#tramore

[leigh-89]

Only the finest coffee in Ireland

[cureklibatur]

Being near the ocean makes me feel so calm. Nothing else matters once im there again:)

[onthesameplanet]

Waterford

由 Barcelona 去到Dublin，要飛大約三小時，平日下午在Barcelona 都穿着T-shirt 短褲，去到 Dublin 之後氣溫突然急降到6度，我背囊唯一一條長褲終於大派用場。這條長褲本來是以防在走 Camino 時落雨而帶的，誰知走那麼多天，幾乎沒怎樣下過雨，揹了這條長褲兩個月今天終於大派用場，但原因卻不是雨，而是凍。 到Dublin 後，又坐了兩個鐘火車來到 Waterford 。 Waterford 是個既熟悉又陌生的地方。 第一次來到Waterford 天上厚厚的烏雲，整個城市的氣氛十分壓抑，街上沒什麼人，市中心河邊那條路，似乎長期都是塞車。Waterford 應該不算個旅遊勝地，但原來是最早可追溯到公元914年由挪威而來的維京人在這裡建立城市，是愛爾蘭歷史最悠久的城市，是名符其實的千年古城。 遊覽Waterford…

[mirtapersonal]

apparently, having a circus and/or amusement park right next to the beach is a Thing

[snapdragoned]

The kitchen got a minty makeover with some of Beaumont's funds!

[uwmspeccoll]

Publishers’ Binding Thursday

This week’s Publishers’ Binding Thursday post comes on the heels of last week’s post, which was translated by the author of this week’s book, Lafcadio Hearn (1850-1904). Hearn is an interesting figure—born on the Greek island Lefkada, his family moved to Dublin where he was abandoned first by his mother and then by his father, left to live with his great aunt. He ended up penniless in London as a teenager, until he was given a one-way ticket to New York by his now-infirm guardian’s financial manager, Henry Molyneux, and told to find Molyneux’s relatives in Cincinnati. Those relatives gave Hearn $5 and sent him on his way and he ended up working for a printer and writing sensational stories for the Cincinnati Daily Enquirer. He later moved on to New Orleans, where he continued writing for newspapers and began translation and other writing work. Harper’s sent him to the West Indies for two years, and later Hearn traveled to Japan on commission to write a story (that never materialized) and never left. He married into a Japanese family, who eventually adopted him so that he could become a Japanese citizen, taking the name Koizumi Yakumo. To learn more about Hearn, there is a nice piece from the New Yorker that goes into more detail about him and this work, as well as a piece in the Paris Review.

His time in Japan is the origin of this book, Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things, published by Houghton, Mifflin, and Co. in 1905. The book was designed by Bruce Rogers. Hearn wrote these Japanese ghost stories from traditional tales he may have heard from his wife, Koizumi Setsuko. From the New Yorker:

“Our primal fear when it comes to ghosts, Hearn wrote, is not of seeing or hearing them but of being touched by them; the kaidan both exploit that revulsion and offer the heroic spectacle of characters whose passions enable them to overcome it. A mother dies during a cholera epidemic, yet her love for her infant son is so powerful that she continues to nurse him for three years after her death—an outcome, as in many of the tales, somehow both sentimental and horrifying.”

Hearn is well remembered in Japan, where there are museums named for him in the places he lived, and in Ireland there are the Lafcadio Hearn Japanese Gardens in Tramore, where his father was from. 

Keep an eye out here for another version of this text tomorrow for Fine Press Friday!

View more Publishers’ Binding Thursday posts. 

View more books designed by Bruce Rogers. 

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

[oceancentury]

Not a kissing booth! June 17, 1909, 20th Century Stall at a Bazaar, almost certainly in Tramore, Co. Waterford, Ireland.

[dropboxofcuriosities]

Bébé Cox de Tramore, Co. Waterford, vers 1899.

