Facing a Motherless Mother’s Day

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It sucks and there’s nothing you can do about it.

FOR THOSE OF US without our moms, Mother’s Day no longer has the same meaning. What was once a day of gratitude and celebration has become just another excruciating reminder she’s not here.

When we lose someone we love, we inherit this gaping hole that can never be filled — no matter what anyone tells you. My sister died over thirty years ago and trust me that abyss is still as bottomless as ever.                                        

This is my second year alone. The first was brutal. As much as I wanted to put all these feelings down on paper, I couldn’t get there. Perhaps I didn’t know how, or maybe I just wasn’t ready to open the shutters and rip off the Bandaid.

(Mom, age 24, pregnant with me)

Mom was ninety-one when she died from Alzheimer’s. And for thirty-five of those years I’d been a mother; four a grandmother. Together we shared whatever bullshit life threw at us along with a semi-equal dose of happiness.

(My wedding day)

Unlike someone who lost their mom young, I was lucky in that I had years with her. Years to work out the usual kinks, to dote on her as she got older, to make peace with a tumultuous past and accept who we were as women.

(Mom, age 37, pretending she could play the piano)

Some of my friends have already lost their parents; while others are undergoing the process as we speak. This circle of life stuff is so goddamn hard. Even if they’re in their 80s or 90s that doesn’t mitigate the pain of losing a parent. You think you’re prepared. Especially if you’ve been in that designated caregiver slot for a long time where snatches of sleep and time to yourself are as rare as a snowball’s chance in hell. But I’m here to tell you that when that day arrives, the expectation of it and the reality of it are galaxies apart.

The most universal truth I know is that real pain isn’t necessarily in the experience of loss, rather in the aftermath of it when we have to dig deep into a place we didn’t even know existed.

Recently my granddaughter and I watched a video of us baking cookies. It was a splendid day, a generational affair. My daughter shooting the video and Mom making sure Meghan didn’t fall off the chair. Seeing Mom in the flesh (sort of) large as life and the tears streaking down my cheeks, this button of a girl wrapped her arms around my neck and said, “I miss GG too.”

I never knew my great-grandmother. She passed away long before I was born. But if we did experience one another, I’d like to imagine our bond would have been as magical as the one Mom and Meghan shared. While the disease continued to eat away at my mother’s brain, she might have forgotten everyone else’s name and face under the sun, but not Meghan’s.

When it comes to my relationship with Mom, I have no regrets. (Okay, maybe one or two, but nothing that leaves me stuck in the mud.) I’ve learned through stumbling and suffering if we want to get through the darkness, if we want to heal, we must lean in. We work with whatever we have. And what I have are memories, of her, of us, both vast and vivid. An encyclopedic catalog of images, smells, and soundbites that span a lifetime.

The beach. Waves roaring. Piper plovers. The salty spray of summer mornings on my face. She’s holding my hand, encouraging me into the water. I had on my favorite animal print bathing suit. I was three.

Kissing me goodnight. Ivory soap, a hint of cigarette smoke, pulling the covers up to my chin, telling me to check underneath my pillow in the morning. I had just lost my first tooth. I was six.

The kitchen. Perched on a stool. My*T*Fine chocolate pudding, brownies, chocolate chip cookies just coming out of the oven, my little flour-crusted fingers obeying her commands. “Mix the sugar and butter until its creamy.” “Be careful with the vanilla or it’ll spill.” This was an ongoing adventure from the time I was four.

The hospital. My son was a day old. Beaming, hair tousled, she’s holding him as if nothing else in the world mattered but this precious bundle cradled in her arms. I was twenty-nine.

My daughter’s baby shower. Chanel №5, red lipstick, red blouse, red nail polish. (She loved red.) Mom overwhelmed by all the people she didn’t know. But smiling, happy. I was sixty-one.

Like I said … encyclopedic.

                           Ultimately, it’s all about moving forward and how we move forward.

So, yeah, today’s gonna suck. That’s the bottom line. And even though that hole will never fill, I know in time I’ll be okay because as humans we are hard-wired to survive. How we accomplish that is entirely up to us.

