Ireland For A Second

Crying gets a bad rap sometimes.   I think I have cried more in joy than for any other reason.   Silly as this little story might seem, it happened.   And it made my day.   I’ll remember this little text forever.

Years ago Husband and I were in Ireland.  My brother, sister in law and two nieces were there as well.   And some folks we lovingly refer to as UT and AC.

The girls were young.  It was their first trip to the mother land.   I like to think it was their best.  We were all there to celebrate and watch one of the girls dance.  She had earned a spot to complete at a world’s level competition.  You may, and should, be impressed right now.

Though the dance was the hi-light, you can’t go to Ireland and settle for one hi-light.   The brother’s family was ready to fall in love with a country they had already loved from afar.  We drove everywhere.  Saw everything we could.   We followed one another in different cars.  We used walkie-talkies to stay in contact.   We notified each other of “ruins” every time any of us saw them.  We loved the ruins.  Once, we approached a new development and I humored us all by calling out a heads up for the “newins”.   I thought that was pretty funny.   Yes, you may think this as well.   We drove so far and saw so much.   We settled in to a walkie-talkie pattern.   When one niece would contact me she would say, using our nicknames:   “Bridge to Pinky” and I would do the same “Pinky to Bridge”.   Around Ireland we went.  Excited by what they hadn’t seen, and excited about showing them things we had fallen in love with.  We saw high crosses.  Abbeys and castles magnificent even in their destruction.   Churches where people died for their faith.  Houses older than any building in our own country.  Every little town held bakeries and butchers and fun little stores to check out the loved Irish candy.   I was excited to show them Dingle and Dingle they saw.  And Dingle they loved.  We ate from the bakeries.  Yes, plural.  We bought sheep.  It was one of the best “we” days.

We went to a beach.  We climbed.  Walked.  Ate our way across a country.

We came home to a farm house we had never been to.   And waiting at “home” for us was UT and AC.    It is coming home when someone is waiting in the parlor for your return.

Anyone who has fallen in love with something, you know the extra joy there is in sharing it with someone else.   And they fall in love too.   It’s powerful stuff.

A few years have passed by since that first trip of theirs.  We’ve all been back.  But not all together.    Our trips never worked out at the same time.  Today they are there again.  To dance.  But to also see the place they love.   There was a small chance I was going to get to go with them.  It didn’t work out.  And that’s okay.   I had a sad moment or two about it.  But over all I have  been blessed to see a place numerous times that I thought I would never get to experience.   With people who have loved it as much as I.   We’ll always have that trip together.  Always.  I’ve always hoped that that trip was as important and wonderful to them as it was to me.  I wonder if they think about it like I do.

Today I’m going about my day here in beautiful USA and I get a text:

“On our way to Dingle.  Brooke says “Bridge to Pinky”.  Beautiful warm day, wish you were here with us.”

Pinky to Bridge.   Give my love to Ireland.   To your mom and dad and sister.   From thousands of miles away that little statement from all of you to me made my heart full.  For that brief moment I felt I was there.  Thank you for thinking of me from there.  I can’t say what that meant to me.   But, after all, my eyes did run with joy.