Still looking for a four-leaf clover

I found a four-leaf clover once and I read somewhere the odds stand at 10,000/1. The funniest thing, at the time, I wasn't even looking for one.  It was the summer of 1997. I had just qualified as a leader for outdoor activities and I had helped create a non-profit dedicated to provide more access  for young people to such activities. It was our first weekend away in an idyllic location and we were taking a  break from teaching orientation techniques to the group.

I remember laying on the grass, face down, trying to cool down in a hot summer's day while we listened to all kind of silly jokes from our CEO, a showman and a great entertainer at all times. 'Not a care in the world' is how one could best describe the general mood of that assembly.
Then, out of the blue, our CEO claimed he would give 5,000 pesetas (around $37 today but not too bad a sum back then) to whoever found a four-leaf clover.

I didn't have to move, not even an inch: from my face down position I could clearly see the most perfect four-leaf clover, standing less that a foot away from the tip of my nose. I told so to my sister, who was sitting next to me but she would not believe me so I stretched my arm and grabbed it. I stood up and moved slowly towards our CEO, asking him to repeat what he had just said. He was more than happy to. He even said it louder, this time. I simply smiled and produced my treasure. He went pale. Pleople cheered.

He never gave me any money, of course, but... who needs 5,000 pts when you own a four-leaf clover??!!

That same day, on our way back to the hostel, the whole group walking in front of me went over, stepped onto and totally missed a 5,000 pts note on the path leading to our accomodation quarters. In total disbelief, I picked it up and, as no one ever claimed it, I got to keep.

For nearly two years I kept the clover in my wallet. Showed it to people upon request and I, jokingly, made it responsible for whatever bit of good luck that came my way. Then, one day in early spring as I searched for a book in the library at Bath College, my wallet was taken from the front pocket of my backpack.

There was next to nothing in there: twenty-three pence, if memory serves, was all the cash. No bank cards. Not even any ID papers, that could have proven difficult to replace abroad, inside. Just twenty-three pence, the keys to my house and a four-leaf clover I would never get to see again.

It had been payday at work: $238 (a week's wages) had been sitting in a white envelope next to the wallet in the pocket of my backpack. They were still there when I returned to find my wallet gone.Still, I was distraught by the loss of my lucky charm.

My boss in Bath, when I was about to leave for Ireland, had a silver pendant specially made for me in the shape of a four-leaf clover because the jewellers in town didn't have any pendants with that design.I choose to believe he never used that design again and that my pendant is, therefore, unique. I still wear it most days and, certainly, whenever I feel a bit superstitious 

Today, as I walked along the Canal on my way home, I realized I continue to search for that elusive 1/10,000 real four-leaf clover (mine was a 'trifolium repens', it seems). I walk staring at the grass. I even slow down at times to take a closer look. I have been doing it ever since mine was stolen but I never really wondered why I keep doing it. Not until now. I don't think I have an answer, either. 

I mentioned Superstition before when I don't consider myself a superstitious person, yet I search for a green talisman in a sea of clovers. Would my luck change if I found a second one? I don't think so. Should a self-confessed atheist have any hope for a bit of magic in her life? Probably not but I suspect I will continue searching for a four-leaf clover till the day I die.

The Dublin Writers Festival 2010

If you know me already, chances are we met after I volunteered at some event you are connected to somehow. That is pretty much what I do these days (tomorrow marking 15 months of unemployment) and, I'm happy to report, the experience is always unique and very rewarding. I could not recommend it enough.

The latest in my agenda was the Dublin Writers Festival that took place last week.

The best thing about being on Twitter is how people can echo your cry for help in real time so, if you have any last minute hiccups, it is very possible that someone out there can solve your problem straight away.