 

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A FEMA Reservist’s Report From the Front Line Facing Tornadoes and Coronavirus

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COOKEVILLE, TN (Putnam County) March 2–3, 2020.

It’s the dead of night. Two a.m. Jessica Baldwin (not her real name) is fast asleep, her husband by her side, her three young children also asleep down the hall. The loud piercing sound breaks through the quiet fog of dreamers. Annoyed, Jessica is thinking it’s just an Amber Alert and had every intention of ignoring it. But some unseen hand forced her to pick up her phone. Call it luck. Call it divine intervention. Jessica and her family had no siren, no other warning that a tornado was about to hit. Two minutes. That’s all the time the Baldwin family had to get someplace safe. Days later with her gaze staring off Jessica recalled the experience and that horrible sound as the tornado carved a wide and deadly path into the land like a tsunami. “If I had not picked up that phone,” she told me, not finishing her sentence as we stood on her porch. Letting the horror of that thought marinate for a second. “The damage to my house was minimal,” Jessica went on. “Whatever we lost can be replaced. We made it through. But others were not so lucky.”

At last count twenty-five were dead. Whole families decimated. Children. Seniors. The weak. The strong. The vulnerable. This was a killer, fast, silent, unknowing, uncaring of borders or boundaries.

I walked through the heaps of debris beside a twenty-year-old woman searching for anything salvageable from the bombed-out ruins of her apartment building. I listened to an elderly woman with a broken leg pointing to the slab of concrete where her home used to be, telling me she and her husband took refuge in the bathtub only to be sucked into the vortex of the tornado before it spit them out into the night. I stood at the supermarket beside another woman who’d just lost her daughter, while people stopped to offer their condolences. Seeing her veneer of bravery refuse to crack under the weight of this unimaginable emotion, I was a dam barely holding it together. I wanted to throw my arms around her and hug her, and I almost did. Because that’s what I do when there’s nothing left but the bottom. But those days are gone now.

“I came to explore the wreck,” wrote Adrienne Rich. “The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail.”

Street to street, house to house, I go. I explore the wreckage of people’s lives. I lay myself bare to the avalanche of these stories which are the maps I use to navigate from the tragedy to the treasures that eventually prevail.

The usual course after a disaster is helping the survivors toward recovery. Getting them registered with FEMA, referrals to Small Business Administration loans and where to acquire the basic needs: food, water, clothing, and so on. Somewhere in between the citizens of Cookeville and the two other affected counties were losing touch. Somewhere in between, they were trying to pick up the pieces. Somewhere in between, they thought they’d have time to grieve, to wrap their heads around this horrible thing that tore their world apart. But they didn’t. Because another monster had come to roost.

Amidst the chaos and uncertainty of a global crisis, this community is doubly weighted. Can you imagine losing a child, a mother, a father, a brother, a sister, a neighbor and then having to scramble around looking for a place to live, water or toilet paper when the shelves are bare?

This speaks directly to the importance of community partners and volunteers during these disasters. The role they place is crucial in the equation of recovery. And like so many other deployments I’ve been on, here too the response of volunteers from every corner was overwhelming. Whether it’s sorting debris to enable county pickup, ride trucks to hand out food for survivors, pass out coffee, man the shelters, help stock the local churches and community centers distributing clothes and toiletries, without them, survivors would struggle even more to get back on their feet. And my job would be next to impossible.

So with a highly contagious virus on the loose, imagine that next disaster which isn’t that far off (fire, tornado, hurricane, flood, whatever. I’ve been awfully busy). Who’s going to show up for the survivors? Will they at all, and how many? Imagine no hotels open to house them? No restaurants to feed them? Everything about the recovery process will be changed. Diminished in its capacity and success.

What we are experiencing is unprecedented. We are ushering in a new world with new guidelines. This virus has turned everything we know on a dime. No one really knows yet how it will all play out. What to expect. What the final economic and human toll will be. Whether we’ll revert to the old normal or press forward into this new normal. Hey! This is my first global pandemic. And I’ll bet it’s yours as well. So, you’re right there in the trenches with me.

