I had said I wouldn’t blog this summer in Ireland, just journal my days away in private and save the publishing for another time when I could put it all together and develop more purpose or theme. But alas, I’ve been here less than a week and I have so much to share with you, my friends and family. You, who walk alongside me, catching me when I clumsily trip over my own thoughts and emotions and nudging me forward when I get too lazy to have any. If you missed last summer’s musings, you can find them at dearestireland.blogspot.com. I think there were thirteen postings, written as letters to Ireland, that expressed my impressions and feelings of what I experienced as I took a risky, but exciting side road on my spiritual journey and discovered that sometimes the scenic route is the best.
|A river runs through it|
The night before I left home I had a crisis of faith. Not faith in God, but faith in myself to be an independent traveler, in a foreign country where there are so many unknowns. If you read my other blogs in the past, you know this sounds familiar. But things like health coverage, transportation (I’m still an adamant “NO” to driving here), housing, etc. all gave me a touch of traveler’s remorse, even before I left home. I wondered if I changed my mind at the last minute at the United Airlines gate, would they drag me on board anyway, kicking and screaming, because I’d bought a ticket and reserved my seat.
|Blanket of bluebells|
|A wild orchid asserts itself|
|Variety of wildflowers|
Linda and Sarah are amazing! (Oh No! I didn’t just do that!) We seem extremely compatible to be perfect strangers. I did know Linda’s mother, Margaret, though, so it’s not surprising Linda is a non-thug. And what’s with Irish children all (and I literally mean ALL that I have met) being as adorable as kittens and refreshingly unbrat-like. Having taught school for 34 years, I think we could learn something here.
Ireland’s summer magic has already begun to take hold and cast its disarming spell on me once again. On Friday, I went hiking through, as my friend Joe described it from the photos, “a beautiful, diaphanous sylvan glade” (I should get Joe to write my blog). If I’d had any doubts about why I came back to Ireland, they faded like the sunlight as we made our way down the banks of sparkling bluebells to the calming streams and misty waterfalls below. Unfortunately, I’ve taken too few opportunities to stay in cardio shape this year. Walking back UP, I stopped every few steps to comment on the beautiful, diaphanous aura of the place and feign meditation. I was really trying to catch my breath without appearing old and out of shape (It’s the truth, Margaret). We’d like to go back, but they say the bluebells, like the tender maidens in the best Irish ballads, only bloom for a short season. Maybe next year.
|Coziest spot in the pub|