This had taken it's toll on us, but especially on Thomas. Between Mom's surgery and related doctor visits, getting Mom's house ready and moving her, packing and prepping in Austin, saying good byes, traveling back and forth, all the red tape immigration paperwork and setting up things here, Thomas finishing up his old job, and starting a new job in a new country, we were all pretty pooped out. Thomas especially took one for the team. In addition to his regular duties at Dell (two jobs), he worked very hard on the details of the relo. We sort of thought that the relo company would take care of everything and we would just show up, but really they just tell us what we need to do and how/where to do it, and then we do it all -- everything from immigration paperwork, to dealing with the movers, to arranging for furniture, to setting up utilities, to finding cars, to acquiring auto insurance, to setting up a bank account, to purchasing every item a home could need, etc etc. There has been SO MUCH to do! Almost every single step has had obstacles; it seems that you must constantly hound people to get things done, and even then you find out that people doing things are so unorganized, give you wrong info, etc. And Thomas did so much of it, especially ahead of moving here and in the initial couple of weeks, without me even knowing what was going on. He said that this time was more stressful than the leveraged buyout of Dell that he had such a hand in a couple of years ago....not in terms of time spent, but in terms of the pressure he felt. To him this was personal. This involved his family, so his fatherly and husband instincts which would have been called upon in years past to build a cashel or thatch a roof, kicked in to make sure his family would be taken care of. We were finally settling, and with our trip back to Texas behind us, it was time to relax and rejuvenate. So we headed out West.
The boot of the Passat completely loaded, we grabbed a pizza at our favorite take-away pizza place in town, Garys, and made the 3 1/2 hour trek to Galway. Amazing one can travel the width of the entire country in that amount of time. (For those unfamiliar with Ireland geography, our house is on the East coast by the Irish Sea, and Galway is on the west coast, bordered by the Atlantic Ocean.) Galway is known for its rugged, rural, pastoral, traditional Irish setting -- rolling hills, green grass, streams, sheep, stone walls, rain. Because we had so many issues to deal wth earlier in the day, we got off to a late start. Our destination was Cashel House. I remembered coming in late to the inn last May when the kids and I stayed there with Dad and Sue, and feeling like I was rude to arrive to someone's home late, when they were ready to be in bed, but they had been up worrying about us. So this time I made sure to have Thomas call ahead to warm Kay, the owner, of our late arrival.
Kay: Will you be hungry? Shall I have some food for you?
Thomas: No, I think we will be okay. We will not be there until around 10 so we will pick something up. Thank you.
Kay: Are you sure? It's a long journey.
Thomas: Yes. We will be fine. Thank you.
Kay: How about I have a plate of sandwiches for you?
Thomas: Okay, that would be lovely.
And that pretty much summarizes Kay's hospitable ways. I must say that the two times I have been to this place (Perhaps one of my favourite places on earth), I have felt inspired to be more welcoming and hospitable. I have had a new understanding of the importance of hospitality and what a difference it can make for someone to feel welcomed and comfortable and loved and cared for. Upon our arrival, we were actually greeted by the bartender who graciously helped us carry our bags and made sure we had everything we needed, including that plate of sandwiches, and oh how LOVELY those sandwiches were. Lovingly prepared and presented with a large fruit bowl and glasses of milk, I felt like I was a weary passenger just off a long coach ride who had just stepped into Buckingham Palace kitchen through the back door and was greeted by the house chef who insisted I rest a spell and have a bite to refresh me.
The next day at breakfast we were amazed as the staff said things like, "Oh it's good to have you back!" and, " The children have really grown!" Pretty much every single person at the inn remembered us instantly. Amazing. Our server at dinner that night recalled a conversation we had last year about the economy of Roundstone, her home village.
This morning, Sam was so excited to share with Thomas the world famous gardens of Cashel House. Like stepping into the Garden of Eden, it is. So lush and colourful, you know the gardens have been tended to because there is not one plant that is not "supposed" to be there, and yet it has such a wild feeling, not like a formal English garden, but like a garden planted by God just for us, a happy little garden, where each plant is crying out with joy that it is just in the space that it is created to be in. After passing through Mary's "Secret Garden" we came upon the horse paddocks, and the horses came running to greet us. We spent quite a bit of time admiring their beauty, patting their foreheads, and bonding with their spirits, until moving on to the stables where we found a horse we named "Captain" when we were there last May. Captain and I really hit it off then, and this time, it was as if he heard my voice because as I turned around the corner, he gay-fully rushed to stick his head out the stable door with anticipation of seeing me again. He loved all over me just as he did the last time we were there, trying to eat my hair and my scarf, and eliciting many a giggle from our entire clan.