These are all hard things to digest. Frightening. And this fear we own is a vulnerability. An unknown. Something alien. And the only way to get to the other side, I mean the only way … is to push through the middle. One day at a time. That’s how we begin. We stick together. We pray — if praying is your thing. We take a breath. We push one foot in front of another. Because that’s what our DNA tells us to do.

Maybe not today or tomorrow. Lots of us are still trying to wrap our brains around the fact that this is serious shit. That and we don’t have all the answers to a whole bunch of important questions. How do we cope? How do we survive? How do we get through the isolation? What about money? Food? Our jobs? Do I pay my rent? My mortgage? The list goes on and on. We know the world is a dangerous place. That, as a species, we’ve never been more vulnerable. We’re killing our planet and ourselves. We know some of us will get hit harder than others. The homeless, the innocents, the elderly, the young, those living on the edge, the children who rely on school for two solid meals, the communities who typically never fare well when any disaster strikes. And yet, as grim as all this sounds, we also know love reigns supreme.

It’s the saving grace that will get us through this fucking mess. It will be the light at the end of the tunnel. The Hershey kiss of divinity inside each of us that will shine brightly. Because light always overcomes the dark, and good destroys evil. Always. Whether we choose to believe this or not.

So here’s the thing: it’s all about accepting and adapting. Many of us will feel isolated, alone. But take heart. There are absolutely things we can do to combat those feelings. Go for a walk. FaceTime, Skype, email, phone friends and loved ones on a regular basis, staying as socially connected as possible; especially when we all pretty much know it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. Again, this is where the crazy glue sticking together part comes in. We ask for help. We give help. We open the lines of communication with our neighbors. If we have extra hand sanitizer, we share. We add encouragement and toilet paper humor to the daily conversation. We finish projects that have gone by the wayside. Puzzles are fantastic ways to work through the anxiety. We help feed the children and the homeless. Online is good. Safe. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. And there are some organizations around the world already doing a fantastic job of just that for those who really need it. That’s our Chicken Soup for the Soul, the pot of goodness and kindness. The spiritual Band-aid of solace which goes a long, long way and in equal directions. It’s grace and courage under fire.

As a writer, even though I’m not on the same religious plain as author Anne Lamott, I’ve learned so much from her on this particular subject. “Grace is spiritual WD-40,” she says. “We go from clenched, to plop, to breathing again. We get our sense of humor back — a miracle.”

We are swimming in uncharted waters that are murky, wild and weird. It is the beginning for us of many new “firsts.” Including but not limited to an evolution of ourselves and our humanity where we will be tested in unimaginable ways, profound ways, spiritual ways, and come out a million times better for it. I say this because if you just take a step back from the frenzy buying of toilet paper and antibacterial wipes, you’d see very clearly that this response to the process is actually a remarkable collective moment for us as a country. One galvanizing with spirit as each of us does our part to flatten the curve. And that, my friends, is our true call to arms.

Growing up, my mother spent a lot of time gathering people’s discards. Clothing, shoes, hats, they no longer wanted or didn’t fit, along with surplus canned goods and money she raised for local charities and of course, Hadassah. Nothing was off-limits for Mom. And more often than I probably would have liked, I ended up accompanying her on many of these pickups and working the occasional Sunday morning bazaar or bake sale. Oh, how I loved those bake sales. Mom made awesome brownies. So, yeah, I’d follow her anywhere if it meant getting my hands on one of those.

But what my seven-year-old-self didn’t know at the time was that through osmosis and my mother’s subtle genius, I was learning the meaning of Tzedakah. The Jewish person’s guide for paying it forward. A moral obligation etched into our psyches going way back to the beginning of time and possibly even a footnote at the bottom of those Ten Commandments. And this was my mother’s way of opening my eyes to these inconsistencies in the world. To see how blessed I was. To drive home what was important. It was a lesson that, in time, would define me. A lesson that said: I can always do more for others, I can always be better.

