Irish food drawings – Day 3

Day 3
(13th March 2014)

Breakfast:

  • (Italian) Coffee
  • Double Chocolate Mini Muffin

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Lunch:

  • (English) Muffin
  • (Italian) Salame Felino ♥ (here they don’t have salame sigh!)

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Tea Break:

  • A tea (me…yes, I did, I had a tea instead of a coffee!)
  • Cappuccino (Stevie)

We went to a Coffee House in Lurgan called ICONS; it’s very nice and comfortable, I think I’ll be back there other times, maybe to have a coffee or tea while I draw! 😉

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Dinner:

  • Rustic chicken with vegetables (potatoes, long green beans, carrots)

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Quitting smoking with drawing

Hello everyone! I’ve been away a bit, but mostly it’s because I had a lot of work and…I’m quitting smoking. It’s been 18 years from my first cigarette and I never tried to stop before. I like to smoke. So why stopping? Easy: some nights ago I woke up without breathing anymore. While I was sitting in the middle of the night in my bed trying to get air inside my lungs I thought that maybe was time to stop. At least to stop smoking so much (I work in my house, where I’m free to smoke. Then I live in this house also, so even in all the rest of time I’m free to smoke 😉 ).
As I was there alone and I finally started to breath again, I couldn’t smoke a cigarette to celebrate the fact of me being still alive; so, to calm down, I took my book and started to draw. Made me feel better, so I decided this will be my therapy. I’m drawing everything I find 🙂

Ciao a tutti! Sono stata via per un po’, ma ho avuto un sacco di lavoro e…sto smettendo di fumare. Sono passati ben 18 anni dalla mia prima sigaretta e non ho mai provato a smettere prima. Mi piace fumare. Quindi perché smettere? Facile: qualche notte fa mi sono svegliata e non respiravo più. Mentre sedevo nel letto, nel mezzo della notte, cercando di far entrare l’aria nei miei polmoni, ho pensato che forse il tempo di smettere è arrivato. Almeno è arrivato di certo quello di fumar meno (lavoro in casa, dove posso fumare. Poi, casualmente, ci vivo anche, e continuo anche nel resto del tempo a poter fumare 😉 ).
Mentre ero lì sola e finalmente il primo respiro tornava a riempirmi di ossigeno, non potevo fumarmi una sigaretta per celebrare il fatto di essere ancora viva; quindi, per calmarmi, presi il mio quaderno ed iniziai a disegnare. Mi sentii subito meglio, quindi decisi che sarebbe stata la mia terapia. Adesso disegno tutto quello che mi si para davanti 🙂

PicMonkey Collagel

1. My kitchen in Genova with Pappa, my cat (pen and felt tips) – 2. Spices and other stuff in my kitchen in Genova (pen and felt tips) – 3. Stevie’s grandparents’ kitchen table and spaghetti with mushroom in Lurgan (pen and felt tips) – 4. Animals from a Rob MacInnis photo (Karisma pencils and pen)

I read somewhere on the web that there are mainly four reasons for the cigarettes you smoke:
1. Hunger
2. Anger
3. Boredom
4. Loneliness

Incredibly I’m in diet, very angry at the situation in my house, and I pass a lot of time being bored from loneliness. It’s true: try to manage these four feelings in a different manner (maybe without eating a boar or punching someone) and you can do miracles. Well, at least I hope 😉

Ho letto da qualche parte sul web che ci sono principalmente quattro ragioni dietro alle sigarette che fumiamo:
1. Fame
2. Rabbia
3. Noia
4. Solitudine

Incredibilmente al momento sono a dieta, molto arrabbiata per la situazione che ho in casa, e passo molto tempo annoiata per la solitudine. E’ vero: provate a gestire questi quattro sentimenti in modo diverso (magari senza mangiare un cinghiale o prendere a pugni qualcuno) e farete miracoli. Beh, almeno spero 😉

The story of Margorie McCall, lived once, buried twice

Today I want to tell you a story that happened long time ago in Lurgan, the town from where my boyfriend is. When Stephen narrated me it, I couldn’t believe to my ears and he had to go to collect photographic proof of what he was saying even just only for me to take it in consideration as farly true.
Instead, what you are about to read seems that really happened, obviously with details often fading in time’s mist, maybe added during the hundreds of times that innumerable, different voices told the story.

