O'Reilly and Mavourneen were their way to see their best friend Finnegan.
The little tiger cat ran ahead, the striped tail with a kink at the tip sticking straight up.
The two enjoyed the warm autumn sunshine, the fresh air and their walk.
Old friends, neighbors, shopkeepers and "Immigrants" greeted the old man and the little cat on their way through the small Irish village.
"Well," adressed O'Reilly his fluffy companion, "That's 'oy so'tiz in villages an' wee places, everyone knows yer an' yer nu everyone, too.."
He took a sip of beer.
"But yer nu waat? dis is a gran' tin'"
Finnegan nodded wisely.
A/N: O'Reilly's Brogue to the courtesy of:
http://www.whoohoo.co.uk/irish-translator.asp No Idea how authentic this is, but at least it's fun.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Well, look at that, O'Reilly
Somehow slightly inspired by an internship in an art museum in south-west Germany.....
O'Reilly sat with Finnegan in his garden.
It had been raining quite a lot that morning and now the sun blinked shyly through the clouds.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "Oirlan' is not called de Emerald isle for nathin', aye?"
"An' yer don't nade ter water anymore, Finn," he added.
"True," agreed Finnegan.
Mavourneen sat on his lap, getting her little ears rubbed and happily purred to herself.
A rather odd-looking man in rubber boots, Bermuda shorts, sunglasses and rain hat set up an easel, folding chair and small picnic table opposite Finnegan 's Cottage, unpacked all sorts of equipment and a few large pieces of white artists cardboard and sat down.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "wonder waaat dat turns oyt as."
"Art," said Finnegan only.
A little bolder now, the sun shone down on two old men, a little cat and an eccentric artist in a small village in the middle of green Ireland.
Quite a long time later:
O'Reilly had once again travelled into the city.
His son's fiftieth birthday was coming up and O'Reilly had had the idea to give the boy a copy of the newspaper issued on the date of his birth.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "wus not much interestin' 'eadin' on at dat time, but maybe 'e'll loike it anyway."
On the way to the library he passed by a small gallery. A sign hung in the window:
"My Ireland-- Snapshots."
Next to it was a picture on an easel, with garden outside a small cottage, in which two old men and a small tiger cat were sitting.
O'Reilly grinned.
"Well," he said, "alwus knew dat oi'm juicy as a picture."
A/N: Just in case someone was wondering: "Well, said O'Reilly" is sort of the running gag here. It's a quirk of O'Reilly's to start just about every sentence with the word "Well", which started in the first story. Which kind of built itself around that one sentence: "Ah, well," said O'Reilly.
O'Reillys Brogue courtesy to the brogue translator on woohoo.com
O'Reilly sat with Finnegan in his garden.
It had been raining quite a lot that morning and now the sun blinked shyly through the clouds.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "Oirlan' is not called de Emerald isle for nathin', aye?"
"An' yer don't nade ter water anymore, Finn," he added.
"True," agreed Finnegan.
Mavourneen sat on his lap, getting her little ears rubbed and happily purred to herself.
A rather odd-looking man in rubber boots, Bermuda shorts, sunglasses and rain hat set up an easel, folding chair and small picnic table opposite Finnegan 's Cottage, unpacked all sorts of equipment and a few large pieces of white artists cardboard and sat down.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "wonder waaat dat turns oyt as."
"Art," said Finnegan only.
A little bolder now, the sun shone down on two old men, a little cat and an eccentric artist in a small village in the middle of green Ireland.
Quite a long time later:
O'Reilly had once again travelled into the city.
His son's fiftieth birthday was coming up and O'Reilly had had the idea to give the boy a copy of the newspaper issued on the date of his birth.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "wus not much interestin' 'eadin' on at dat time, but maybe 'e'll loike it anyway."
On the way to the library he passed by a small gallery. A sign hung in the window:
"My Ireland-- Snapshots."