And to be better, we show up. We acknowledge our imperfections with grace while remembering we’re anything but helpless. We wash our hands singing happy birthday two times; we sanitize like motherfuckers; we embrace the discovery of a new day. One emboldened with those small moments of such amazing, such insane, beautiful, frightening, revelatory things that remind us we’re all in this crazy shit together.

In closing … stay positive, my friends. Stay home. Stay safe.

 

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Resources:

@crisistextline

Kids Help Line – (800) 668-6868; @kidshelpphone

World Helplines – worldhelplines.org

Feed America – @feedingamerica; www.feedingamerica.org

 

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Schmoozing Across Scotland and Ireland

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I recently returned from an incredible two-week trip to Scotland and Ireland. My traveling partners, Laurie, Kaitlyn and Lisa were fabulous, gracious and so much fun to be around. Thinking about it now I couldn’t imagine this adventure without them.

It’s hard for me to describe all the fantastic things we experienced, the food, the sights, the history, without probably boring the hell out of you. I know the feeling. So I’m just going to let the following travelogue speak for me.

SCOTLAND

Day 1 – This is where it all began. The land of Robert the Bruce, Mary Queen of Scots, William Wallace, Gerard Butler, scones, whiskey, and the Loch Ness Monster. And after arriving at Edinburgh Airport from opposite ends of the country in the early hours of the day, we quickly got our fill of coffee, checked into our Airbnb located in the heart of Edinburgh, then hit the ground running.

After much discussion and not at all comfortable with the car steering wheel on the right and the flow of traffic also challenging our brain cells, we decided it was in our best interest not to rent to a car. Yes, I would’ve loved to have taken in the countryside at my leisure, but with Edinburgh a perfect base with so many restaurants, sights, and tour companies readily at our disposal, it seemed a no-brainer.

With a full day still ahead of us, we jumped on the Hop On/Hop Off tour bus. What a great way to get a lay of the land and not have to get off—if you don’t want to. We went around a few times, snoozing in between. Which was okay until the bus driver finished his run and politely asked us to get off.  That’s when we decided before the day got away from us, it might be a good idea to dig in. So we toured the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Queen’s official residence in Scotland, waved at Arthur’s Seat (an extinct volcano and a monster hike which we were definitely not up for even if we were in shape) next to it, walked around a bit, discovered I loved Chilean chardonnay, then dragged our tails back to our home away from home for the next week and passed out.


Despite the jet lag, we were two very happy campers, pinching ourselves that we were finally here. It was after all a trip long in the making. Two years to be exact.

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Day 2 – When a country, a street, a town, a building, a road (whatever) acts as inspiration for a movie or a book it’s only a matter of time before a deluge of tourism follows behind. Such is the case with Scotland and two famous writers. The story goes that J.K. Rowling wrote her Harry Potter book sipping coffee at the Elephant House in Edinburgh. But the truth was parts of her first novel were written inside Nicholson’s Cafe, a few blocks away, with Edinburgh Castle, the possible inspiration for Hogwarts, in full view. Then there’s Diana Gabaldon. Her time-travel books set in 17th century Scotland with Claire and Jamie Fraser have taken the imagination of millions by storm. Myself included. So much so back in 2007 I began to write my own upcoming series of books. And with that being said, today was all about Outlander. In every corner of Edinburgh, there’s a tour company offering that Outlander experience. We did our research and the one we selected did not disappoint. The stops included: Midhope Castle and its estate (which was used for Jamie’s beloved Lallybroch, the scenes where Claire steps back in time and runs into Black Jack Randall, and the cave where Jamie the outlaw hides out for 7 years); City of Falklands (which was the site of Inverness with Mrs. Graham’s B&B, the charming curio shop where Claire admires the vase, and Jamie’s ghost staring up at Claire in the window which happens early on in the series before she goes back in time); Blackness Castle (Fort William where Jamie gets brutally lashed); and Doune Castle (which was not only used as Castle Leoch, home of Laird Mackenzie in Outlander but also for Games of Thrones’ Winterfell in Season 1). We had a blast! It was a small group; which is very nice, and our tour guide was fantastic. As for the weather … it couldn’t have been better. Slightly chilly, barely drizzling and frizz-free.

