12 Long Miles

They had me going there for a second.

I heard the ping on my phone yesterday announcing incoming e-mail, and I shot a quick Pavlovian look to the screen.

“You’ve been considered for inclusion…” the opening line read.

Really? Somebody wants to include me in…something?

After all this time hunkering down in my apartment, hiding from the winter, the plague and most human contact, I’m finally receiving invitations?

‘The Golden Summer of Her Smile’

The excitement lasted less than a second before logic took over and I realized that it was an internet come-on that should be deleted with all due hate.

But that brief thrill reminded me of how humans long for connection and, how Valentine’s Day, which comes up tomorrow, highlights that most basic need.

I like to listen to Irish music, a habit I picked up from my father, who used to blast the Clancy Brothers’ records at full volume.

While this was hardly the best introduction to the songs of my heritage, those tunes started to grow on me and now I enjoy listening to Irish music, though at a much lower volume.

Lately, I’ve been enjoying a song called “Cavan Girl” as it describes what one man will do in the name of love. I first heard the song performed by the High Kings, a fabulous Irish folk band, but it’s been recorded by many artists, including The Dubliners and Renaud Sechan, who did a French version called "La Fille de Cavan".

The song is about a man from the town of Killeshandra who is so in love with a young woman in Cavan town that every Sunday he walks 12 long miles around a lake to see her.

'If My Luck Will Hold…’

Sadly, the feeling does not appear to be remotely mutual. The lyrics describe how this woman “seems to have the eye of every boy in Cavan town.”

“If my luck will hold, I'll have the golden summer of her smile,” the song goes. “And to break the hearts of Cavan men she'll talk to me a while.”

So, while our hero is looking for a soulmate, the object of his desire is apparently talking to him only to make other guys jealous.

The fellow clings to the flimsiest of hopes as he tells us that “when asked if she would be my bride, at least she'd not say no.”

“So next Sunday morning I’ll rouse myself and back to her I’ll go,” the song goes.

Now to be honest, this was not a case of love at first listen. My first few go-rounds on YouTube with “Cavan Girl” left me unimpressed.

I thought the song was a bit dreary and I couldn’t wait for the thing to end so I could hear some of the bouncier tunes, like “Galway Girl” and “The Irish Rover.”

I kept thinking, what the hell is wrong this loser that he has to put himself through all this misery?

But then I started really listening to the words and thinking about this poor guy making this long, arduous trip just in hopes of getting a smile.

And I recalled some of the insane things I’ve done in the pursuit of happiness, and I realized that I was in no position to point fingers.

At least this dude is trying, which is more than I can say for myself lately.

‘A Great Gift in My Life’

The song was written by Thom Moore, a California native, and it won the 1979 Cavan International Song Contest.

Moore was inspired to write “Cavan Girl,” by a couple he knew in Ireland, Michael Woods and his wife Rita, according to an article that appeared in the Anglo-Celt in 2016.

The couple operated a pub where Moore he was trying to get a gig for his band and their story is certainly worthy of a ballad.

Michael, who is from Killeshanda, met Rita Munday, who was from the nearby town of Belturbet, in 1964 when they were both living thousands of miles away from home in New York City.

The couple became engaged and returned to Ireland in 1968. In writing the song, Moore, who died in 2018, mistakenly assumed Rita was from Cavan town.

“We did not give it much attention at the time,” Michael said in 2016. “We were very busy in those days. The song meant a lot more to us as the years went on and it was very significant in our lives.”

Rita died in 2016 at 70 years old after suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s. Michael said, “she was a great gift in my life.”

I still haven’t deleted that junk email. Feels a little weird turning down an invitation even if it's from a spambot.

But I'm never going to find my great gift sitting at home.

And if that I means I have to travel 12 long miles--or more-to be considered for inclusion, I’ll happily put on my walking shoes.