From the air, on the descent into Dublin Airport, the Irish landscape shows off a multitude of its numerically suspect yet popularly promoted 40 shades of green. The country’s roller-coaster ride over hte past two decades has produced, if not 40 competing emotions, at least a baker’s dozen of separate responses.
The islands, home to the Irish for centuries, are beautiful, abandoned and silent now — but still divulge stories through those who left and what was left behind.
Stepping away from the others for a few minutes, I walked through the graveyard eroding out into the sea. Shark had been abandoned for only about 50 years, but already the former residents’ lives, memories and histories were disappearing.
When you grow up as an Irish American, you often grow up homesick for a country you have never seen, because you feel that no matter how much your ancestors have sacrificed, the world you have was only formed because they lost their own.
At the Notre Dame of decades past, you arrived on campus with your suitcase teeming with dungarees or flannel shirts or leg warmers, anxiously anticipating the first sweaty handshake and nervous mumbles with the person you would share a 10×12 cell with for the academic year.
Goan says the new era of rapprochement in relations between Irish Catholics and Protestants and the governments in the South and the North has allowed for a fresh historical assessment of the Easter Rising and its aftermath.
A brief synopsis of books by members of the Notre Dame family.
University photographer Matt Cashore ’94 has traveled to Dublin taken thousands of photographs of the city and of Irish life that will soon be available in the Hesburgh Library for students’ use.
Two and a half years after Caitlin Myron showed up as a freshman in Professor Tara MacLeod’s introductory Irish language class to give the challenging tongue a “tryout,” she found herself standing inside the grand Dublin home of Michael D. Higgins with a set of books in her hand — a gift for Ireland’s new president — and a short message to deliver to him. In Irish.
First off, it’s not Gaelic. The name of the language is Irish.
John Bellairs ’59, the celebrated creator of spooky and suspenseful children’s literature, was once my witty and fun-loving guide through the magical vacationland that was Notre Dame.
Kelsey Falter and the hungry, obsessive, speeded-up, success-driven, all-out road to tech stardom. She’s enjoying the ride.
Seen and heard on the Notre Dame campus
Orlando, Florida, was a magical kingdom for Dennis Wolfe ’92. Not because of the nearby Disney World opening its gates just a year after his birth but because this was where music came into his life.
“This is literally the cultural baggage that the Irish family’s brought over with them,” explains Keough-Naughton director Christopher Fox.
When international pop star Shakira of “Hips Don’t Lie” fame needed a background track for a song on her album Oral Fixation 2, she turned to a classical choral ensemble called Seraphic Fire.
Deaths in the Notre Dame family.
Letters to the editor
I was a grownup — a forebear with descendants of my own — before I knew I wasn’t very Irish (if Irish at all).
Bagpipes? Yes. Traditional Irish ballad? Yes. Football anthem? Yes. Prayerful meditation? Yes. Rap? Yes.
Those musical styles are part of the Spirit of Notre Dame collection,
Creative work by Notre Dame people
While his peers were soaking up the California sunshine in the summer of 2009, Connor Toohill was glued to his computer. It wasn’t video games keeping the San Diego native indoors; Toohill was laying the foundations for his own student-run web publication, NextGenJournal.com.
A few years ago I gave notice on the L.A. apartment where I’d lived since 1992, disposed of or gave away most of my belongings, packed up my ’96 Celica convertible and took off for an open-ended sabbatical.
As campus revives from the lull of summer and pulses to the beat of student energy, I realize I am no longer en tempo with Notre Dame.
Last year my husband stood in our outdated kitchen, the one I was supposed to renovate six years ago when we bought the house, and tried once again to make toast. As he once again stormed down the stairs to the fuse box, muttering grown-up words, the children and I once again scurried around the house turning off all the lights. I realized in one of those “aha moments” that I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to face my fears. We needed a new kitchen.
Deaths of Notre Dame alumni
We have no gorgeous mountain views at Notre Dame, but when the Notre Dame Magazine staff meets at the Grace Hall café for coffee on a Thursday morn, we do get an occasional glimpse of unusual student activity.
On the trip home we sat in traffic, caught in gridlock, watching the signal change and going nowhere. As a man walked back and forth along the side of the road, my daughter asked, “Mommy, what does that man want?”
The Irish banded together on Chicago’s Southside. They fixed each other’s roofs, watched each other’s children and fed each other’s husbands. They married and had children who dropped the Irish brogue and grew up American, but with Irish culture woven tightly into their lives. Then they married other Irish and had children. Children of the children of the Irish immigrant population. Children who have an even more watered-down Irish-American upbringing, but still some sort of one. I am one of those children.
I stepped off the plane into the daylight, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and an ineffective sleeping pill. The line at immigration stretched down the airport, overflowing with people and excitement.