If you’re not up on the series (or into it at all for that matter), the photos to the right show the location where Jamie’s ghost stood outside Mrs. Graham’s B&B watching her. And other than the car … I trust you can see the similarities. Same for the above and below comparison shots with Lallybroch. Ken?  Sassenach?

Fort William before and during production. Amazing what you can do with a pile of rubble.

Located in the Stirling district of central Scotland, this medieval stronghold near the village of Doune was originally built in the thirteenth century. Doune Castle stood amidst a great deal of military action: the Wars of the Three Kingdoms, Glencairn’s rising and the Jacobite risings. During its heyday, it also hosted a few royal celebrities: Mary, Queen of Scots, King James VI, and Bonnie Prince Charlie.

Scones, fresh jam, and coffee. Oh. Yes. I’m in love with the scone. Not the American hard version. The soft, buttery Scottish thing that melts in your mouth version.

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Day 3 – Today we walked around Edinburgh. Knowing we had six days to explore the country, we had to space it out between seeing the sights of Edinburgh and touring the countryside. I must say it’s a marvelous city, very compact. Great for walking, but not well-equipped for those with challenges. The Castle and the majority of the sights are all in the Old Town. And all uphill. On more than one occasion after strolling along the Royal Mile, meandering in and out of streets, shopping, and needing to get back up when there wasn’t an ounce of energy left, Uber came in handy.

Lawnmarket Street. The vibrant colors of the storefronts are just phenomenal. Each one offers something interesting beyond the usual tourist necessities such as cashmere sweaters and whiskey. Here the cobblestone street winds down into Grassmarket Street where on Saturdays the local vendors come out to sell their wares. And as you can imagine that could be anything and everything. These kinds of things add an interesting local flavor which I love. And just as we were about to head off to our next stop, Laurie wandered into an old book store and scored a marvelous find: an antique-looking map of the city. She’s a collector, so I was very happy for her.

The Scotch Whiskey Experience. I must say I was a little disappointed with this. Very touristy, reminding me of a ride in Disneyland. But as they say … when in Rome. So I got my wee dram and crossed it off my list.

Edinburgh Castle. It was much smaller than I imagined. From afar you see this daunting presence up on the hill. But no complaints. The royal jewels and the artwork were fantastic.

We quickly learned that Robert the Bruce is very big around here. And of course, so are all these magnificent views!

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Day 4 – Today was a tour day. Starting out very early we traveled through Scotland’s most famous glens and the site of the 1692 massacre of the Clan MacDonald. We passed beneath Britain’s highest mountain, Ben Nevis as we drove along the shoreline. The dramatic landscape of the highlands, the Glencoe Mountains (scenes from Braveheart shot here), Loch Ness, riding the Jacobite cruise and visiting the ruins of Urquhart Castle was pure magic. Unfortunately though no sighting of Nessie, today.

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Day 5 – Another early morning start for our ride south to visit Rosslyn Chapel, the Borders and Hadrian’s Wall.

“When I decided to write The Da Vinci Code, I knew that its finale would have to take place at the most mysterious and magical chapel on earth — Rosslyn.’ Dan Brown

Skyrocketing to worldwide prominence through the publication of The Da Vinci Code, the 15th-century chapel founded by William Sinclair, 1st Earl of Caithness remains a legacy of Scotland’s finest architecture. Complete with fascinating symbols from Germanic and Norse mythology, geometric patterns, mystical carvings, and of course, the subterranean St. Clair crypt where recurrent legends allude that the Holy Grail exists. I personally didn’t find anything. But then again I’m not Professor Robert Langdon. Or Tom Hanks for that matter.

