The Queen’s Door I Walk Through

I am fascinated by certain things.  I am well aware of, and okay with, this.  I never get bored with these fascinations.  And neither should you.

Husband is busily putting our Ireland 2010 pictures on line so he can have easy access to them where ever he is.    We have been extremely fortunate to have been to Ireland four times.   We talk about going back as a possibility.   We never assume we will.  If it happens it happens.  If not we are grateful for having been there at all, let alone four times.

One piece of Ireland’s history is a never ending source of curiosity for me.  Grace O’Malley.  Grannia.  Granuiale.  Grainne Mhaol.  Grainne Mihaille.    There are so many different ways to write it and  say it.   I want to know how she  said it.  I want to hear her voice.   I want to know as much as I can so that I can imagine it as much as I can.

We’ve been to her castle a few times.  The first time we had total access.   We went in.   We stood where she stood.  

I  laid in her window seat, which was quite possibly her bed.   I’m pretty sure this would not offend her or upset her in the least.   It was very awe inspiring for me to be here. I think she knows that I respect her and her home.   That being here was an honor and a privilege for me.

However, this was not as awe inspiring at all.

I actually stood in her toilet.  Before I knew it was her toilet.  Yes, the Queen had a toilet.   I am very impressed by this.  I just did not realize it was her toilet.  I don’t care if it has been 400 years since she used it, I did not think standing in her toilet was the highlight of the visit to her castle.   But, not every body can say they stood in her toilet.

I wondered about her home.   Every inch of it that was accessible, I accessed.   The stairs to her chambers, I climbed up, I climbed down, I climbed back up again.

Does anyone know the secret of these steps?

She was brilliant.   Just so you know.

She was brave.  She was strong.   She was determined.

I stood, and sat, and wondered, where a Queen did the same.

When we went back this last trip we could not get in.

This is what greeted us.

 This locked door of hers.

I can still look at the picture and be amazed.

I stood at her door.  On her stoop.   Where she stood.   Though she was granted access at all times.

How many times did she approach.   Step up.   Walk through that door.

How many people came to this door for her help.   Her guidance.   To beg of her.   Or to pay her homage.

This is only one of her doors.   One of her castles.   She was right there.   As was I.

I walked through this door in the past.  As did she.

I am fascinated by this.