The Festival counts on a base of volunteers, mainly the same people every year but, sometimes, prior engagements lead to vacancies and opportunities for newcomers. And that is how I got involved with this Festival: @darraghdoyle tweeted the need for volunteers and I jumped right in.
The program was packed with writers, poets and singer-songwriters and I got to work four out of the six days it lasted (although you cannot really call it work since it is more like a treat... you get to meet wonderful people and have lots of fun along the way)
The highlights for me: meeting Ian McEwan and Steward Brand... and attending Neil Hannon's (*sigh)  intimate interview with John Kelly (...and we got the coolest t-shirt!!! ;))
Definitely, signing up for next year... if they'll have me!!

''This Time's A Charm''

How does a grown-up man afraid of needles become a four times (five times now, actually) cancer survivor? Well, Donald Wilhelm's book, 'This Time's A Charm', answers that and many other questions which may arise as one gets to know about his extraordinary battle against Hodgkin's Lymphoma.
After a 'persitant sinus infection' misdiagnosis becomes the grim reality of Cancer, Wilhelm applies his professional mental skills to set up the strategy that put him in charge of his own treatment key issues, the quest for the right oncologist being the first step. Armed with all the information available and tons of 'attitude', he navigates through recurrences and 'intermissions' for five years, learning but also teaching others along the way.
Physically, we witness a young body going through unbearable pain and suffering, yet resilient. Mentally and emotionally, there is lot of growing up happening within those pages and the newly acquired wisdom is selflessly  shared with the rest of us.
A compelling read, Donald's book is full of honesty, humor, useful information for the 'newbies' (both survivors and co-survivors) and, above all, bucketloads of PMA (Positive Mental Attitude) to face the challenges all cancer survivors and their loved ones encounter after diagnosis.

You can buy the book at Amazon

http://www.thistimesacharm.com/

Watch here an interview where Don talks about his book.(Added 10th Sep)

Day 21 of MOvember. Rain ...and a guy with a round, pink, fluffy bag hanging from his neck

Yeap. It's crazy weather out there so I thought it was about time to write another post.

I got a new FB message from LIVESTRONG UK this morning and, as I went to write a 'thank you' note on Nick's page, I realized I had not really mentioned him on my previous post about the LIVESTRONG Global Cancer Summit in Dublin.

The main reason why I didn't has to be that I didn't meet Nick O'Hara Smith at the Summit. Of course, I noticed him, though... Who wouldn't? This guy was carrying an enormous, round-shaped, pink bag across his shoulder... WTH for? (I wondered)

Then, I got to read the black lettering message at the front of it: The Testicular Cancer Tour 2009. (Got you!) OK... so that bag was a giant testicle... Hmmmm. Odd people come in all sorts and sizes, I thought, but I was definitely intrigued and amused to see this guy walking around amongst all those other delegates, including Middle-East princesses, wearing a more 'formal' attire, to say the least.

Luck had me staying at the conference long enough to get my explanation: Nick's story was chosen to be told on stage (and, eventually, it was the overall winner)

Nick lost his testicles to cancer but, as if that wasn't bad enough, he didn't get hormone replacement treatment for a few weeks after that. Testosterone Deficiency is a very serious condition that can lead to muscles weakness, osteoporosis and severe depression. In Nick's case, after a few medical blunders that shouldn't have happened, his depression and moods swings almost cost him his life, literally. Nick tried to commit suicide but, fortunately for all of us who met him since, he failed.

Ever since, Nick is committed to spread the word on Testosterone Deficiency, the importance of Hormone Replacement Treatment and raise awareness on all types of Cancer, with Testicular-Cancer-symbol giant, pink, fluffy bag as his 'in your face' banner.

So if, in your travels,  you come across and odd looking fellow carrying such a prop around his neck, don't call the Police... call your loved ones, instead, and ask them when was the last time they had a medical check-up... and don't forget to thank Nick for his awesome, selfless work.
To read Nick's awesome story told in his own words, click here or go to http://www.voicesofsurvivors.com/ where you can find his and many other's  amazing stories in different documentary formats.
...and don't forget to visit his Movember page https://www.movember.com/uk/donate/your-details/member_id/156117/ for donations. He's growing a great MO just to save your, or your loved ones, life

Day 14 of Movember... a cold day and a warm heart

I woke up this morning (or rather this afternoon, since I was up until 5am) to this wonderful article on Maya Angelou latest book. What an amazing way to start my day.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/nov/14/maya-angelou-interview

I've always been a great admirer of Dr. Angelou, although I must confessed I've only read her poetry, up until now (fact that should, and indeed will, be corrected some time soon). 