And so our day continued driving further south to the border separating Scotland and England. Constructed during Hadrian’s reign in 122 C.E. and serving as an outpost at the end of the world—which at that time was the Roman Empire—this stone wall, eighty Roman miles long and equipped with castles, turrets, and forts in between ran from the banks of the River Tyne near the North Sea to the Solway Firth. Looking at it now one could understandably feel slightly disappointed since there’s nothing really left to see. And the sections that do remain are maybe a foot or two high. Nevertheless, because of its historical value, Hadrian’s Wall (or what’s left) was designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987. Despite the torrential downpour, the stinging cold, the long hike up, we were just happy to be there because we knew we were seeing something extraordinary, something memorable before it all turned to dust.

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Day 6 – Another rainy day. Nothing new. In fact, I walk out the door expecting it. Living in Florida you come prepared with your umbrella and all the other requisite accoutrements. It was also our last bus tour for Edinburgh. The drive to Stirling Castle was, as usual, breathtaking. Historically and architecturally, Stirling Castle is considered one of the largest and most important castles in all of Scotland. Sitting high atop Castle Hill on this large crag of quartz-dolerite formed over 350 million years ago and surrounded on all sides by steep cliffs, its strategic position made it a constant target during wartime. From its earliest beginnings which date back around 1100, Stirling Castle was known as a royal burgh, an important administrative centre. It was here during the First War of Scottish Independence that the Battle of Stirling Bridge was won and led by the forces of Andrew Moray and Sir William Wallace. Remember the guy with the blue face? Anyway, we only had an hour at the Castle but wish we had more. The photos to the right are of the inner courtyard and its lush, exterior garden.

After the castle, we were back in the bus driving through Trossachs National Park. There we hiked up a very slippery mountain in order to be rewarded with a view of Loch Lomond, Scotland’s biggest lake. And after almost breaking my neck and a good hour … I finally made it. For those few seconds, I knew exactly how Rocky felt reaching the top of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was a definite photo op and so well worth it!

The tour ended at the Glengoyne Distillery where we got a viewing of the whiskey-making process. But more importantly, it was that serious kick-ass whiskey that sealed the deal for us. Great end to another awesome day!

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Day 7 – Our last day in Scotland. Tomorrow we fly off to Belfast where we begin the next leg of this incredible journey and our Game of Thrones experience. While Laurie kept a low-profile back at the Airbnb, I explored the city on my own. The National Museum of Scotland was directly across the street from us and with hours to kill, I figured this was definitely the place. I couldn’t believe how big it was. Five floors laying out the early settlers, the Roman conquerors, the Viking influence, the historical and religious conflicts, the Jacobite uprising. The two hours spent there were not enough; especially if you love these sorts of exhibits—and I do! The famous Lewis chessmen pieces from the Scottish island of Lewis were a happy, happy surprise.

So my great takeaway for Scotland … rent a car. As much as I loved everything we saw and the ease in which it took us to cover as much ground as we did, there were so many other places I felt like we missed because we didn’t have that luxury of doing things at our own pace. The city has so many terrific things to do. You’ll never lack for a place to find a good cup of coffee when there are 20 shops per block. Restaurants, and I do mean good restaurants, not just fish and chips, are also everywhere. Make sure you take in the local markets. Grassmarket on Saturday was terrific. Plan on staying here at least five days. Bring good walking shoes, sneakers and download the Uber app, just in case. I have nothing but glowing reports for Edinburgh. My only bone to pick  … I was expecting to see bagpipers all over the city. Curiously we only saw one.

Until next time Scotland!

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Day 8 – It was still dark out when we caught an Uber to the airport. And right before we landed in Belfast this is what I saw …

BELFAST

Hope I still have your attention here. Yes? Good. We settled into our next Airbnb which was very centrally located. The rest of our party flew in from Boston, and by early afternoon after we met up and stored their luggage at a luggage facility, we caught a Hop On/Hop Off bus. There’s no wasting a second when it comes to traveling. Sleep is irrelevant. Belfast isn’t very large. The people are lovely, very accommodating. The idea of seeing it all atop an open-air bus has its merits. The Freedom Murals were awesome, as was the Titanic Museum’s gift shop. Unfortunately for us, we didn’t time this as well as we should have. We got to the museum five minutes before closing. Oh well.