We headed off that afternoon for the beach at Roundstone. A lovely, secluded, colourful, white sand beach with an old graveyard looking down upon it from the hill above. The clouds lowering onto the hill made everything mysterious as we walked over the rocks and down the beach.
Everything was grand, until it started to rain, and rain harder, and it was quite cold. The kids and I had not adjusted back to the idea of dressing for Irish weather, so we didn't bring proper gear....especially Lucy. She only brought two light sweaters for warmth, and soon her pink sweater and pants were soaked, and she was shivering and in absolute tears. She was completely melting down as I tried to encourage her to "dig deep" and find it within herself to see this as an adventure and push through back to the car. I tried talking and distracting her, but nothing worked. She was miserable and that is all there was to it. She made it to the car and completely lost it in the car because she was so cold. Thomas was attempting to back up down a long, narrow , muddy lane and Lucy was wailing in his ear. It was a tense moment to be sure. But a little heat and the removal of ones wet clothes does a lot of good, and we certainly were ready for some hot tea, cards, and drinks back at Cashel House!! We enjoyed (in our dry clothes) the beautiful bar overlooking the tulips outside the large windows, while the bartender and butler tended to our needs.
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| Our "butler", Martin put me to work stoking the fire! |
Later, in grand Cashel House style, we replenished ourselves with lamb, fresh fish, homemade bread, fresh organic veg and potatoes (as well as an after dinner treat of course). Everything was wonderful!
Next day was Sunday so after our amazing beautiful "Full Irish" and tea
we headed to Mass in Roundstone, then for a little shopping and lunch in a pub there where I heard an Irish dad sing to his son, "Son, have you ever heard that song? You know the one. (singing) 'Like a Roundstone COW-BOY!" haha!
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| Roundstone, Co. Galway |
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| Pub in Roundstone |
We
were able to borrow a weather-proof jacket for Lucy, so we decided to
try the beach walk again, and wow. It was so incredibly beautiful.
such a better experience this time! We walked a long way and just
enjoyed ourselves so much. The turquoise water, the sky, the grey
boulders, the green grass, the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks,
the sea shells. Wonderfully sensual.
Back to the inn for cards and snacks. Lucy learned how to play Spades, so now we as a family can play 5 Card Draw or Spades, and we have had so much fun with that. Lucy is actually quite good! (You may know Sam is amazing at cards.)
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| View from our bedroom window |
Next day we headed to the Kylemore Abbey just to go to the gift shop. I had decided I wanted to purchase dishes from somewhere in Ireland to have as my every day dishes and to take back to TX with us when we return. No dishes there, but we did buy rain galoshes for the kids, PONCHOS for everyone and some other things, and then headed to the cafe where we enjoyed some delightfully deliscious warm apple pie with custard for lunch! (Thomas and me.) Lucy had soup and a scone, which I found out later had won awards for being the best scones in Ireland!
Something about this place, with my mind settling down to a slower pace, my cares lessened and seeming much further away on a shelf somewhere, my mind has for some reason become a bit sluggish. I have found myself (even as I write this a month later) less able to find pretty common everyday words, or not as quickly, and replacing some words with words I don't mean. This became glaringly apparent when I was talking about some cows grazing in the fields or doing something or other, and I said, "Look at those moos over there." (or the like) Moos? Did I just SAY that??? Everyone in the car stopped, in disbelief, and then we all cracked up. That became the running joke for the rest of the trip. We saw very many moos and baas and chirps along the way. I have had moments of worry about my short term memory loss for words, but we are theorizing that I it is due to taking so much new information in. My mind is preoccupied with trying to remember what side of the road to drive on or the correct terminology for things or trying to figure out the Gaelic translations for words (not out of necessity....out of desire and curiosity) or how to get around, or just taking in the magnitude of what we have just done moving to another continent. And Thomas also thinks perhaps my brain is just taking a brake. I think there is something to that. I have found recently (as I write this) that I am gradually improving in that regard.
With County Galway in our rear view mirror, Off we headed, north, along the western coast. We stopped at Croagh Patrick, having no idea what to expect. Supposedly this is where St. Patrick spent 40 days fasting and praying, and now pilgrims walk the walk up to the top of the hill, often barefoot, in prayer. We decided, despite it being late in the day, to see how far we could get. This was no easy hike!! The first half of it is a steep grade up rocky, muddy ground with little rivulets running all down it, so you have to maneuver around the water, cross over stones, etc. it was raining and cold, and we decided to pray a Rosary as we went to keep us going. I was so inspired by how the Rosary kept the kids going. They didn't want to stop praying it, especially Lucy. They totally could have complained about the cold and the rain dripping off their poncho hoods down their faces, but they did not. They embraced every step, and we were rewarded with spectacular views which we did not anticipate, sheep grazing along side us, and a sense of reverence and closeness to this great saint.