The day we got news on Twitter of her being very ill and close to death, I got very upset. Extraordinary people like her are a rare breed and their passing always means a great loss for Humanity. Fortunately, the rumors were not that close to the truth and Dr. Angelou intends to stay with us for a while longer.

This is  the complete poem by James Weldon Johnson, a verse of which she recites during the interview. Enjoy

The glory of the day was in her face,

The beauty of the night was in her eyes.
And over all her loveliness, the grace
Of Morning blushing in the early skies.

And in her voice, the calling of the dove;
Like music of a sweet, melodious part.
And in her smile, the breaking light of love;
And all the gentle virtues in her heart.

And now the glorious day, the beauteous night,
The birds that signal to their mates at dawn,
To my dull ears, to my tear-blinded sight
Are one with all the dead, since she is gone.

Day 13 of Movember ... and I've been drinking coffee!!!

I cannot drink coffee (well, it's caffeine what I cannot take, really, having to include tea and coke in the 'no go' zone) Coffee gives me palpitations and insomnia (severe, in both accounts, unfortunately)
It wasn't always like that, though: I used to have a couple of double expressos in the afternoon, almost every day. In Spain, pretty much every business closes at lunch time for three hours, so the afternoon coffee and a game of cards with friends are the best alternative to taking a nap in the sofa. Coffee in Spain is good (as good as Italian or French, may I add) and having to give it up was as hard as trying to get my eating habits straight, this time around.
By the time I moved to Ireland, I was caffeine free. However, my habit of going into Cafés for a wee chat (for several hours, sometimes) with friends or to read a book in a rainy day was very much still there... so I guess I can be an advocate for Cafés and Coffee Houses as much as any of you, coffee addicts,reading this.
And yes, I've been drinking coffee today. I felt I had to since I was attending a conference on Dublin's Café Culture. It was great: sociologists, librarians, journalists,Dublin City Council Plan developers, Café owners, baristas and coffee enthusiasts gathered for three hours to talk about three hundred years of coffee drinking in Dublin.
The Dublin Cafe Culture Project was born as a result of the closure of Bewleys Cafe and the campaign that resurrected it. Volunteer coffee enthusiast power the movement.
The main speaker was Professor Kieran Bonner, Professor of Sociology at St. Jerome's University, Ontario, Canada. He spoke about the Café as Third Place. I wasn't familiar with the term 'Third Place'(or indeed First or Second) It seems that our home and work space would be the other two, generally in that order ( as in 'where we spend most of our lives') with the Pub being, until now, the main Third Place.
Prof. Bonner told us about the first two being 'exclusive' environments preventing our interaction with strangers and the possibility of random meetings (to me, what makes Life interesting). He also said that Third Places, apart from being the facilitators of such exchanges, level all cultural backgrounds and social status, becoming a democratic space to discuss ideas.
(His speech was truly insightful and I should be able to get access to a copy in the next couple of weeks, so I might come back to the sociological aspect of cafés and pubs, then).
Next, Glynis Casson, acting for Hugh Oram, talked us through the story behind Bewleys Oriental Cafés. Born a few years after the Great Famine as a quaker, non-alcoholic, reaction to the traditional socializing in pubs, Bewleys Cafés became a focal point for the Arts, with many of the greatest Irish writers and poets being regular customers and even mentioning them in their works.
Today, only one of the three Bewleys Cafés remains, rescued by a campaign that mobilized Dublin citizens into saving the emblematic building, back in 2004, and the needed cash injection provided by Café Bar Deli, the new tenants since 2006.
Then, Máire Kennedy, Divisional Librarian at the Dublin City Library and Archive, talked us through the history of Coffee Houses in Dublin, which I found truly fascinating, also. Here's some of the info she shared with us today:
Apparently, the habit of coffee drinking first became popular in Europe early in the 17th century. In their heyday, the fashionable coffee houses of Europe served as well springs of gossip, political intrigue and faction. Serving coffee, tea and other refreshments, they provided newspapers and pamphlets to their clientele and also acted as meeting places for local clubs and societies.They were also a favorite spot for members of book trade, where deals were made and contracts negotiated.
Dublin's earliest coffee houses weren't open until the end of that century, remaining popular throughout the 18th century. The fashion also spread to county towns and in 1698, coffee houses were to be found in Cork, Limerick, Kilkenny, Clonmel, Wexford and Galway.
Coffee Houses would be located on the drawing room (first floor, airy and well lit rooms)of a house having a well established business on the ground floor, many times this being booksellers or newspaper printers. The clients of the Coffee House would then have free access to the newspapers. Many establishments prided themselves on the range of papers and information slips which they held, a custom which continued into the nineteenth century.
It was then that the decline of coffee houses as informal news exchanges started and it was not until the 1970's, over a century later, that the fashion for coffee drinking in specialised cafes and coffee shops was re-established.