[estellemareckova]

Tramore beach

[look-at-the-soul]

Pink parallels 💖💕

On the left a photo I found online of an old Irish cottage (Tramore Road Waterford), on the right a recent photo I took of a house in my hometown 💕💞💘💗💓💝

[transqueeneli]

Return to the Keep.

It had been a couple hours since rescuing the poor captain from the Dire Wolves. In Varrath's arms, Richards slept as the sun started to rise. On the road, and not too far off from the forest, the walled city of Ebonshire. As they approached the gate, the screams of a guard to open them made the one in Varrath's arms stir awake, and they pushed themselves out of those arms, letting out a little cry as they fell. "Good morning, O Captain, my Captain. " She smiles before looking at the two approaching guards with a more serious face.

Both guards kneeled before Varrath before she gestured for them to stand. "Oh great, Demon Lord, are you hurt?" The first guard spoke, looking at the blood staining the ebony armor. "

Varrath shook her head. "No, it is the blood of a beast who tried to make a meal of my dear here. Someone give them a cloak, and go ahead to the castle, have them expecting us. Prepare the bathhouse and ensure a healer awaits us at the gates. Richards here scratched and bruised up their pretty little feet, and I don't wish them to have scars."

Getting up, they looked up to Varrath. "If you will refer to me, use my first name, Samuel. " They take the cloak handed to them from a guard, putting it on, as the tattered rags of the gown left little to the imagination. Varrath turned with a smile before taking a breath, and her face became more serious. "Okay, then, Samuel, come along. " Varrath looks over the guards. "Back to work and get the gates closed." She starts moving with Samuel's shorter stride, making them move faster, winching once in a while with their hurt feet.

Thankfully, the streets were still mostly empty in the early morning. The city of demons was in the center of the corruption, and they were back in it. Samuel knew they were more likely to be watched, and escaping wasn't likely now.

Eventually, by Varrath's side, they reached their destination, a castle in the city's center. Just one of the few normal-sized demons walked up to them. She had small horns on either side of her forehead jet black hair, braided down the back. Her skin was gray and ethereally smooth. Her flowing white robes followed her, walking to the front of Varrath. "Your healer as requested."

Varrath nods and flicks a hand toward Samuel. "They are your patient. Please treat them," She says, standing aside as the healing woman moves to Samuel. "When you are done, bring them to the bathhouse if you would. I'm getting a head start. " Varrath says, walking off.

The healer takes Samuel's hand. "Okay, let us get someplace more private then. Please, I need you to disrobe completely so I may look over and heal anything needed. Compliance is required, so please be hasty. "They move to a secluded area, and with a small flick, curtains appear, hiding them. The healer's silver eyes stare at Samuel, who more than quickly loses the cloak but stops at removing the ragged remains of the gown. It would be their first time fully naked since these lands took their masculine form. Their chest heaved from a building panic. "My name is Jael. Don't be nervous. You are not the first human I've treated if you're worried." She had an odd smile that made Samuel feel at ease. "May I have a name for my records and how you prefer to be referred?"

Samuel ripped off the gown's remains and removed any undergarments. It was weird for Samuel to feel the weight of their breasts without support for the first time. " I-I'm Captain Samuel R-Richards of the Tramor Empire. I am a man, damn it, even with this body and voice. " They say as Jael starts working on her duties. Magic moving over and restoring bruised skin as she works.

"So then He/Him then? Demon Lord Varrath was saying They/them before. " Jael asks, moving toward the feet. "Please sit so I may treat your feet. " She gives a stern order.

Samuel complies, if only to get this over with. " Use whichever you want. Though I do feel silly being called a he in this state. " They say as they feel the soothing energies of healing move around their feet, smiling, feeling as the varied cuts and bruises mend themselves, skin reforming together. A sudden blush, looking away as Jael giggles.

