Category Archives: writing

WELCOME LIZ

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lizEvery other year on my annual tour of Scotland I divert for a couple of days to Ireland. Specifically we drive up the beautiful Northeast coastal route to the Giant’s Causeway and thence to Ballyeamon Barn.

The barn is located in one of the stunning Antrim Glens that radiate back from the coast, and is attached to the home of Liz Weir. Liz is a highly regarded, internationally famous professional storyteller. She purchased a run-down farm house and steadings with help from the European Union some 20 years ago, and has worked hard to turn it into a comfortable hostel-cum-performance space where she provides hospitality to walkers, tourists, and storytelling and traditional music enthusiasts, among others.

We first got to know her when my wife introduced me to the world of storytelling; Liz had booked her for one of the festivals she ran, and they got on like a house afire. Liz subsequently attended our wedding in Auchtermuchty, Scotland and we’ve been working with each other off and on ever since, from Belfast to Dublin and across to the States, including my Scottish tour going to Liz’s storytelling barn on even years.

Which brings me neatly to why I have the greatest regard for Liz.

She is a brave woman! She involved herself in the Irish peace process when bombs and shootings were the order of the day, when it would have been easy to say (as the recently ennobled Australian Director of the Edinburgh International Arts Festival did) “we need to keep politics out of the arts.”

Liz worked both sides of the conflict with her particular branch of the arts to bring them together, using music and stories to raise awareness of a common humanity and shared values. In the process, of course, the vested interests on each side had her on both their hit-lists. Liz’s agenda wasn’t non-political – not by a long chalk. Her political message? This has gone on too long and there are bad folks on both sides who are taking everyone for a ride. Enough is enough!

So Liz is one of my real living heroes and we could do with a lot more like her.

If you would like to meet her and spend time with her I can offer you two opportunities – she will be appearing at a house-concert here at the bookstore this coming Monday (Sep. 9th) at 7 pm ($8/$5unwaged). Or can join my 2015 tour at the end of June and experience the the hospitality of Ballyeamon Barn.

Slainte Mhath Liz Weir and lang may yir lum reek!

A Cat Walks into a Bar Exam….

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Shortly after 9 a.m. this morning, our staff cat Owen Meany crossed the wee lane between us and the gym and lawyer’s office. He climbed the attorney’s steps, and although my view was obstructed at that point, I’m pretty sure he knocked and was admitted.

So I would just like to say to Greg Kallen, the lead attorney (who shops at our bookstore) that unless Owen was there to start his career as a paralegal, whatever he told you should be taken with a grain of catnip.

We  don’t want to violate attorney-client privilege, but we can imagine the stories. Please know that we feed him well. He gets treats. He has his own bed. We understand that the demands of being a bookstore cat can be hefty – the fur maintenance for maximum customer effect, the constant purring as a store representative – so we try to provide regular massages and ear rubs. We know it’s a taxing life.

Sure, sometimes breakfast is late. Sometimes we run out of wet cat food. I did once forget that he prefers chicken cat treats to the tuna flavor. I have apologized for these lapses and will correct my behavior–except for that late breakfast thing. Please, Greg, see if you can explain the concept of “weekends” to him?

The reason he doesn’t get goat milk like the rest of the cats is not cruelty on our part, but allergies on his. Is this my fault? Believe me, I’ve tried all the substitutes but he doesn’t like them.

And please remind Mr. Meany that he, who now weighs 9.8 pounds and is the size of two bread boxes despite the fact that he told you we never feed him, was once a wee sick foster kitten, too. Yes, kittens bop about the place in never-ending packs, but they have nowhere else to live unless we find them homes. It’s not like he’s suffering. He has a special heavy cat flap and can go where the kittens can’t, anytime their whapping his nose, chewing his ears, and running toward him with mewls of “Unca Owen, Unca Owen, let’s play horsey!” get too much.

In closing, I hope that we will have the opportunity to settle any issues Owen has cited out of court. We feel sure that Owen will listen to reason, or at least to the sound of a can opener. Thanks, Greg.