You can read more about the history of Dublin Coffee Houses here:
http://www.askaboutireland.ie/reading-room/history-heritage/pages-in-history/dublin-coffee-houses/index.xml

The last speaker of the day was Dick Gleeson, City Planner for Dublin City Council, who gave us an overview of the current and future developments involving Cafés and Coffee Houses as an integral part of the city fabric.
The conference ended with a Q&A round where the concerns of small, independent café owners and other member of the public were raised (including the need for extended opening hours as someone visiting Dublin, not long ago, pointed out to me )

And so you know, my beloved coffee addicts, it was never about the coffee, really, but about the company people kept in those places. In fact, Dublin coffee only got any good when the Italian arrived with their expresso machines, just a few years ago ;-)

Day 11 of Movember, Remembrance Day

My second youngest brother is a soldier. He has been one for the past 13 years. It is hard for me to imagine what life as a soldier must be like, specially for a man who used to have a very sensitive soul as a child and a teenager. I know the reasons why he joined the Spanish Army to begin with: he was lucky enough to get sent to the High Mountain Infantry squadron in the north of the country for his, back then still compulsory, one year Military Service.
He loved it there: the great outdoors and all the sports they got to practise (skiing, climbing, abseiling, scuba diving... ) enticed him to stay put. The fact that the only thing waiting for him back home was a job that kept him indoors from before sunrise until after sunset made the choice even simpler. All he had to do was sign up for 2 more years...
I don't know if, back then, he envisioned himself as ever been in the middle of difficult, conflict (or even war), zones but, as he moved to Pamplona Military HQs after that first year, he started having a taste of what living in constant danger means. ( I remember all too clearly when his own sub-liutenant was blown away by an ETA bomb, Pamplona being part of the terrorists domain, back in the first few years of his career).
I've been worried about his welfare ever since but I only started to worry about his soul (altough I'm not religious, I prefer that word to any others when refering to 'heart and mind' issues) when he started to do 'his job' as a 'peacekeeper' with the UN forces first in Kosovo, later in Afghanistan.
He spent, altogether, one and a half years in Kosovo (three separate missions) and, even if he experienced hardship and the death of some friends, he was always able to talk us through his experience and he shared photographs and stories of Love and Friendship bonds created with the population they were trying to protect and help back on their feet. ( My brother's name is Jesus and everyone at the Base joked about the fact that, just like THE Jesus, he was always surrounded by small children: telling them stories, teaching them Spanish, cleaning their runny noses... )
My dearest brother doesn't speak about Afghanistan. He spent ten months there ( two missions) and, if  he ever mentions anything, his comments come out resentful, fearful and even xenophobic at times. That person is not my brother; he cannot be. My brother is loving and caring and trustful... or is he? I fear to ask if he ever killed anyone... but isn't that in a soldier's job description?
War does bad things to good people... NEVER FORGET. NEVER AGAIN (and it keeps happening every day of the week...)