"That is perfectly valid, so They/them it is. There, not so bad, was it? While your gown is too tattered, I'd recommend using your undergarments and cloak till we reach the bathhouse. " Jael states, waiting as Samuel enters a state of dress before clearing the impromptu infirmary. "Samuel, before we go, I want to say I understand. These lands reveal one's true self. I hope you will allow yourself to accept it and love your true self one day. "

Samuel growls a little, marching themselves in the direction Varrath had gone, trying to keep the cloak closed. "Save your breath, Jael. I will refuse this corruption of myself till the end of time. " They push past Jael as the demon healer gives a little laugh.

Jael skips past Samuel, meeting their eyes. "First, I'm supposed to be leading you. Second, that's a shame. You really came out really cute. I see why Demon Lord Varrath adores you. If you need to talk, just ask for me in the future, and I'll be more than happy to chat. " She says, rounding a corner, the words making Samuel stop, blushing at being called cute. Suddenly, Jael takes Samuel's hand. "Come on, slowpoke, we don't want her mad."

Samuel's mind goes all over, thinking one thing. A small whisper to themselves. "They called me…cute?"

[worboysanna]

Day 4 9/7 Waterford and Dunmore East Tramore

Stop over to see the making of Waterford crystal making then to a singing tavern. Music session at a local thatch roof tavern. Pretty seaside fishing village famous for its thatched cottages.

Then overnight to Tramore.

Surfers were out at this small sea side village with a amusement park

[lardedallwithsweetflowers]

“Then I met a young girl, Sinéad Cusack. She was working in the Irish pantomime of 1965 — Emer agus an Laoch (Emer and the Swan). She was seventeen. I was thirty-five. I really fell in love, for the first time in my life. For several years, sometimes wildly happy, other times shatteringly miserable, I believed I had found the perfect partner, the one who was made for me and I for her. Like Chekhov's young poet in The Cherry Orchard, I believed, and still believe, 'there is happiness!'

[...] Sinéad Cusack, who was with me, said suddenly, 'I'm going to miss the Queen's. This is where I've spent my whole life as an actress.' Her whole life as an actress was a little over six moths, but I sympathised.

[...] Sinéad, who was student at UCD at the time, introduced me to MacNeice's poetry.

[...] She [Brenda, Dowling’s wife] had not, I think, taken up with anyone else. I guess she was pretty frustrated with life. Anyway, she began to get very edgy with me, sarcastic about Sinéad, goading me. I refused to be goaded, and my very coolness, as always, made Brenda angrier.     Then, one morning, she physically attacked me. I had to hold her down to the bed [...]

[...] When we played at Theatre Royal in Waterford, I saw my sister Marie, her husband Jim and all my O'Hanlon nephews and nieces. I brought Sinéad over to see them one Sunday in Tramore, when she visited me on tour. They were very taken with her. My niece Judy, long afterwards, called her daughter Sinéad.

