Great excitement in our house today because it is Pancake Tuesday. Schedules have been co-ordinated and a time set for the making and consumption of pancakes. There will be lemon, sugar, maple syrup and chocolate spread, something to suit all tastes. We will be making a party out of an ordinary day. 
This is one of the 'rules' of  Living with Gifts
Celebrate it or lose it!
Today could pass by in a blur of 'just another day'. Instead we will celebrate our good health,  the fact that we are together, the sun is shining and after all IT IS Pancake Tuesday!
What will you celebrate today??
I have a little gift for you today, the opportunity to join 
  Living with Gifts  e-Conversation for $9
Valid until midnight.

The actor John Hurt participated in the British genealogy programme Who Do You Think You Are? He was shocked to discover that no link can be found at this time between his family and that of the Marquis of Sligo.

MB; My heart went out to you yesterday when I saw you on Who Do You Think You Are? How are you feeling now?
JH; My heart is broken.
MB; Tell me some more about that?
JH; My Irish identity has always meant so much to me. I felt such an amazing sense of homecoming when first I arrived here. I felt sure I could feel the call of my ancestors, blood calling to blood...I felt connected to something so much more than me.
MB; And now?
JH; I feel rootless...that it was all a fantasy conjured up by a man who wanted to make himself far more important than he really was...
MB; Walter Lord Brown?
JH; Yes...
MB; Tell me more about how you used to feel about being Irish?
JH;  I identified with the sadness I see in Irish people, their courage, the dark humour in times of trouble, the sense of triumphing over obstacles, the poetry, the music. I absolutely love the place, the countryside, the surprise little gems that one can find just around the corner. Ireland was my home, my son was born in Portlaoise. I feel that all of this that I love and cherish has been taken from me. I feel cheated.
MB; Cheated of your birthright?
JH; Exactly!
MB; And how are you feeling now?
JH; Angry, really angry!
MB; Say some more about this anger?
JH; I am excluded now...excluded from the only club I ever wanted to belong to...
MB; Who or what is excluding you?
JH; The actions of Walter Lord Brown of course! (impatiently)
Silence, dare I risk saying what I am thinking?
MB; Walter Lord Brown is dead.
JH; Precisely!
More silence.
JH; Are you trying to tell me that the actions of a dead man need have no influence over me today?
Silence as I see that he is pursuing this line of thought.
MB; "the actions of a dead man need have no influence" over you today?
JH; That is quite possible.  
MB; Would you allow a living person to have such an influence over you? Or steal from you what you believe is rightfully yours?
JH; Absolutely not!
MB; I didn't think so somehow.

If you enjoyed this imaginary conversation, maybe you would like to mailto:martinetheirishgenealogycoach@gmail.com to set up a real conversation about you and your Irish Identity.
Martine
 

  

I can remember so many Valentine's days when I felt so alone. It seemed like everyone had found that elusive relationship except me. At that time I measured myself loved if I was in a relationship and unloved if I wasn't. I maintained that hurtful, unhelpful belief for many years. Then my life went into a tailspin, and I found myself surrounded by friends, loved by friends, supported by friends. I began to understand that love comes in many different forms and in many different ways. It doesn't always come wrapped up in a "relationship."  I opened my eyes and saw all the love in my life that I had discounted and turned away from. I began to see that being in a relationship is only one aspect of being loved. 
Now I won't lie to you and tell you that I stopped wanting to be in a relationship but I did stop telling myself I was unloved because I wasn't.  So please, if you feel alone today open your eyes wide and see the love that is in your life. Then open your heart wide and receive that love, every last drop of it. And if you have even a little left over.. go out and give some of that love today.

If you are carrying around unhelpful beliefs that cause you pain and suffering, mailto:martinetheirishgenealogycoach@gmail.com to arrange a time to chat about Laser Love My Self , 3 hours of one to one time at a special rate.  

Even as a very small child, I always wanted a brother. He would have been wise and strong and would have stood up to the bullies on the playground for me. When I was in my twenties I discovered that I do indeed have a brother. It was the first I had ever heard of my invisible brother Michael. 

In 1967 my mother gave birth to my brother Michael. He died at birth.  I don't know if I have words to describe how I felt but I will try. Finding Michael made sense to me of the 'something missing' feeling I had grown up with. Finding Michael also made sense of my gut feeling that there was something going on in my family that I didn't know about. The details of Michael's birth and death made sense of my mother's wild grief, and the frailty mixed with anger that I sensed in her and didn't understand.