Next to it was a picture on an easel, with garden outside a small cottage, in which two old men and a small tiger cat were sitting.
O'Reilly grinned.
"Well," he said, "alwus knew dat oi'm juicy as a picture."
A/N: Just in case someone was wondering: "Well, said O'Reilly" is sort of the running gag here. It's a quirk of O'Reilly's to start just about every sentence with the word "Well", which started in the first story. Which kind of built itself around that one sentence: "Ah, well," said O'Reilly.
O'Reillys Brogue courtesy to the brogue translator on woohoo.com
Friday, November 27, 2009
O'Reilly's Blessings
Recently had a conversation about counting ones Blessings. O'Reilly somehow got caught in the middle....
O'Reilly sat in his oldest niece's cozy kitchen, dandled her youngest on his knees and enjoyed the bustle consisting of adults, children, three dogs and a tame goose. Howling with joy, the twins jumped onto their Uncle Frank. He was always good for a surprise. Heathers Sister-in-Law followed on his heels, with a large, tin-foil-covered casserole-dish.
Once a month the whole family gathered together and thronged around the massive, wooden kitchentable.
It was crowded, it was noisy and it was wonderful.
O'Reilly grew a bit nostalgic, as he remembered his son being small and all the relatives squeezing into the O'Reilly's tiny cottage. His Shannon had always had a huge pot full of creamy potato soup ready......
Well, he did miss her an awful lot.......
At this moment wee Marcus threw himself at O'Reilly, scaring his little cousin which shrieked in anger, and he hugged his Grandfather with all his might.
"Grandda, I love you an big awful whole lot!!"
And he kissed O'Reilly's wrinkled cheek and ran off again.
O'Reilly patted Nancys little back.
"Ah well," he whispered in to the satiny curls, "so do I, ye wee little heathens!"
Blessed be.
O'Reilly sat in his oldest niece's cozy kitchen, dandled her youngest on his knees and enjoyed the bustle consisting of adults, children, three dogs and a tame goose. Howling with joy, the twins jumped onto their Uncle Frank. He was always good for a surprise. Heathers Sister-in-Law followed on his heels, with a large, tin-foil-covered casserole-dish.
Once a month the whole family gathered together and thronged around the massive, wooden kitchentable.
It was crowded, it was noisy and it was wonderful.
O'Reilly grew a bit nostalgic, as he remembered his son being small and all the relatives squeezing into the O'Reilly's tiny cottage. His Shannon had always had a huge pot full of creamy potato soup ready......
Well, he did miss her an awful lot.......
At this moment wee Marcus threw himself at O'Reilly, scaring his little cousin which shrieked in anger, and he hugged his Grandfather with all his might.
"Grandda, I love you an big awful whole lot!!"
And he kissed O'Reilly's wrinkled cheek and ran off again.
O'Reilly patted Nancys little back.
"Ah well," he whispered in to the satiny curls, "so do I, ye wee little heathens!"
Blessed be.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
That's cheesy, O'Reilly
Anyway, I love cheese and apparently, so does O'Reilly.....
O'Reilly hauled the shopping bag into the tiny kitchen of his cottage, where he hoisted it on the table. He had just finished emptying everything on the table when the phone in the living room began to ring noisily. Throwing the bag on the chair in the corner, he shuffled off.
Three days later his grandson Toby sat in the kitchen, munched on roast potatoes, washed it all down with buttermilk and chattered his grandfather's ears off.
When the boy was finally satisfied enough that he would safely survive the next half hour (man grandpa, call me a Turkey, I'm stuffed!), Toby wandered around and, as always, looked at the old, faded photographs and embroidered samplers hanging there.
His route led him past the corner where an old, rickety chair stood, that O'Reilly's grandfather had made himself. Suddenly he said, "Man Grandpa, but this stinks! Man, was that the cat?"
What? O'Reilly was taken aback.
