Claddagh

It’s Irish, so it should come as no surprise the history of the Claddagh ring has many stories, some of them rather fabulous.  The most dramatic involves a tale of capture where a British citizen learns the craft of goldsmithing.  He’s ultimately released, where he brings back the ring he fashioned for his true love. You guessed it—the Claddagh.

The earliest known ones go back about 325 years, and the design hasn’t really changed all that much—two hands holding a crowned heart, with the heart representing love, the crown representing loyalty, and the hands representing friendship.  Some models have different designs on the two sleeves of the hands, a visual reminder that this isn’t the two hands of one person, but individual hands of two different people, who, to quote Al Jarreau, are in this love together.  It’s been used as a friendship ring, an engagement ring, a wedding ring—and, I would bet, a nose ring—but the general sense of the Claddagh is the root of any strong relationship, no matter how passionate, is friendship.

That isn’t to say the Claddagh hasn’t lost some of its efficacy. The Claddagh appears on all kinds of things, including bangles, necklaces, T-shirts, stationary and even wall hangings.  But with that popularity, a sacred element of the rule of Claddagh wearing has been lost.

You aren’t supposed to buy a Claddagh for yourself.

On the face of it, this makes sense—a symbol of friendship should be a gift of friendship from, well, a friend.  But in the age of consumers popping a hot dog in the microwave for thirty seconds and standing in front of the oven impatiently, this kind of restraint is considered romantic, but dated.  You see it, you like it, you want it, you buy it—so why isn’t it here yet, and why wait?

The first time I saw my best friend, time stood still.  We were both working at a day camp, and at the end of the day, we all sat on the slope of a hill, waiting for the busses to depart.  As I approached, she was already sitting in the shade of a large oak, still, calm, a sense of peace surrounding her—the exact kind of feeling no one in their right mind should have at the end of a hot summer’s day with eight-year-olds.  But there she was.

That view, all by itself, inspired me.  If we never met; if we never talked; if we never spent any time together, she had given me a view of the world that changed my world, and made it a better place, and me a better person.  The dream of something more suddenly had some oxygen, a gift so rare and dear, it deserves your love, your loyalty, your heart…

…and a Claddagh.

The ring is supposed to remind you of that moment, the moment that is more important than most others, because it is more real than most others.  Can you have that moment all by yourself?  Maybe.  But have you?

Michigan is a big agricultural state, and one of our best crops is honeydew melon.  We can buy it year- round at the grocery store, but for about two weeks in late July or early August, you bring one home from the back of a farmer’s rusty Ford pickup in the church parking lot, and its sweetness lingers long after the rind is recycled.  That memory lasts a full year, and reliving the experience is worth the wait.

And it’s way better than a microwaved hot dog.

Slainte.

One More Gift

Walking down a path of grey
With fields of white to either side
Returning from a weary day
Returning to my lovely bride.

And so we stand in shadows cast
And watch this evening’s sun go by
So glad to have this time at last
So glad to have just her and I.

The small rug
In the hallway
Is a gift from hometown friends
The beauty
Of the hillside
Is a gift that never ends
The love we’ve grown together
Is a gift
From just us two
And the sunset I bring home tonight
Is one more gift
For you.

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