As was the custom, my grandfather and my father took Michael from my mother and buried him against the walls of the ruined church in the old graveyard in Churchill. Michael had died before baptism so he was excluded from a Catholic burial in the family grave. My mother was not told where Michael was buried. Custom forbade her from speaking of him. It was as though the waters closed, leaving no trace of my brother. My mother gave birth to three more children, only one of whom survived birth. Out of six of us siblings, only three survived birth.

How did my mother not go completely mad? How did she cope with six fear filled pregnancies? How did she deal with all the months of pregnancy and then three times to have empty arms? How did she feel living with my father who never spoke of our dead siblings for nearly thirty years, except once, in anger? How did she live in a community in which speaking of her beloved babies was forbidden? How did she continue to attend a church that would not acknowledge her babies and excluded them, and her, from it's consolation? Sadly I do not know the answer to any of these questions.

A few months before my grandfather died, he told my mother where Michael is buried. Thirty years after Michael's birth and death, my mother was finally able to mark Michael's life and approximate burial place with a small marble plaque. With this simple act, she found a measure of peace. 

Sadly, my other two siblings who were born still, were never given names and we do not know where they are buried.

The secrecy around my siblings births, deaths and furtive burials caused untold harm to my parents and our family life. Anguish was always just below the surface. Like a simmering soup, bitterness festered in the background. I grew up feeling their pain but not understanding it. 

Today, I remember my brother Michael. I feel close to him and think of him almost every day.  His name is written in our family tree. Every future generation of our family will know his name and remember him. Michael is still my brother even though he died. Michael is still my mother's son even though she never held him. No church can ever take that away from us.Michael will never be invisible again.

You are welcome to remember your siblings or babies in the comments section below 

Jackie was a boy who went to the National School (Kindergarten) with me. I was three and a half years old when I went to school. All the children on the terrace walked to Chapeltown National School together, rain, hail or shine. We walked down the long road by the seashore on the Fenit to Churchill road. Only the teacher travelled to school by car. There was no school bus. 
Jackie was different from all the other children. He was taller and stronger and he had been to school with my mother. As children, we were taught to respect Jackie. We learned that there were some things that Jackie found hard to do. Other things he could do that we couldn't. He watched over us on the road to school and helped us to be safe. Before the phrase 'differing abilities' was ever coined, we learned what it meant in practise. No-one in our school ever made fun of Jackie, even when we had difficulty understanding his speech. Jackie was different and we were taught to respect him.
Many years later at my mother's funeral, Jackie came up to me and shook my hand. He reminded me that he had gone to school with my mother and told me she was a "lovely girl'. Over the years Jackie was an integral part of the community. He called to visit elderly people living alone and ran errands for them. He felt useful and valued. He knew he was different. But he also knew that he belonged. 
This is one of the gifts of my Irish heritage, my identity. I am proud of being part of a community that made room for Jackie.     
P.S.
Jackie's way of seeing the world is called Down's Syndrome.

Tell us of the gift of your heritage below or join in the conversation  

Today brings me a dilemma known to all women of a certain age. Will I continue to dye my hair or will I go grey? You see I am fifty this year. There I have said it. I. Am. Fifty. This. Year. And I want to know how this happened. Truly. I feel as though I went to bed aged thirty seven and woke up aged fifty. Almost. Thirty seven was a great age for me. I was in the process of renovating my house, and my life after a disastrous marriage. I was fit from all the physical work I needed to do on my house. I was enjoying all the learning about plumbing and floorboards, tiling and etc. I was beginning to discover my true self having given up so much of me in vain attempts to keep a wrong marriage going. Every day felt like an adventure. I had the curiosity of a child and the power of a mature adult. Myself and the bank had bought my little house against all the odds and 'I told you so's.' I WAS ON A ROLL!
Now I am almost fifty. A new marriage, a new house and two new daughters later! I love my life. I have made my peace with the past. I continue to learn and grow. I know now I will carry on doing that until the day comes when I am pushing up daisies. 
But here is that knotty question again. Do I accept my years gracefully by going grey? Or do I stay young by dyeing my hair again? Will I be giving up by giving into the grey? Or, will I be saying, this is me, like it or lump it? 
For my mother and grandmother, fifty was old. They were both grandmothers at my age. My granny went grey, my mother went blond. My granny saw her middle years as a rest and a reward after the hard times. My mother fought her age and regretted the lost years. I think my choice will be different from both of them. For now, I think I'll just take that childlike curiosity and that adult power and see where the road leads... it hasn't let me down yet.
I would love to hear what choice you made, comment below or explore your beliefs and choices more by joining the conversation Your Irish Identity, Gifts and Shadows