Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: Owasso (Page 53 of 120)

Kiss the Stone.

As the story goes, if you pucker up and kiss the proper spot at Ireland’s Blarney Castle, you’ll magically receive the “Gift of Gab,” which allows you to deliver a load of blarney with eloquence. A fellow named John O’Connor described it well, pointing out that “Blarney is something more than mere flattery. It is flattery sweetened by humour and flavoured by wit. Those who mix with Irish folk have many examples of it in their everyday experience.”

During colonial times, there were enough Irish immigrants in America that many of the words they used were incorporated into our version of English. Except, when they said Blarney, it came to be repeated in a different way. You’ve may have heard someone express their skepticism with: He’s full of boloney! Here in the US the term Blarney became boloney and came to be synonymous with “full of bull.” A little less flattering than the original version implies.

In the image, the Blarney Stone is at the upper left of the tall square tower, incorporated into a battlement by Cormac Laidir MacCarthy, who built the place. According to the version related to me, Mr MacCarthy was involved in a legal dispute and sought the aid of Clíodhna, the Queen of the Irish hill faeries. (Back in Mr MacCarthy’s time, it was common to appeal to the benevolent figures in Irish mythology.)

Clíodhna told Mr Mac that if he would kiss the first stone he came across, he would be blessed with an eloquence that would aid in his courtroom presentation. He won his legal case, and later decided to add the magical stone to the uppermost area of the castle he was constructing.

There it remains.

Visitors to his castle are invited to lie down and give the stone a kiss to receive the gift of blarney. Of course, when I touched lip to rock, it simply recharged the thing. I was already full o’ gab, I suppose.

The point of the story?

Don’t really have one. It’s just an explanation as to the image that is currently at the top of the website. (Those of you who occasionally visit the pages may have noticed the hiatus in new posts, an interruption of several weeks caused by technical difficulties.) I’m still trying to restore the site, but there are still glitches. Blarney Castle serves to replace the mountain range that was the object of the last post, an image that is retired for the time being.

The shot is from a vantage point that most tourists will overlook. The car park (as they call it) is to the right edge and a lengthy path leads to the castle, between it and the tall round towers. You’d be needing your waders to take a similar photo.

Of course, you need hip-waders when you’re in the company of those of us spouting the blarney.

In the Hills, the Cities.

Something could be said about lofty goals, or the rock-steady confidence in the book industry. Maybe it’s a depiction of the enduring nature of the climb, striving to reach the summit. The frigid climate at the top of the literary world. Man. I’m reaching here.

It is just a picture, folks.

Mountains in the distance. Snow-capped. Trees and craggy overlooks. Nature stuff.

MVC-019F

Eventually, the webpage will feature an aesthetically-pleasing, locally-topical photograph that will have a definite connection to: 1) the book shop. 2) the Rose District. 3) Broken Arrow 4) Irish lunch fare.

Oh, and 5) Books.

After all, this is a bookstore website. Maybe the new photo will be along the lines of the image at the right, which is the wrong shape to replace the hi-def shaped mountain-pic. Click on the bookshop-at-night image for a groovy 3-D effect. (OK. I’m kidding about the 3-D thing.)

At this point, I’m just pleased to have something up and showing. (You have NO idea how much whining, cursing, and foot-stamping you have missed getting to this point.) Website crashes are akin to trashbag failures: Frightening at the initial impact, tedious in the cleanup, and odorous in the aftermath. I’m bleaching the smell out at this point. So…

Any of you photo-minded shutter-snappers who’d like to have an image featured (with credits) to replace the less-than-idyllic Alps/other mountain range picture (’cause I just don’t know an Alp when I see one) – send an email for the size requirements or download the mountains image as a template. A prize may be involved.

And, thanks for asking (even if it was to yourself): What does a mountain scene have to do with a Rose District bookstore? To which, the short answer would have been – Nada. Zip. Nothing. (OK. Getting long-winded for a short answer.)

(A $25 gift certificate to the first to identify – correctly – the obscure blog title reference… )

Come Visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District, BA. OK!

Do they still – Slug Bug?

Dig those Beatle-boots! The total-denim mechanic’s outfit, complete with flared-jeans – what any self-respecting VW whiz was wearing. What?

1976?

Apparently, Volkswagon was a little late to the Tune-In-Drop-Out-Flower-Power 1960s. Or maybe they were simply hanging on to the Herbie the Love Bug thing.

The Peterson’s Complete Book of VW was a little large for the Beetle’s glove box, but carried such indispensable tips as “At-Home Lubes,” “Disk Brakes for Early Beetles,” and “Transaxle Swaps.” (The latter is now a reality show featuring significant-others on the History Channel.)

The issue came in with a batch of books and brought back a couple of memories. Who remembers the Thing? That strange-looking VW was introduced in 1969, as a reworked version of the wartime Kubelwagon – sort of like a version of the US military’s Jeep. Readers got to look back on the history in a four-page article.

Some models even I barely remember (not being a VW owner, perhaps). There is an article about Adding Dash to your Dasher. The only Dasher I recall had reindeer-power instead of horsepower.

My buddy Craig had a Bug as his first car, back in the Big Mac High School Daze, but we won’t be recalling our adventures in that thing. (Some things are best as lost to history.) Folks from McAlester – where there were plenty of unpaved county roads on which to drive Volkswagons for fun – will surely remember Mr. Isbell and his collection of VWs. I believe he was retired by the time I met him, but he might have worked harder trying to stay ahead of the mechanic work that came his way. The smiling pic of the VW ace is courtesy of Steve DeFrange.

Mr Isbell was quite patient with me, back when I was trying to repair my British sports car, and my admiration for his mechanic’s knowledge has never wavered. He put up with my interruptions in the garage at his home, where he always had a stack of newspapers to use as hand-towels.

When the engine was – at last – returned to the car (deftly lowered into place with the Stizza family’s truck and crane), the darn thing would not start. I cranked it until the battery died. We pushed it up and down the street. Nothing. I was so sure I had done it right, I couldn’t believe the engine wouldn’t fire up. Finally, I called Ken Isbell. Again with the patience, and without hesitation, he told me to remove the timing gear, flip it around, and try again.

Less than five minutes later – Vroom vroom.

Man. You gotta admire anyone who knows their stuff like that. Looking at the guy on the magazine cover, I don’t get that same feeling.

Never did see Mr. Isbell in a pair of Beatle-boots.

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