Didn't she always use the litter pan in the bathroom or went outside? He began to look around himself, sniffing and searching.
Indeed! Why, the little.......
Then he noticed the shopping bag and suddenly he remembered something....
"Well," said O'Reilly, "have a quick look in the icebox, boyo and tell me whether the Limburger is inside or not."
The Limburg Cheese was not in the refrigerator, but in the shopping bag in the warm kitchen. And the smell that curled Toby's nosehair, was not O'Reilly's little tiger cat to blame for, but an imported cheese from Germany.....
Friday, October 23, 2009
O'Reilly's Summer day
It was a lovely day early in the Irish summer, of the variety the tourists only experienced in books and travel brochures.
Behind him he heard the screeching and laughing of the twins Marcus and Shaun, who raced across the meadow. Hooting and yelling they tore past their grandfather and splashed into the water like millstones. Mavourneen, the little cat sat on O'Reilly's other side and growled, admonishing them. She'd been hoping for a fish the whole time. Didn't matter, O'Reilly used that fishing-rod only as an alibi anyway.
"Well," he told his pocket-tiger, "boys will be boys."
Humming, he reeled in the line, cast again and yawned.
He remembered when he and his brothers had played here.
They likewise had screamed, hooted and hollered , dropped like millstones into the water and chased off grandfather's fish. They had gotten sunburned, scraped their shins on tree bark climbing into the willow, tickled trout and organized wrestling matches.
In the willow branches above O'Reilly someone bleated, "Grandpa, look!" Then a red-haired something fell with a huge splash in the creek.
As he wiped the water from his eyes, O'Reilly couldn't help but grin.
Sometimes it was good when history repeated itself..
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Happy Birthday, O'Reilly!
I once knew an old American of Irish descent, who loved to snap and growl, but had a soft heart and thus in some ways served as a role model for O'Reilly. In loving memory for J. W. Bailey. Happy Birthday, Grandpappy.
O'Reilly was satisfied.
One could even go as far as to say that he was happy.
Which he never would have admitted, as he had a reputation as curmudgeon to maintain.
Which nobody was buying anyway.
One could even go as far as to say that he was happy.
Which he never would have admitted, as he had a reputation as curmudgeon to maintain.
Which nobody was buying anyway.
He dandled the first great-grandchild on his bony old-man knees, letting the wee one gnaw on his knuckles, and phlegmy humming a half-forgotten lullaby, as he was lost in reverie.
His small cottage on the outskirts of the village was filled to overflowing with people. The air was thick enough to cut with cigarette smoke, mouth-watering aroma clouds wafting from the tiny kitchen, the smoke of the peat fire, smelly, dirtied baby diapers, wet wool, wet dog and a mass of people.
The same with the noise level, that would have to be reduced in little slices:
Screaming, laughing children, babies screaming, scolding, laughing mothers, grandmothers, aunts, sisters, daughters and cousins.
Cussing, smiling fathers, grandfathers, uncles, cousins, brothers and sons.
Barking dogs.
With whiskey, poteen and beer well-oiled throats, which in turn sang cheerful, indecent or wistful Irish songs and ballads.
In short, an Irish birthday, as was proper.
That was the way it had always been in the village.
The young people may prefer to move to Dublin or so, but if there was something to celebrate, everyone was there.
That was the way it had always been in the village.
The young people may prefer to move to Dublin or so, but if there was something to celebrate, everyone was there.
In spite of everything, they stuck together.
O'Reilly grinned so widely that his dentures threatened to fall out.
Then he raised his glass of ale, answered an affectionate insult with a good-natured curse, put his other arm around his best friend Finnegan's shoulders and joined in as someone began to intone "The Hills of Connemara".
A cold autumn storm roared over the little cottage on the outskirts of the small Irish village. From the small, brightly polished windows, a warm light shone out into the darkness, in which a moody wind enviously listened to the happy laughter and singing.
O'Reilly grinned so widely that his dentures threatened to fall out.