Oggi voglio raccontarvi una storia accaduta molto tempo fa a Lurgan, la cittadina dalla quale proviene il mio compagno. Quando Stephen me la raccontò, non potevo credere alle mie orecchie e dovette andare a raccogliere prove fotografiche di ciò che diceva perché io la prendessi in considerazione anche solo come lontanamente vera.
Ciò che leggerete sembra invece essere realmente accaduto, ovviamente con particolari che a volte sfumano nelle nebbie del tempo, forse aggiunti nelle centinaia di volte in cui la storia è stata raccontata da innumerevoli, diverse voci.

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It’s the early 1700s and Margorie McCall, the main character of our story, lives happily in Church Place, Lurgan, with her husband John, a doctor.
In 1705, unluckily, Margorie gets sick, she has fever, that at that time could be a very serious illness, and shortly she dies.

Sono i primi anni del 1700 e Margorie McCall, la protagonista della nostra storia, vive felicemente a Church Place, una zona di Lurgan, con suo marito John, di professione medico.
Nel 1705 però, putroppo, Margorie si ammala di febbre, che a quei tempi poteva portare a brutte conseguenze, ed in breve muore.


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There’s a wake for her death and, plus than being grieving for the loss, the husband and relatives were worried about her wedding ring: they tried to take it off from her hand, but it was swallen and no one could make it. The main problem were the grave robbers, that at that time often were paying visit to the deads for selling the body and steal the precious things in the grave.

Viene fatta una veglia per la sua morte e, oltre ad essere in lutto per la perdita, il marito ed i familiari sono preoccupati a causa dell’anello di matrimonio: hanno provato a toglierlo dalla sua mano, ma il gonfiore lo ha impedito e nessuno ce l’ha fatta. Il problema principale sono i tombaroli, che a quel tempo spesso facevano visita ai morti per venderne il corpo e rubare gli oggetti preziosi presenti nella sepoltura.


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As everyone was worried, that night grave robbers went to her grave: they went inside Shankill Cemetery and dig up Margorie. They want to sell her body, but to have the ring too; despite all their labour, they can’t take it off, so they decide to cut her finger.

Quella notte infatti i tombaroli non tardano: entrano nel Cimitero di Shankill e disseppelliscono Margorie. Vogliono venderne il corpo, ma vogliono anche l’anello; nonostante tutti gli sforzi, neppure loro riescono a sfilarlo dal dito della donna, così decidono di tagliare direttamente il dito.


Margorie_McCall_4lAs they cut her finger, Margorie wakes up and starts to scream. The grave robbers are so scared that they run away (someone says that one of them dropped dead on the ground, and, however it was in real, everyone agrees that both changed job after that night).

Appena le tagliano il dito, Margorie si sveglia ed inizia ad urlare. I tombaroli si spaventano così tanto che scappano via (alcuni dicono che uno dei due crollò a terra morto dallo spavento, e, comunque sia andata, tutti concordano che entrambi cambiarono lavoro dopo quella notte).


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At that point Margorie gets out of the grave and go back home. When John hear someone knocking says to his cildren: “if it wasn’t impossible, I’d say it’s your mom knocking” and goes to see who is. When he opens the door he finds his wife, covered in ground and blood and dressed as at the wake. He dies immediatly because of fear.

A quel punto Margorie esce dalla tomba e torna a casa. John, quando sente bussare, dice ai figli: “se non fosse impossibile, sembrerebbe vostra madre che bussa” e va ad aprire. Quando apre la porta trova la moglie, ricoperta di terra e sangue e vestita come alla veglia. Muore dalla paura.


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When, years later, Margorie dies, her body is returned to Shankill Cemetery and she gets buried with her husband. On the grave is added a stone with written: “Margorie McCall – Lived once, buried twice” and this time, to be sure she is not coming back, the tomb is covered with a layer of cement.

