We have just returned from Ireland. After a trip like that I always have new thoughts and different resolves. It wasn’t just golf or touring. It was another of my screwy attempts to get in touch with my soul. Each time seems different. Am I searching for something new or just trying to help that old shoe fit a little better? Dunno.

The Old Sod is magical. We started in County Roscommon, town of Boyle. My distant cousin Sean and his wife Liz opened their home and their hearts to us. The Irish are that way. Giving rather than questioning or being standoffish. Life is too short to be analytical and calculating. Let’s just have fun and see where it goes.

The “farm” has grown since our last visit twenty years ago. Many more cows, bigger sheds and a big ass tractor that is on steroids. Gigantic! 17 year old grandson Glenn drives it like a pro. There is a jump seat where his girl friend rides while he tills the fields. They took this beast to town to get a burger one night. They were not alone. 

We sat in the parlor that first night after a wonderful repast that Liz whipped up without a fuss. A guitar and Jameson’s set the mood. I sat next to 91 year old grandmother Mae. She lives just across the lane in her own house. A cousin stopped by and the boys were intrigued to see what this Yank had to say. I just wanted to listen to them.

Ireland is one of the top three happiest countries in the world. That family thing is so integral to the ranking. Son Donald came back home after stints in Dublin, dairy farms in Scotland and New Zealand. There was gentle jibing and laughter aplenty. Mae made me sing a song and she performed a slightly off color several minute ditty about City Sue without missing a beat. 

An incredible Irish breakfast sent us on our way the next morning. On the way back to Shannon we got sufficiently lost but it didn’t matter. We were going from one extreme to the other. The golf trip portion brought incredible venues and places to sleep. From Old Head to Waterville and Tralee we battled the wind and crappy golf swings. You couldn’t help but be amazed at the vistas and cliffs that had been there for so many centuries. Man made the golf courses. God gave them the resources. Somehow we tend to forget that sometimes. 

 Adare Manor was the final stop and you could not help but be awed by the beauty and sheer grandeur of the place.  Same green fields but a different script writer. This was a mansion to behold. I can’t even imagine the size of the staff throughout but they do have robot lawn mowers. A tad incongruous. I tried to engage every server and they always had a smile. There was Esther, the matron who brought the coffee in the morning with a clever saying or wink of the eye. Do I have to leave?

The golf group left and Kathy and I were off for Waterford and Wexford and most importantly, the Jameson distillery in Midleton. There was the original grist mill for the barley and copper vats that were centuries old. The came up with ingenious ways to store the malt or brew the good stuff. It really is an art. There was lovely young lady who ran the tour. I asked her if she got a discount? She said yes and I had to ask her then if she would marry me? 

A stay here and a side trip there brought us to Dublin town. A city but not with gleaming skyscrapers but cobblestone streets and a pub never more than a few feet away. This is history without the patina. It is a tad gritty but historic and simple. St Stephen’s Green is right in the center of town with a different variation and feel on each of its four corners

In Boyle we had visited a restored mansion called the King House. It was replete with pomp and circumstance and a wall that kept out the starving while the glitterati danced and feasted inside. As we went through the National Gallery, they weren’t paintings but history in oil. The theme was the same. The Brits were not very nice people. Let me correct that. They were borderline evil. The Irish were boors and lackeys in their eyes. We scoff at their cruelty but are we all that far removed? Makes you think about our world today. 

When we got home The Divine Mrs K decided to turn over a new leaf and clean out closets. Ironically she found a leather bound diary my daughter Lindsey had given me in 1998. There were a few entries to kids and grandkids. There were thoughts I had over twenty years ago on a trip to Ireland. 

As I leafed through and read entries I am not sure if I was disappointed or heartened. They were philosophical about our world back then. They were full of things I hoped to achieve. Not a to do list but a yearning  for how things might turn out to be. I guess you could say I haven’t drifted too far off my game plan. I think that is good, isn’t it?

I have prattled on too long. I am going to write in that ledger on a regular basis. I won’t bore you with all this until I am long gone and somebody picks it up some day. Who the hell was this crackpot? I am sentimental shmuck who is Irish. I love the soul and I love people. With or without Jameson’s. It is a fun way to live. 

As always

Ted The Great 

Factoids:

The Irish will say something  is “grand”. Turns out that means it is nice but but not off the charts. If it is “brilliant” then you know you have hit the jackpot

There are more cows in Ireland than people. The people population is 5 million. It is one of the most successful economy in the European Union.

They export more than 80% of the goods they produce. 

There are incredibly strict standards for milk production. The stainless steel Lorrie picks up 1500 liters of milk every two days from the likes of Sean and others. If your milk has even a small trace of antibiotics the whole load is dumped and you pay for it. $10,000. 

The Guinness brewery in Dublin produces over 2 1/2 million pints of the brown stuff every single day. The original founder was beyond generous as he remembered his servant roots. He also had 21 children by the same woman.

Irish Gaelic is still taught to the kids in schools, where it is a required subject. Irish Gaelic is also still the country’s official language.

The Potato Famine in 1845 resulted in the death of over 1 million people from starvation. Another 1-2 million left Ireland including my grandmother and her sister who came to America by themselves at ages 14 and 16.