Then he raised his glass of ale, answered an affectionate insult with a good-natured curse, put his other arm around his best friend Finnegan's shoulders and joined in as someone began to intone "The Hills of Connemara".
A cold autumn storm roared over the little cottage on the outskirts of the small Irish village. From the small, brightly polished windows, a warm light shone out into the darkness, in which a moody wind enviously listened to the happy laughter and singing.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
A Mothers Moment of Peace
There---
There it is:
Quiet!
The baby is asleep,
The Vacuumcleaner in the broomcloset,
the dog out in the garden,
The TV, radio off,
The telefon banished upstairs....
Quiet.
Solitude.
I don't know nor care, where the cat is right now,
The kids are in school,
Daddy at work,
Grandma at the Beautyparlor,
The baby in the crib in his room....
I am all by my self.
Solitude.
Peace.
No pets fighting for a toy,
No baby screaming at the top of his lungs,
No siblings engaged in battle,
No Husband yelling "Honey, I can't find...."
No TV blaring or telephone jangling.
Peace.
I sit down in my chair,
Close my eyes,
Put my feet up,
Take a deep breath to enjoy it all.....
Ah, Shoot!! There's someone at the door!!
Saturday, July 05, 2008
O'Reilly's Kitten
Someone mentioned that old O'Reilly sounded a little like a Curmudgeon. Which in turn reminded me of a book, titled "The Cat and The Curmudgeon" by Cleveland Amory. I have a little tiger tail at home, that likes to natter at me and will comment on things if asked. And thus it happened.....
O'Reilly nudged the dusty, nicotine-yellow curtain carefully aside and peeked out.
Hah, she wasn't there, had given up!!
Triumphantly rubbing his arthritic hands, he danced a few wobbly steps of a Reel. Fashious woman, camping out on his threshold, bleating at him with her shrill voice as soon as he cracked the door open even a bit. Followed him everywhere, even to McCarthy's Pub, the shameless wench. Last week he'd tried to climb out of the window of the back room, so she would not see him leave, but the window sill had been to high.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "bugger it, tha' window was too small, anywa'...."
O'Reilly nudged the dusty, nicotine-yellow curtain carefully aside and peeked out.
Hah, she wasn't there, had given up!!
Triumphantly rubbing his arthritic hands, he danced a few wobbly steps of a Reel. Fashious woman, camping out on his threshold, bleating at him with her shrill voice as soon as he cracked the door open even a bit. Followed him everywhere, even to McCarthy's Pub, the shameless wench. Last week he'd tried to climb out of the window of the back room, so she would not see him leave, but the window sill had been to high.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "bugger it, tha' window was too small, anywa'...."
O'Reilly took a slightly less shabby cap from the hooks on the wall, tied a somewhat cleaner Neckerchief around his stringy old-man-throat, put housekey and wallet in his pocket and opened the blue-laquered front door to his cottage, whistling a ditty.
"Mrrouw"
Pope Benedict's Kneecaps!! She was still around, the confounded bint!!
Why in the world of all the people in the village she had to choose Seamus Daniel O'Reilly? What about the Widow Maguire? Why didn't she go there? She fed all of her pension to the blasted critters, one more wouldn't matter!
"Mrrouw!!"
O'Reilley slammed the door and ignored the little cat.
"MMrrouw!!!"
O'Reilly marched on undeterred, the chattering cat tagging along.
"MMRROUW!!!!"
"St. Patricks Pipecleaners!!" railed O'Reilly, "will ye stop nagging me?" The cat sat down in front of him, yawned and winked, before licking her little left paw. Shaunessy, who leaned against his gardenfence suckling on his pipe, giggled. "Oy, has a healthy respect for you the little one, eh? Reminds me of yer Shannon." O'Reilly gave him the evil eye, pulled the cap lower on his forehead and marched on, hands in his pockets and grumbling under his breath. He payed even less attention to the little tigercat than before.
