Bits and Pieces: Tir na nOg - a curious name

Recently, Kim Douglas Harrison, my younger, taller, and very artistic brother, held an art show in his own wee gallery on Dundas St. East, London.

Thirty or more paintings - many of Irish themes - covered the walls, art cards and food and drink filled the tables.

A piece caught my eye. I reached for my wallet.

“Could you add something to this painting before I pay for it?” I said to Kim.

He rolled his eyes. “What?”

“A man rowing a boat that’s filled to the gunnels with Jamesons and Guinness.”

He rolled his eyes again. “No.”

I didn’t even get the usual 2 per cent family discount. Ever so slowly and reluctantly, I paid in full.

‘Tir na nOg’ the painting is called. It’s a curious name.

In Raleigh, North Carolina, Tir na nOg is the name of a local pub at 218 South Blount Street.


“Named after the mythical Irish land of eternal youth, this cavernous pub is one of downtown's most popular hangouts for Raleigh-ites both young and old,” says an online site. No pub appears in my painting. No Jamesons. No Guinness.

There’s also a Tir na nOg Cottage in Bunbeg, Donegal, Ireland. No cottage appears in my painting.


At another website I found the following description:

“Tir na nOg is the land of eternal youth.  This mythical and magical island was once believed to be far off the west coast of Ireland… beyond the edges of the maps… and could only be accessed by an invitation by one of its magical inhabitants. 


It was a land of happiness, pleasure, youth, and beauty where sickness, death, want, and need did not exist.  It is said that only on the rarest of occasions this magical land can be seen on the horizon.  Wrapped in mist and mystery Tir na nOg only stays visible for mere moments before disappearing again for hundreds of years.”

Now, that tells me something that relates to the mystery and mood my brother’s painting evokes, at least in me.


Priceless.

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Please click here for more Bits and Pieces.

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Bits and Pieces: PT 2 - The NHL has a ‘small’ problem

Headline: (NHL) Rulebook re-emphasized

Boca Raton, FLA. - “... There was no appetite among NHL general managers for a sweeping ban on contact to players’ heads... they do, however, plan to put more teeth into charging and boarding penalties in an effort to cut down on injuries."

Ottawa Sens GM Bryan Murray said, “We want to apply the rules that are in the book more adamantly... the rule in the book is fine. We’ve just been more reluctant maybe to call it to the letter of the law the way we want to re-emphasize.” (Mar. 16, The London Free Press)

And in my humble opinion (how could it be otherwise), the number of concussions related to legal hits, fights, and illegal hits will gradually continue to rise, even after the glass and boards around rinks are covered in something very forgiving (bales of hay?), repeat offenders are forced to play in old rubber boots and the current NHL rule book re-emphasized.

Why? Too many rats in the box. Too many big players on the ice. And they’re getting bigger all the time.

In an earlier post I mentioned that the average size of a power forward in the 1860s (during hockey’s very early stages) was 3 ft. 9 in. tall, 94 pounds. In 1970 - 71, Normie “Big Guy” Ullman, a centerman for the Toronto Maple Leafs, stood 5 ft. 10 in. and weighed 185 pounds.


Many of today’s players are bigger than Eric Lindros (listed at 6 ft. 5 in. tall and 228 pounds in the early 1990s), are twice as fast and eat handfuls of raw meat between shifts. Inside an infantry division’s protective gear, a power forward at a typical NHL game would remind fans of a tank on the loose.

Coincidentally, the increase in size of goaltenders and their equipment is almost no different.

I read somewhere that Tubby Mullard, all 4 ft. 5 in. and 98 pounds of him, the 1890 winner of the first Venison Trophy (a frozen hind-quarter, and the precursor of today’s Vezina Trophy), wore nothing more in net than his father’s plaid shirt, his older sister’s ball glove and Eaton’s Christmas catalogues strapped around each shin.