 

By 5 pm the signs of exhaustion began to take hold. So we trudged back to the Airbnb. Everyone settled in, took an hour breather, then it was time to get the party started.

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Day 9 – “What is dead may never die.”

Here again, Game of Thrones has fused an overflow of tourism into the area as well as employment. According to the tour guide for our Game of Thrones experience, everyone worked on the show in some capacity or another. He did and the wealth of little tidbits he added into his narration were amazing. We were so psyched coming into this, purchasing ahead of time dragon gloves, T-shirts, etc. At first, I thought we’d look foolish, but apparently we weren’t the only crazies. Everyone on that bus (all 45 +) were true GOT die-hards.

Enroute we passed Carrickfergus Castle, Magheramore Quarry (Castle Black and Wall). Then we stopped at Cushendun Caves (where Melisandre gave birth to the ghostly black assassin that stabbed Renly Baratheon and where Jaime Lannister and Euron Greyjoy fought to the death; Carrick-A-Rede-Rope Bridge (not really a show location, but way cool and way too windy to even contemplate crossing today. No. Thank. You); Ballintoy Harbour (Iron Islands, where we all dressed up); Renly’s camp (where Brienne of Tarth kicked Loras Tyrell’s ass); Giant’s Causeway (also not a GOT backdrop, just super exciting and a famous UNESCO site), and finally Dark Hedges (King’s Road).

It was a real WOW day. One of those experiences that sear to your brain like glue. But in the best way possible.

Do you think Giant’s Causeway and Led Zeppelin’s iconic album cover for Houses of the Holy have something in common?

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Day 10 – With a few hours left before hopping the bus to Dublin, making a stop at St. George’s Market was a must. The last surviving Victorian covered market in Belfast was built in three phases between 1890 and 1896. Before 1890 St George’s Market was an open market and most likely contained a slaughterhouse and a meat market. Today it’s a thriving market with well over 300 traders, crafters, musicians, and food vendors. I absolutely loved it, loved the vibe and the two scones I stuffed into my face. And for anyone who’s ever been to the Terminal in Philadelphia … this is just like that. Except, of course, for the fact it’s thousands of miles away and they speak a little differently.

DUBLIN

In a little over two hours, we arrived in Dublin. We immediately stored our luggage at a facility. Walked around. Sampled their fish and chips and Guinness before heading over to our Airbnb which was located directly across the street from Temple Bar. Talk about party city. Talk about loud. Yes and yes. But we were prepared, and believe it or not, this was exactly where we wanted to stay. Right in the thick of all this energy and color.

This is our view from our living room.

Day 11 – Today was our first full day exploring the city. And with a checklist, off we went to Trinity College where the famous Book of Kells resides. Created around the 9th century and also known as the Book of Columba and Ireland’s finest national treasure, this masterful manuscript of Western calligraphy contains the four Gospels of the New Testament. The illustrations and ornamentation are complex and utterly spell-binding.

Trinity College’s humble beginnings as the first University of Dublin were in 1311. Over the centuries it underwent many changes in both size and what it taught. Some of its attendants and alumnus might sound familiar: Oscar Wilde, Bram Stroker, J.B. Yeats, Jonathan Swift (Gulliver’s Travels), Courtney Love, Samuel Beckett, Dominic West. Such a diverse group, wouldn’t you say?

The Library. The outside cover of the Book of Kells. And the two shots on the right are the scribe’s tools of his/her trade: pigments ground from various stones, parchment and goose quills.

After Trinity College, we headed over to the Guinness Factory and Storehouse for a tour and naturally samples. I’m not really a beer person, but the ladies are. I have to admit the dark brew and mustache foam was kind of interesting. Something novel for me. I also enjoyed the view at the top of the building overlooking the city. That was awesome. That as well as the horse and buggy ride afterward (thank you, Kaitlyn. What a hoot!).  Our next stop was Dublin Castle; which was lovely with its ornate staterooms and private chapel. It’s hard to imagine people actually lived like this. With the day winding down we did the Hop On/Hop Off bus ride around the city. It was perfect. The sun was still out and it wasn’t crippling cold.