Quando, anni dopo, Margorie muore, le sue spoglie vengono riportate al Cimitero di Shankill e viene sepolta insieme al marito. Sulla tomba viene posta la sua lapide, che recita: “Margorie McCall – Vissuta una volta, seppellita due” e questa volta, per esser certi che non torni, la sepoltura viene coperta con uno strato di cemento.


You can still find Margorie McCall’s grave at Shankill Cemetery in Lurgan, Northern Ireland.

Potete trovare la tomba di Margorie McCall ancora oggi al Cimitero di Shankill a Lurgan, Irlanda del Nord.

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Drawings and photo: © Emanuela Mae Agrini

Story: Stephen told me it and you can find some more at lurganancestry.com

Afternoon in Lurgan Park with my brand new Robot-Boots

If the cold season in Northern Ireland taught me something, it is that you have to keep your feet warm; so this year I bought a pair of very warm and water/snow/mud/anything-proof boots. I call them my “robot-boots” since they’re made of hard plastic and so I walk like Robocop. They’re not very sexy, nor you can go to a party with them, but you can fight the wonderful irish weather on an even footing (ahahah, I can’t translate this in italian, unluckily). I couldn’t wait to try them and so we went for a walk in Lurgan Park: reminiscences from my past reminds me that one of the things that were forbidden when I was a child was to jump in puddles; but with robot-boots on my feet and twenty years more it was something impossible to prevent 😀

Se la stagione fredda in Irlanda del Nord mi ha insegnato qualcosa, questo è di certo che devi tenere i piedi al caldo; quindi quest’anno ho comprato un paio di stivali molto caldi ed a prova di acqua/neve/fango/tutto. Li ho chiamati i miei “robot-boots” (“stivali da robot”) visto che sono in plastica dura e mi fanno camminare come Robocop. Non sono molto sexy nè ci puoi andare ad una festa, ma ti aiutano a combattere il magnifico clima irlandese ad armi pari. Non vedevo l’ora di provarli, quindi siamo andati a fare una passeggiata a Lurgan Park: reminiscenze del passato mi ricordano che una delle cose che mi erano proibite sopra ogni limite da piccola era saltare nelle pozzanghere; ma con un paio di robot-boots ai miei piedi e vent’anni di più è stato impossibile impedirmelo 😀

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Lurgan Park in the cold is made of shades of broken only by the violent reds of the fallen leaves, and you walk alone in it, going along only with birds and squirrels:

Lurgan Park col freddo è fatto di sfumature di grigio spezzate solo dai violenti rossi delle foglie cadute, e ci cammini da solo, accompagnato soltanto da uccelli e scoiattoli:

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Time at Fa’ Joe’s

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Time at Fa’ Joe’s
Thursday night, after two pints, this clock gave me some seconds of pure anxiety 😉

Fa’ Joe’s Pub – Lurgan, Northern Ireland

August 2013

Infinite, like the sea or a railway

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I come from Genoa, an italian city by the sea. Like every person grown by the sea, I often say I couldn’t live without it, and there’s a big motivation for that: looking at the sea is like looking at the infinite. You can just sit there and watch the horizon line fade into the water while your thoughts flow in the air around you. If something is annoying you, you can just look at that vast sweep of water and imagine to go away, far, so far you can’t even know. Well, at least I done a million times and that made me feel better. It’s the feeling of the infinite, of the unknown, the unseen that makes you feel better. The sea means no barriers, no walls…just freedom.
So the point is: here where I am now I can’t see the sea. It’s stupid, since Ireland is an island, but from here I can’t see it. I went by the sea in Belfast, but it was strange: grey and rough, full of rain, covered in black clouds…made me feel uncomfortable.
Yesterday, going around Lurgan, I suddenly found myself on a bridge, and under it there was the railway. Looking at it I saw it was going far, far away and I couldn’t see the end of it. That reminded me of the sea, even if it wasn’t really exactly the same feeling. Still a bit of infinite in the middle of Northern Ireland…I took a photo of it.

Lurgan railway – Northern Ireland

August 2013