[...] The Abbey actors always credited Liam [Redmond] with writing that Sinéad had moved to London a few months earlier, leaving my ordinary life hollow and empty as a church at night when everyone is gone. Nobody would have known it, to see me at the theatre or at P.J.'s afterwards. P.J. knew, though. I realise, now, I was lovesick. So going to London was more about seeing her than about making a movie; but, as always, each life was full and separate [...]     I saw a lot of Sinéad; I even saw her a few times at her father's house in Islington. Sometimes Cyril was very understanding of my feelings for her: 'You and I have to help each other, Vincent' he'd say. Other times he was very angry. Once, as I was saying good night to her at the top of the steps leading down to his basement flat, he came up, ordered her to go down, and produced a carving knife — 'I'll kill you, you bastard, if you don't leave my daughter alone!'     I knew how he felt. I didn't often let myself think about it: the gap in our ages; my marriage and children; and Abbey salary and financial responsibilities; her being over in London, me in Ireland; how much I missed her; how much I wanted her to have a career, but hated her being away... the litany was endless. Physically, I am not a brave or rash person, but I said to Cyril, and meant it, 'You'd be doing me a favour.'     He looked at me for a moment. Deep down I felt he hadn't mean it. Both of us were in much of the same boat. We muttered good-nights, and I turned and went back to Pat's place.     I had met Sinéad's mother, Maureen, who was also an actress, in London. We talked about Sinéad and me. Of course, we came to no conclusion. I liked her. She listened as I stumbled on about how I was now legally separated. There was no divorce in Ireland, but maybe it would be possible and realistic for me to get a bigger flat or a cottage in the country. Sinéad wanted to act, and would undoubtedly do well. I was ready to make a commitment to her, and maybe we could make a life together.     Maureen phoned me before I left for Dublin. She told me frankly that, before we met, she had not thought too well of me or of the effect I was having on her daughter. After seeing me and talking to me, she realised that I deeply cared about Sinéad, saw how unhappy I was about it all. She asked me — begged me — to give her daughter a chance to make her own life, her career, and in time have a marriage and children. I knew she was right and that she was saying these things for the right reasons. Before we hung up, I had promised to try. Which I did, for a while. For a long, long while.     We certainly didn't move in together and start a new life. Sinéad got more and more film and television work in England and in Ireland [...]

[...] When I met Sinéad in Dublin, she told me she was going out with a young actor in the Abbey, Donal McCann. Home is the hero!     So Sinéad was dating a young single actor, much more 'suitable' than I. Why couldn't I leave it at that? Was it that I couldn't bear to lose? Partly, though even in retrospect only a tiny part. The biggest part was that I had built my own prison — a premise: I had found the perfect match, the perfect person in the world for me, the person I was made for. It was only a matter of waiting. In the meantime she was getting nearer her majority. Not much nearer, but time flies. Her career was taking shape; my directing future was doing likewise. We would soon be financially able to set up house together. That was a reasonable hope, I thought! The driving force was, of course, feeling. I felt certain that I was in love, that I loved her, and that she loved me. Feeling doesn't necessarily make it so! Once again I was living on false premises, and Sinéad and I returned to our old ways together.     This was the beginning of more than two years of moving in circles emotionally. She, Sinéad, was with me only a fraction of the time. Other times she was at her parents' home in Dalkey; in London; on location; working with other young and famous actors. My suspicions, jelousies, loneliness, tortured me. 'Iago touching her', I wrote in a poem of the time. Behind my mild blue eyes, my green-eyed monster ate my insides. Then there would be a few hours and days of hope and happiness, a meeting, a letter, a phone call — and the circle began again.     When Tom Murphy's masterpiece Famine moved from the Peacock to the Abbey main stage, I took over from Eamonn Morrissey the twisted mind and body of the hunchback Micilín — a great part in a great play. During the run, there was the madness of a Sunday with Frank Grimes at the Merriman Festival; Siobhán McKenna reading The Midnight Court; [...] pint after pint of black porter and, against Frank's much better judgment, driving dangerously to drop in on Sinéad on location! We find her horseback-riding in a meadow with a man, a film actor. I spend a nightmarish night in Gort. A hotel, empty courtyards, climbing walls, talking, singing, shouting at the moon. Then driving drunkenly back along country lanes to pick up Frank. Fall asleep on a fairy mound in the woods nearby.     Next day back in Dublin, exploring my pain and anger in Micilín’s anger [...]

[...] I didn't seem to have a love life — at least, not with Sinéad Cusack. We met at the flat she was staying in, on the morning I arrived in London. She had been touched by and thanked me for some flowers I had sent from America for one of those special private anniversaries that people in love keep. She told me about the film she had finished opposite Peter Sellers. I remember the morning light; the atmosphere between us sweet; two very close friends, who loved each other, meeting after a long absence. I also knew that I was getting 'the bullet' — that it was over. It was not said, but I felt I had lost out to the Stellar Sellers.