The day ended with dinner at a lovely little Italian (yes, Italian!) restaurant, then sleep. We had another big day ahead of us.

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Day 12 – With so many tour buses, some small and cramped, some large and touristy, today we were living large and traveling in a private Mercedes to the Cliffs of Moher like queens. All courtesy of my wing girl Laurie. It was a rather long trip, so we made a morning stop in Galway where we spent an hour and soaked in the local flavor.

 

And bought chocolate—naturally.

The drive to the Cliffs of Moher was really something. A countryside dotted with sheep, with rolling hills of green … what’s not to like? But that was just the appetizer. The Cliffs of Moher were spectacular. Something straight out of Wuthering Heights. Misty sprays of water, gusts of wind, all overlooking a dramatic landscape of rock and water like nothing else I’d ever seen. I take that back. Étretat in Normandy looked just like this.

With several hours here to kill, we decided to be adventurous and hike the cliffs. BIG mistake. We should have been content to just stare out at the view and call it a day. But no … as the temperature dropped along an arduous footpath that went on forever, off we went. I thought I was going to die. I thought Laurie was going to die with me. Thank goodness Kaitlyn and Lisa had their shit together and urged us on.

The rest of the day flew by. That is once we were back in the car. Once we had dinner, some wine. After that I slept like a baby.

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Day 13 – I had always wanted to visit Kilkenny and the Wicklow Mountains National Park after seeing the movie, P.S. I Love You with Gerard Butler. So today that’s exactly what we did on our last bus tour. Kilkenny is like so many other cities in Ireland: lovely, charming and medieval. With an abundance of little shops, nooks, and crannies to get lost in, Kaitlyn and Lisa toured the castle (by this point I was castled out), while Laurie and I chose to wander. And luckily for us in our wandering, we found a cute little bistro that had those delicious scones I was so loving. Next up: Wicklow Mountains. A glacial expanse of valley and rich in stunning scenery that took us to Glendalough, a monastic treasure located right in the heart of the park. 

For the remaining part of the day, we were left on our own to either hike or just sit and slurp it all in. We were also given the option of visiting a local farm nearby where we got to see how sheepdogs are trained from pups to commanders over these large herds of sheep. Let me tell you … these dogs do not mess around.

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Day 14 – It’s hard to believe that our trip is coming to an end. With one day left in Dublin, we decided to get up early and visit Kilmainham Gaol. This was not originally on our “things to do” list and I’m not sure why because it ended up being one of my favorites. Leaving me both humbled and in awe of what transpired there.

The former prison before it closed in 1924, housed and executed some of the most famous political and military leaders in Irish history. Eventually, it turned into a museum and over the years Hollywood used it for several well-known movies. The Italian Job, In the Name of the Father, The Whistle Blower, amongst others.

The rest of the day was spent leisurely. Some of us were getting ready for our trip home tomorrow or doing a little last-minute gift buying. Then just when you think you’re done, that the best has already happened, you find out there’s more. A surprise like finding the toy at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. Laurie purchased four tickets for Riverdance. Needless to say, we were giddy like little girls. Dinner was at Sheehan’s to get in our last licks of traditional Irish cuisine before strolling over to the theatre. As I sat in my plush velvety seat, as I listened to the music pounding, as I watched the dancers explode onto the stage, tears welled in my eyes and goosebumps rippled off my flesh like Mexican jumping beans. I was, at that moment, filled with pure joy. 

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So there you have it. Two countries. Thousands of miles. Fourteen days of living the dream and swimming in waters unfamiliar but joyous. And in those fourteen days, I was once again reminded how important it is to make space for others because the more we have to give the more we get in return. We are after all just people. People seeking the same thing on the same path. We’re just in different places heading in different directions along the way to somewhere.

I hope you enjoyed the ride.

 

 

 

 

 

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