Listowel Writers Week 2012

Ten years ago this week I attended this event for the first time, just as John B.Keane, one of the founders of Listowel Writers Week,was breathing his last. He passed away that evening and my introduction to Writers Week was like taking part in an extended wake, as scenes from his plays were performed by drama groups in pubs all over town.Next day President McAleese came to his funeral and all Festival activity stopped for two hours as a mark of respect.

Ten years on, John B. is still very much present at Writers Week. There are portraits or photographs of him in almost every shop window, and people often touch the sleeve of his statue in Church Street for luck as they pass by.The spirit of friendly welcome that he kindled in 1970 shows itself in the kindness of people in Listowel itself, where cars stop to let wandering strangers cross the road, where landladies leave a starter  pack of food that would do you for a week, a vase of flowers on the kitchen table and a big bag of ice in the freezer. The spirit of the Festival now is hard to pin down, an eclectic mix of readers and the writers they have come to hear, a microcosm of world and national literature. For me though it's the kindness of a community that believes in itself and that takes a pride in what it's doing that makes it .

A walk around Listowel confirms that the town is struggling to keep going- empty small shops,and an unfinished shopping mall with only a Gala store and the Revenue as tenants. Yet there is no sense of inflated prices or businesses on the make; sponsorship and support from the local business community and the families of the founding fathers is evident not only in the literary prizes but also in the elegant floral arrangements which grace every venue, and in the voluntary work which has gone on all year to make sure that visitors get their tickets and are safely seated at events. John B. Keane and his friends started something here in Listowel which has developed into a national event and which has managed to retain its distinctive characteristic of welcome and kindness to strangers.

What kind of old?

So much for the publicity given to 'Say No to Ageism' week,which has apparently been running for the last nine years.This is the first time, thanks to Facebook, that I have ever come across this event . If it is really the case that the age of the population is increasing then the political clout of this demographic group will also increase and perhaps life choices and the resources to make them will become more available to older people who for the most part become and remain invisible, it seems. The Bealtaine festival is a case in point - the images of older people swinging axes to wreck images of words like 'inequality' on the Bealtaine web site seemed pointless to me. 'What kind of old do you want to be?' was the question as title of a recent conference in Dublin. Resourced, respected, liked , appreciated, active in public life and in my own community, independent, whole in mind and body- wearing purple or anything else I want to - as little different from my current life as possible,thanks! 

Musings

So how are you today, on what seems to be Freefall Friday on the stock markets worldwide? As I completed my solitary walk on the new walkways in Killaloe this morning there was no sign of the five ducklings I have grown fond of this week,nor of the heron, elegant in his indifference as he stands on the edge of the boardwalk, always poised for take off.

Shall we dance ?

Driving in this morning I heard 'Shall we dance ?' on the radio every word crisp and audible. And I remembered that it was from the musical 'The King and I '. I would have heard that tune on the radio when I was a child and remember seeing the musical starring Deborah Kerr and Yul Brynner. It's the realisation of how experiences like that tuck themselves away only to be called up at a moment's notice after years, stay with us. This is how we learn what we learn ,embedded into our sub conscious or unconscious - fascinating.

Talent Bank

When I am old I shall wear purple, and in fact any other colour or style I damn well please. I am increasingly aware of an unspoken but evident ageist agenda out there- what is the reality of a person over 50 for example who has been made redundant or 'let go' ever finding a job again ? What price the invisible woman who holds a family together and gathers her wisdom around her like a shimmering cloak which can be opened to shelter and support but who rarely recieves any acknowledgement?

Where are the women of any age on boards and bodies which make decisions afecting all our lives in this country? What about the 40% of women who should be on the boards of public bodies? Yep it seems to me that what we need is a talent bank of women who are prepared to participate in public life...I wonder how we might go about getting it ...

In search of a blue sky

Summer this year happened in May, for the second year running. I am not usually affected by the weather but I am curious about why we have had a great wodge of grey tending to black clouds hanging around for days even when it doesn't rain. True there is talk of a heatwave this month but for my part I'd be happy just to see pure blue sky one morning getting up.

Spent yesterday in the company of a Buddhist monk who was an unworldly person exuding terrific charisma from the folds of his saffron robe. I was offered the chance to rest after lunch and despite the deep smell of damp in the room I lay down pulled an old blanket over me and fell asleep for half an hour to be woken by a bell. After a day of silent meditation, I felt much more mentally alert in the evening at home.

So the major excitement of the day has been the arrival of a package from Amazon which contains among other goodies the next book club choice a Skandi thriller. Compare this with my poor old chums in Belfast who have to wade their way through Gore Vidal's Lincoln for their next get together...

Looking forward to getting into the garden later - peas and broad beans podding regularly, cream begonias have bloomed into bridal loveliness. Just needs some hoeing and weeding. And watering. And it would look really good under a blue sky so that we could feature the stripey deck chairs imported from Wicklow.

Then and now.

In this past week an old obituary of my grandfather was republished in the Irish News a Belfast daily paper. He died in 1942 eleven years before I appeared on the planet so I could never have known him. When he died my dad was 22 just finishing his medical studies. The following day in the same paper an account of his funeral was published and it was notable how the female family members didn't rate a mention among the mourners.

I sent the piece to my nephews and nieces in Canada- so far no reaction at all.