Month: September 2017

Myrtleville, Ireland

April 30, 2015: If you hear me muttering “fooking ‘ell” when I return to the states, pay no mind. I’ve developed a bit of a tic from driving on the left side of the road and working to pick the correct exit route off the roundabouts.

Well, I kissed a Blarney Stone, and I liked it. Craziest staircase ever to get there, but the view from the top was magnificent. And well worth the climb. Fair warning … the kiss bestows the gift of gab. I’ve never been the quiet sort, but now? Yikes …

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After that, we drove to the coastal town of Myrtleville and had lunch at a beautiful restaurant cliffside. Couldn’t be this close to the Jameson Distillery without stopping in for a visit, so we headed there after lunch, and tasted some of the reserve selections. Left the factory a few euros lighter, and some really good Irish whiskey richer. We decided to head to Cork, so I put “Cork City” in to the GPS. For whatever reason, it translated that to “Cork City Gaol” (jail), which we have been hoping to avoid all week long. “Fooking ‘ell”, I said, and corrected the address ..

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Kilkenny, Ireland

April 29, 2015: If I’ve learned anything, it’s listen to the locals. We never would have gone to Kilkenny if it weren’t for a conversation over Guinness with three young Irishman who told us about it. I won’t ever forget the climb at St. Canice’s round tower … 120 ancient steps up to the most sublime view. The tower has stood for close to 800 years, but on the (very shaky) way up, all I could think was, “well, this could be the day …” The view from the top made the trepidation (read: terror) worth it. Afterward, we traveled to the Rock of Cashel. After another Guinness stop, and another new friend, we have one more unplanned destination in mind for tomorrow … Myrtleville by the sea. Cork tonight, kissing the Blarney Stone in the morning. Can it get any better? Life is good. It is very, very good.

Ireland country roads

April 28, 2015: One of the most compelling things I’ve observed in Ireland are the prolific, magnificent ruins. You’ll be driving along a narrow, winding country road, turn a corner, and see a crumbling castle or church. We came across one today, so I stopped to take a few photos. It was next to a field, and a group of large, docile-looking cows immediately headed my way. “Well, that’s cool”, I thought, watching them. About thirty feet from me, they charged, bucking and snorting, with only a waist-high stone wall between us. I’m glad I haven’t lost my ability to sprint!

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Seattle to Dublin

April 27, 2015: Before we left, my sister was at the Nordstrom bar enjoying a glass of wine while waiting for the restaurant to open. As she sat there, a woman briskly strode in, ordered a shot of Absolut Vodka, and slammed it down. Without missing a beat, my sister glanced over at her and says, “trying on swimsuits today?” That, my friends, is why this week is going to be such a hoot. Watch out, Ireland, here we come …

Day 1: I am in love with Ireland. The country is blanketed with a shade of green I have never, ever seen. Stone walls crisscrossing the countryside. Narrow country roads with a speed limit of 100 km per hour, with a whisper of space between the stone wall on your left and oncoming Kamakazi vehicles on your right. The coast! Oh, the coast. Guinness. Jameson. It’s either “feck” or “fook” depending on how far south you are. I am crazy about Irish men, whether they are twenty, seventy, or anywhere in between. I may never come home.

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Cast 3.0

February 26,2015: I wrote earlier about the difference in boys and girls and their level of nurturing. I may have had it all wrong. Perhaps they just respond differently. Less frequent, perhaps, but with intense caring.

My message tonight was direct. “Still alive…cast 3.0 has been installed. Still on my wheelie cart. Can’t wait to take a real shower. Miss you.” He immediately called. Usually when I miss him, I host a family dinner, I told him. But right now I can’t.

“Well that doesn’t mean I can’t cook for you, mom. Let me look at my calendar.”

Huh?

The lessons I’ve learned from raising a boy are many, but two stood over for me that night. (1) Don’t wait for them to call you. You may be waiting a good long while. (2) Periodically send a text stating that you are alive. The phone will ring within three minutes.

Despite the struggles, I love this kiddo with every fiber of my being.

 

Friends

February 23, 2015: I’m an independent sort. I live alone, and I rarely, if ever, ask for help. I recently had bunion surgery, which greatly inhibited my mobility, and made everything hard. Really hard. It’s hard to dress. It’s hard to shower. It’s hard to dry your hair. Stairs? They really blow. I haven’t asked, but people have showed up anyway. They’ve brought me dinner. They installed my new router. They got my mail. They’ve come and watched stupid movies with me. They’ve gone to the doctor with me. My mom and dad treated me like royalty for an entire week. Friends have brought groceries. They’ve sent texts … called to see how I’m doing.

This lack of mobility is temporary. I know that, so it’s bearable. But there have been a couple of times that I haven’t held up as well, and today was one of them. I had to get gas, and I nearly fell down … trying to manage my debit card, the gas cap, the gas hose, the crutch. It was just so damn hard. I bit my lip all the way home, trying not to cry.

And then I got home. And I came home to this. My neighbor had come over, taken out my trash and recycle, and stacked a bunch of extra cardboard I had in the garage to the curb. I didn’t ask. But they showed up. Friends. They just show up. I’m a lucky, lucky girl.

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Brown sugar

June 26, 2015: I love my ‘hood. Where else can you call your neighbor to borrow a cup of brown sugar … at 10:30 at night … to have her say, “yes, I have some, but you’ll need to come get it. I’m in my underwear.” So I go over. In my pajamas. Our other neighbors drive up. They’ve been at the hospital, in the early stages of labor. So there we stand … one in pajamas, one in a trench coat, one in labor, and the fourth, just shaking his head.

 

Chobe National Park, Botswana

September 25, 2015: Okay … time for an Africa story, since I’m jet lagged and can’t sleep. I COULD sleep, however, at around seven o’clock tonight, but that’s a different, less funny story.

I’m a peace-loving girl, and my intention was to harm nothing on this trip. I’m sad to report, however, that I am responsible for the death by cleavage of two innocent African critters. The first was a praying mantis. I had never seen one up close, so of course, I put my face right up in its grill to examine it. It tolerated my presence for a couple of minutes, then leapt from the table right in to my shirt. In my enthusiasm for relocating it, I dislodged its head from its body, and, well … I’m glad (s)he was a praying sort, because it was lights out for that mantis, may (s)he rest in peace.

In Chobe, we had these dreadful black beetles that were attracted to light. The first night they made their appearance, they had congregated on the dinner table. Hundreds of these minions of Satan. They are precisely the size and shape of a peppercorn, but trust me, they are not that. I thought our camp assistants were getting crafty with the table decorations, but I was incorrect. We cleared our table of the little black BBs, and decided to eat dinner in the dark to keep things a little less spicy. During the clean-up process, I discovered they are also biters. One had made its way in to my (apparently very welcoming) cleavage area, and started nipping (no pun intended). This hurt. A lot. So, I loudly cursed, and maybe screamed a little, which is the standard notification of the commencement of my “please remove this thing from my ample bosom immediately” dance. This is a dance that occurs more frequently than you’d think. Again, my vigor ended the life of this innocent victim. A crushed peppercorn, as it were. I’m fairly certain I flashed all those present, which may have explained the big smiles of our guides, O.G., Kapapa, and Gabriel. They got such a kick out of us crazy American girls.

I’m considering myself extremely fortunate that there were only two such incidents. We also had a scorpion in camp … about five inches long. I hadn’t seen one before, so of course, I put my face right up in its grill to examine it. (I’m a slow learner.) I’m just glad they don’t jump.

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