[...] I stayed in touch with Sinéad by letter, and less frequently by phone. One night Sinéad arrived unexpectedly to see me. Wounded. She wasn't able to stay long. Her work was in London, mostly. Thus another cycle began. It would be the one the cobbler hit his wife with — the last!

[...] The Becauseway was televised on RTÉ, directed by one of their staff directors. Sinéad came back from London to appear in it. She and I had not seen much of each other in months leading up to this. Letters and occasional visits where short and not always sweet. I still believed that somehow everything would work out right — whatever 'right' meant. Certainly the moving finger was writing, though I didn't know it.

[...] The last act of Sinéad and Vincent's sweet, often sad saga, has four scenes.     Scene One takes place in or about the Late Late Show. Sinéad is being interviewed about her career in connection with the TV showing of The Becauseway. Another guest is a soccer player. He engages in some 'kidding' with her. Vincent is watching it on a home television screen; his green-eyed monster jumps on his shoulder and starts whispering sweet jealousies in his ear. Later Sinéad agrees not to keep a date made with the footballer, but only if Vincent telephones and tells him that she won't be there. He does. The two men exchange rude words. Compliments fly when the quality meets!     Scene Two takes place, some time later, in the studio of Radio Éireann on a Sunday morning, where a large group of well-known actors and actresses are recording installments of The Kennedys of Castlerosse. A copy of an English Sunday newspaper with a large circulation in Ireland is laying on a chair. Having finished a scene as Christy, Vincent sits on the chair beside the paper, glances at the headline, looks away, does a double-take. He picks up the paper and reads that there has been a mini-riot by young men gathered outside Sinéad Cusack's apartment in Islington, demanding the appearance of George Best, the well-known soccer player, who is sheltering within. Vincent realises that he is the only one in the studio who has not already read this news. He coolly resumes recording at the microphone. At the tea break, he calls London on the public phone in the hallway. He gets through to Sinéad. Yes, she had gone to dinner with George Best. It was all a kind of silly joke. It didn't mean anything. He is reassured, goes back to the studio and tells Phil and Angela the glad things.     Scene Three takes place outside the Abbey next afternoon, Vincent gets an early edition of the Evening Herald. The headline tells a continuation of the story of Sinéad and the soccer star in London. Vincet goes back to the flat in Waterloo Road. He wakes about an hour later. Sits up smiling, symbolically spits her out of his system; declares out loud to himself, pleasantly, completely without rancour, 'It's gone. I'm free. I've been an idiot. It's over. It's been over a long time. I'm going to have fun. Call off the search for the perfect partner!' He gets up, lights the geyser, turns on a bath, starts setting his dinner table, takes the makings of a mixed grill from the fridge, checks the bath now and then — singing the whole time his laughing version of 'Somebody Stole my Gal'.     Scene Four will take place in London in March 1971 [...]

[...] Score of old friends from every walk of life came to see us. Sinéad wrote that she would like to see me and asked me to call her, which I did. I agreed to spend the day with her. [...] It was something I wanted to do for old time’s and friendship’s sake. There was nothing more to it than that. I no longer loved Sinéad. It was over. It was true, too [...]     She seemed to understand, to believe me. It was only later I found out how hurt and frightened she was. [...] I had been there for her for so long that it was hard for her to believe it was no longer so. Other then one phone call to my office at the Abbey, a few accidental meetings in Dublin streets and theatres, and seeing her on stage or film, our paths have not crossed again.”

— Vincent Dowling in his autobiography Astride the Moon (2000)

[snapdragoned]

Windflower Bay 🏠 Round 9 Households

Hawkins

Le Couer

Weatherby

Chawla

Weatherby (again!)

Chevalier (new!)

[daybreakthing]

can I have a flag for tramoric/tranamoric/transaffective?

it's a descriptor for a relationship that includes at least one trans person. it can include diferien and t4t relations.

queued!

[charmyposh-blog]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Olivia Miller Sandals.