["Tubby's teammates prepare for battle beside a 4-ft. high stove"]

By the mid-1960s, goaltenders were a bit bigger.


Lorne “Gump” Worsley (1929 - 2007), a goalie of some renown (he shared the Vezina Trophy with Charlie Hodge in 1966, with Rogatien Vachon in 1968, and played in the NHL All-Star Game in 1965 and 1968), stood 5 ft. 7 in. tall (amazingly!), weighed 180 pounds soaking wet, and wore padded leather protective gear on all but two parts of his body, one being his head - the size of a ripe honeydew.

Today, the average goalkeeper is over 7 feet tall and weighs 800 pounds when fully dressed in protective gear.

This trend toward taller, heavier, faster, more-heavily protected players will likely continue for the rest of this century and culminate in more concussions per season than can be counted as players bounce off boards and one another with willful abandon. All H-E-Double hockey sticks will break loose after the introduction of jet-packs in 2030.

So, what can be done concerning all this inevitable damage to the brainpans of NHL players?

I’m glad you asked. Stay tuned.

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Please click here to read Bits and Pieces: PT 1 - The NHL has a ‘small’ problem

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In My Workshop: I may have to get out my oil paints

My oil paints sit in a small cardboard box under my basement work bench - collecting dust.

They’ve been there for a long time, ever since my brother the artist said he needed space for one more in an art class, so could I switch to the next year. (I guess he was thinking 2018).

However, I may dust them off.

One of my older sisters sent me photos yesterday of her latest abstract oils, and a red light went off in my head.


After changing the battery in the smoke alarm I thought, I could use that technique to depict some of the sunsets I admired while visiting Lake Superior a few years ago.


Can you see it? Can you dig it?

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And if I get to Halifax and back in one piece in June, I’ll retrace my miles along the North Shore of Superior because those sunsets and highway views are still in my mind.


What happens if you click on Lake Superior below?

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Letter to the Editor: About that weekly trash pickup

The city of London will one day have the perfect trash pickup system.

No kidding. It will happen.

[Citizens will be asked to put out just the right number of bags, in standard sized containers, with recyclables, compost materials, yard waste and old refrigerators filled with paint tins lined up neatly in a row - all wrapped in recycled Christmas paper.]

However, after one round of the perfect system someone will find fault and start to moan.

That someone might be Tyler S., who recently said the following in a letter to The London Free Press (Friday, Aug. 14 issue):

“While I applaud city council for the summer overnight parking project, I can’t help but winder how many would favour weekly garbage pickup.

Nothing says “good morning” like the smell of a warm dumpster and maggots as I walk through my garage to leave for work.

I would like city council to make another rational decision and include weekly garbage pickup for the residents of London.”

Now, before we all jump on the weekly pickup bandwagon, is there anyone with an even more sensible idea?


[Reduce spending, reduce production, reduce garbage]

“Oh! Pick me! Pick me! Oh! Pick me!”

Yes, you there. The man sitting at his computer.

“I say, charge two bucks a bag, pick up every ten days, and drop off a flyer to Tyler about how to do a better job with his dumpster.”

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Anyone got a better idea?

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Link and Learn: Wood-stove buns, alfalfa sprouts, do-it-yourself

Maybe there’s no such thing as a free lunch but link up with Theresa at Pondering the Myriad Things and you’ll see one that’s pretty darn close.

Isn’t it amazing how many talents are found in human beans? We’re such a creative bunch, aren’t we?

I bet in even a small community you would soon find people who know how to bake (really well, like Theresa - among other things), sew, sing songs, play instruments, turn scrap lumber into 101 useful items, teach useful skills, produce a healthy garden, nurture strong families, paint pictures or -if absolutely necessary - stippled ceilings.

The list would on and on.

Scroll down Theresa’s posts, read about alfalfa sprouts and soon you’ll be producing and eating your own salads.

Though circumstances can challenge villages, towns and cities, confident and creative people will keep them vibrant.

Cheers. GAH

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