"MMRROUW!!!"
"Och, will ye shut yer gob!" groused O'Reilly.
Arriving at Finnegan's, who puttered around in the garden as usual, O'Reilly dropped down on the bench, pulled out a dingy hankie and wiped his brow.
"Mmrrouw?" inquired the little cat politely of Finnegan, who stiffly leaned down to pet her little head.
"I thank ye, I'm fine, Mavourneen." he said and O'Reilly snorted. "Talking to a moggie, that'll be the day!!" He rummaged under the bench for Finnegans bottle of beer. The little cat watched him. He was just about to take a drink, when she jumped up on his lap, purring loudly.
"St. Columban's Castagnettes!" cursed O'Reilly. "Stop yer shenanigans!" Finnegan laughed. "I think she likes you, you auld curmudgeon."
"Ah well......." said O'Reilly.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
O'Reilly in the Sauna
After posting the first mini-story with O'Reilly, I recieved a message, saying that "Old men don't want to read about other old men. What about finnish girls in a sauna?" This is what happened:
O'Reilly pedaled his rickety bicycle with the bald tires as fast as his old-man legs allowed, down the bumpy field cart road. As he got close enough to see if Finnegan sat on the wooden bench outside his frontdoor (and that was very close already!!) he began to wave and holler. "Oy, Finnegan! Well, guess what!" But Finnegan had his hearing-aid turned off and couldn't see him, either, because he'd had his eyes closed and lifted his face up to the mild spring sun. "OY!!" yelled O'Reilly once more als loud as he could, climbed laborious off of his bicycle and tore in his haste to get through Finnegans Gardengate, a neat triangle in the seat of his pants on a nail sticking out of said gate. Finnegan nearly jumped out of his skin. "Saints on crutches, O'Reilly, don't yell as if the Lord-have-Mercy got you by the throat!" O'Reilly huffed, wiped with a soiled hankie sweat from his bald crown and appropriated Finnegan's bottle of beer. He pulled a crumpled envelope out of his pocket and waved it in front of his best friends face. "Well," said O'Reilly, "I entered in the contest in the AN PHOBLACHT, didn't I?" "Yeah," grunted Finnegan and closed his eyes again. "Well," said O'Reilly, "and this time I won." "Well, I'll be jiggered!" said Finnegan approvingly and pulled his old cap further down. "And what have you won?" "Well," said O'Reilly, "Wellness-weekend and a treatment in a Sauna, then...."Finnegan grinned. "Have ya ever been in a Sauna, Danny?" "Well," said O'Reilly, "ehr, nope." This time Finnegan chuckled, but wouldn't say anything.
Two Weeks later it it was time, O'Reilly pedaled to the trainstation with his little paste-board-suitcase, boarded the train and cleared off to Dublin, headed to his Wellness-weekend, even if he had no idea what that was.
A squeaky-clean, wellnessed and very quiet O'Reilly got off the train on monday, climbed on his bicycle and pedaled the field cart lane to Finnegans cottage. Finnegan was in his Garden and tied the Tomatoes back. When he saw O'Reilly, he took the pipe out of his mouth. "And?" was all he said. O'Reilly looked like the cat that got the canary. "Well," said O'Reilly, "was really nice, wasn't it? Especially the Sauna...." They watched a little sparrow picking in a flowerbed. "Coleens, too?" asked Finnegan then. "Well," said O'Reilly, "yes. From Finland...." He took another swig from Finnegans beer.
