book. The Hallmark years. Doug's hurtful remark about her art. The divorce. All of it. When she finished, the old Irish gentleman stood up and smiled. "Listen to your heart, my dear. Even the wee ones here will tell you. Reconnect to the things that matter. As we like to say, 'may you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead.' You deserve to escape the bad and start living again, my lass." With that, Karen began to sob gently and the old gentleman hugged her. "There there, lass. You'll be fine now." He held her gently, patting her back. He smelled of fresh grass and morning dew. Just then Karen heard the approach of a car down the road. It was one of the hotel porters. She ran out into the narrow roadway and waved to the driver, who pulled in behind her stalled rental car. "Am I glad to see you. I was worried I'd be stranded out here all night!" Karen said. The porter smiled and said, "No bother, I'll have you back straight away." Karen thanked him and said, "Well, at least I had company," and she turned to point to the old gentleman. But he was nowhere to be found.
Healing at the Cliffs of Moher The Cliffs of Moher are located in the southwestern edge of the Burren region of County Clare. The tallest of the cliffs stand at 702 feet, and it was near there that Karen was sketching when an attractive Irishman with a large sketchbook stood beside her. They began talking about art and showing one another their work. He remarked that her detailed drawings and watercolors would sell well in his local gallery. He was a widower and encouraging and kind. To escape the wind, they strolled to the coffee shop that is literally built into the nearby hillside. Inside she told him about her grandmother, who was born in the County Clare region. She mentioned her encounter with the old man in the faerie circle. How he somehow touched her. Healed her. "I've heard stories about that old man," Karen's companion said. "He was an illustrator who lived in these parts long ago. He played an accordion and some say he still looks after folks who pass by the faerie circles. But you must have met someone else, because the man I'm thinking of died a long time ago, in the 1900's. He's sort of a gentle ghost now." Karen felt the hairs on her neck stand up slightly. "What was the old Irish gentleman's name?" she asked. "Paddy," her companion said. "Paddy O'Flannigan."
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