We did what we could considering the time, ages of the kids, rain, etc, and then turned around, feeling quite satisfied about the progress we had made. I prayed for a friend almost the whole way back. There wasn't a whole lot of talking. Everyone was pretty much moving at their own pace. Sam was at the front. Then me a ways back. Thomas stayed back with Lucy.
Just as I was thinking about how I drew the longs straw to be able to have this quiet time to myself, Sam called out that he was stuck. And man, was he STUCK! He had stepped in the mud on the way up and thought it was fun how his boot got stuck there, but he managed to get it out. This time he repeated the behaviour and it was NOT coming out. His feet were only sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, which was up to his shin. At first I tried to keep myself clean, but I soon had an image of an Irish woman of yesteryear, living in this harsh land, doing this very thing...digging her son out of the mud, with mud being spattered all over her. It was an experience of connection with these mothers of long ago who were not afraid to get dirty and be wet to get the job done. Eventually we had to give up on pulling the feet out WITH the boots, and we had to have him step out of the boot, and then I climbed over to the boots and pulled them out separately...nice new rain boots completely CAKED with mud, as well as some boy-size-5 feet!
It was a challenge to figure out how to get the boots (and the boy, and the mom) in the car with a 100% packed boot (trunk) without getting the whole car and everthing in it dirty, but with the help of our ponchos, some bags, and the park restroom we managed, and off we went to the town of Wesptort in County Mayo for the night.
After dinner at the hotel, we got the kids settled into the room and then Thomas and I walked (in the rain, of course) over to Matt Malloys, the famous old local pub. What a TREAT to walk in to a spontaneous session in the back room with people standing around in a circle and sitting at tables attentively listening, clapping, stomping, and soaking in every pulse and beat and lyric of these tweed sweater wearing Irish tenors. Very authentic. Very lively. Very joyful. THIS was living in the moment. THIS was connection through music. This was a connection to my family who had come before me. I decided I wanted to know who they were, where they lived, what their life was like. I sent an email to my Aunt Mary asking for what information she had on my family in Galway and Monaghan.
I was so pleasantly surprised by Westport. Modeled after Paris by a French architect, this little town is picturesque and steeped in history. After a great brunch and then shopping for some REAL "spring" rain gear (since our ponchos were goners now), we enjoyed strolling through the town, and we stumbled upon a monument to St. Patrick. While the children and I discussed all the scenes and quotes on the monument a man walked up to us and said, "You know, there used to be a statue of George Clendining on top, but it got blown off. I assumed he meant by a strong gust of wind, but he clarified that it was blown off by Free State troops during the Irish Civil War in the 1920s. We then got an earful of the history of this, the man's hometown, and of Irish politics and the tensions of North vs South/Catholic vs Protestant over the years until the present. Apparently the whole area had been owned by a "lord" until only recently, and the whole town was centred around this estate. He lamented over the Irish losing their love for the history of their land, and how historical sites are not being kept, etc. I can not get into everything that he said in this blog, but I can tell you it really intrigued me and gave me insight into the minds of the Irish people.
We headed down the street and the next person I met was a girl whom the Holy Spirit had sent to me. She was crying in a chair by herself, and I knew I had to speak to her. Her boyfriend had been drinking all night and was treating her poorly. She felt he was an alcoholic and just didn't know how to get out. I was able to share with her the immensity of God's love for her and that His plan is for her to be whole and to be cherished. After about 10 minutes of chatting, her GORGEOUS, deep, piercing blue eyes looked straight into mine as she was whisked away by two tipsy men and she said, authentically, "Thank you." and pulled away from them to give me a hug. Just around the bend was a Catholic Church. It was beautiful and grand inside, and off to the side the Blessed Sacrament was exposed and the whole family had a really touching moment of connection with Jesus in that space. I prayed for the girl and asked the Lord to touch her heart to know how deeply He loves her. I also thanked Him for the privilege of being able to share His love with her, and we set off for Donegal.
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| We learned alot about how poorly the Irish were treated during the famine. Starvation and emigration was due more to abuse of power than to acts of nature. |
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| A quick stop at a famine burial ground |