O'Reilly pedaled his rickety bicycle with the bald tires as fast as his old-man legs allowed, down the bumpy field cart road. As he got close enough to see if Finnegan sat on the wooden bench outside his frontdoor (and that was very close already!!) he began to wave and holler. "Oy, Finnegan! Well, guess what!" But Finnegan had his hearing-aid turned off and couldn't see him, either, because he'd had his eyes closed and lifted his face up to the mild spring sun. "OY!!" yelled O'Reilly once more als loud as he could, climbed laborious off of his bicycle and tore in his haste to get through Finnegans Gardengate, a neat triangle in the seat of his pants on a nail sticking out of said gate. Finnegan nearly jumped out of his skin. "Saints on crutches, O'Reilly, don't yell as if the Lord-have-Mercy got you by the throat!" O'Reilly huffed, wiped with a soiled hankie sweat from his bald crown and appropriated Finnegan's bottle of beer. He pulled a crumpled envelope out of his pocket and waved it in front of his best friends face. "Well," said O'Reilly, "I entered in the contest in the AN PHOBLACHT, didn't I?" "Yeah," grunted Finnegan and closed his eyes again. "Well," said O'Reilly, "and this time I won." "Well, I'll be jiggered!" said Finnegan approvingly and pulled his old cap further down. "And what have you won?" "Well," said O'Reilly, "Wellness-weekend and a treatment in a Sauna, then...."Finnegan grinned. "Have ya ever been in a Sauna, Danny?" "Well," said O'Reilly, "ehr, nope." This time Finnegan chuckled, but wouldn't say anything.
Two Weeks later it it was time, O'Reilly pedaled to the trainstation with his little paste-board-suitcase, boarded the train and cleared off to Dublin, headed to his Wellness-weekend, even if he had no idea what that was.
A squeaky-clean, wellnessed and very quiet O'Reilly got off the train on monday, climbed on his bicycle and pedaled the field cart lane to Finnegans cottage. Finnegan was in his Garden and tied the Tomatoes back. When he saw O'Reilly, he took the pipe out of his mouth. "And?" was all he said. O'Reilly looked like the cat that got the canary. "Well," said O'Reilly, "was really nice, wasn't it? Especially the Sauna...." They watched a little sparrow picking in a flowerbed. "Coleens, too?" asked Finnegan then. "Well," said O'Reilly, "yes. From Finland...." He took another swig from Finnegans beer.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Ah well, said O'Reilly
That phrase "Ah well," said O'Reilly, popped into my head months ago and would not leave me alone, till I finally did something about it. Unbetaed, of course and translated by me into english. I posted the german original at happy-size-community.de
They were all sittin in Finnegan's kitchen, the wet boots by the door and the feet in their thick woolen, socks stuck out towards the peat fire. The more or less aromatic odors combined to an interesting medley, unique to the many tiny cottages all over Ireland, in which old, widowed men lived: Peat fire, wet wool, old-men-smells, stinky feet, homemade alcohol (Poteen cures everything, acushla!), boiled green cabbage, bread fried in rancid bacon-grease, homefries and farts. As I said, not very appetizing but interesting. The widow Conolly came three times a week, pretending to battle Finnegan's chaos. But to be honest, when she tied her kerchief over her steel-gray curls, grabbed her umbrella and swung up onto her rickety bicycle, it always looked worse than before.
Finnegan dug in his ear and dedicated himself to his guests again. "Ah well," said O'Reilly just then, "that's how it is: There's no way around that the Pope is a Cat'lick." Campbell grunted and Shaunessy giggled. They sat a long time, staring into the peat fire, lost in thought, ocassionally sipping from glasses and teacups of poteen.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly again, "remember how we always complained about our wives, when they demanded we shave and got in the tub, whether it was necessary or not. Dragged us to church and always nagged us not to speak with our mouth full?" The four other nodded. "Ah well," said O'Reilly, "Was good then, wasn't it?" All nodded, exept Conolly, who still lived with his mother and sister-in-law under one roof. He coughed. "What are you getting at, Danny?" he asked then. "Ah well, "said O'Reilley, "I forgot it, now....."
The men sighed, drank their poteen, stared into the fire, dwelling on their thoughts, while a gentle, irish summershower fell quietly down onto the roof of a tiny cottage full of old, widowed men.
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