Ireland #5: Immediate and Immense

We were invited to Ashling's (Ian's fiance) parents' house for dinner tonight, just two days before the wedding. Never before have I met a family so identical to mine back in Chicago...

Your drink is mysteriously kept full all night without you seeing. There's more than enough food for everybody in the house, plus more for anybody who happens to stop by last minute. A boyfriend shows up late after his football game, and within no time, has taken a shower and has a warm plate of food in front of him. The neighbors are invited in. Everybody is obviously welcome.

The kitchen is the spot for action. Bustling. Plates going in and out of the oven, the dishwasher, the fridge. Smells you can't identify but love anyway. People getting in each others' way and laughing. Way too many cooks in the kitchen, and thank goodness for that because these are some of the best cooks you'll ever know.

We sit around, talking across tables, talking across the whole room, yelling over one another, until there's an unspoken, spontaneous decision to listen to one person. People sit, hearing each other's stories, sipping tea and booze, learning our own history from each other. My father tells the story of the first time he met my mother's parents (special treat - listen to my parents tell the story here on Storycorps!). Although I have heard the story a million times, I watch the others listening to him, and hear it with whole new ears. I smile and laugh with them, and I look forward to hearing their stories.

Although this is the first time we've ever met, there's a beauty, connection, comraderie that arises immediately. We are family automatically, not by blood or legality, but by love. Immediate and immense love. Just like at home.

To feel so comfortable and so natural right away, I guess it could be partly attributed to the fact that we're pretty easy, socially. Maybe a bit. But really, it's because of the setting, the feel, the energy that this family has created and welcome us into. I did not feel like a stranger. All I felt tonight was joy and happiness and love. That's what they welcomed us with. Their attitudes towards people - us, each other - towards life was so beautiful. A quote from my aunt on the car ride home, after talking about how happy Ian and Ashling and the whole family seemed:

If I'd wish anything on anybody, it'd be that they find happiness. You can get through an awful lot if you just have happiness in your life.

What a beautiful way to think and to live. Thank you, Mary Kenrick.

Two days later we celebrated the marriage of Ashling and Ian. We ate and drank and talked and laughed and danced for 12 hours straight; well, some of us for 15 hours straight, but I didn't make it that far. I did shots with cousins I didn't even know I had. There was no "her family" and "his family," just our family.

At some point late into the night, I spotted Ashling's sister Tracy running up to Sara and I in her yellow bridesmaids dress, yelling something about a dance we had to do. Laughing, I let myself be pulled to the dance floor and paired up with Christy, one of the guys who carried our bags on our first night, and found myself in the middle of a traditional Irish line dance. As I trip over my own feet, trying desperately to learn the steps, I watch my two great-aunts, both in their 80s, dance like pros on the dance floor. I see old men, my uncles and aunts, teenagers, Ashling's and Ian's friends, all dancing, laughing, singing along. "My god," I think, "it's just like Chicago."

I leave Ireland a day later with so much love in my heart; for my new family, for my old family, for Ian and Ashling, and for love itself. Love for the sake of love. This? This was a damn good trip.

Ireland #4:Crazy Lady Night

I'm not sure what night it's been on the past few trips, but on this one, it was night three. Monday night. Though we've been out of the house all day and for much of the night, we still get a bit stir crazy. This is just what happens here. There is always the initial Crazy Lady Nights, especially when my sister and I are there together.

At about 11:30 pm, after all the visitors have come and gone and I've drank as many cups of tea as my bladder can handle, we start to settle down - we put up our feet and turn on the television. Lo and behold - Working Girl is on. A million props to Working Girl, because on this night, it is officially the best movie ever made.

I cannot explain television in Ireland. One night you'll find yourself trying to get tired, so you turn on the TV and miraculously catch an episode of True Blood at 10 pm, followed by an episode of Blind Date, followed by America's Next Top Model. Brilliant. The next night, you'll come downstairs fighting insomnia and jet lag with the small glimmer of excitement; based on what you watched last night, at least you'll see some awesome entertainment. But no - it's an episode of Becker, followed by a documentary about sailboats, followed by a Bosnian singing competition. It's so random. And this is why catching a movie like Working Girl, from the beginning of the whole movie, is a special treat. One more point about the strangeness of Irish television - they were showing the same movie on a different channel, but it had started fifteen minutes later. There ya go.

Back to Working Girl. Sara and I had a ball. We cackled at Joan Cusack's hair and makeup and Melanie Griffith's lingerie. And Sigourney Weaver - what a nasty bitch! And of course, any and every version of "Let the River Run" is played throughout the whole glorious movie, putting it in our heads for at least the next 48 hours.

After the movie is over, we creep upstairs and settle into our beds, gushing over what a great film it was. Right when I feel like my eyes might be getting tired and sleep could be near, which is a rare and beautiful thing during the first few nights in Ireland, Sara decides she wants to try and sing me her favorite lyric from the theme song. I say "try" because she's never actually able to sing the complete line. Why, you ask? Well, because as she attempts to sing, she's doubled over with laughter. Mostly because this is the lyric:

Come run with me now,
The sky is the color of blue
You've never even seen
In the eyes of your lover.

You see, in this moment, this is the funniest thing to ever happen, ever in life. And maybe nobody will understand that, and maybe it's not even that funny in retrospect, but in that moment, in this tiny room on the 3rd floor of a crazy, skinny house with my parents sleeping a floor beneath us, it is insanely hilarious. And we're both in our 30s and on a family vacation with our parents and sleeping in single twin beds barely a foot apart from each other and have hardly eaten any vegetables for days and we're now completely hysterical. Over nothing. We can barely breathe, tears are streaming down our faces, and we are trying to stay quiet so as to not wake our folks, so what comes out of our mouths sounds like a wheezing, heaving, messy, snorty, guffaw.

This is Crazy Lady night. The night where the most assinine things are the funniest, where our stomachs ache not just from the lack of vegetables, but from the giggling as well, where nobody but us would understand. And I love it.

Ireland #3: Me Mudder, Da Tour Guide

"I can't remember what I did yesterday, but I remember these little things from over 40 years ago..." - Me Mudder

She is a wealth of local knowledge and history. She'll show you flowers and grottos and creeks and beautiful views no tour guide, book, or map could ever provide. She drives fast and fearlessly down tiny, winding, country roads, making guesses as to turns and directions, and always ends up in the right place.


We pass a monument and gravestone for a famous greyhound named Master McGrath. Yes, for real. I never would have noticed the small landmark had she not pointed it out. She remembers that her father used to stop the car and make the whole family get out to pay their respects to the famous dead dog.

She knows every beautiful little beach on the southern coast of County Waterford and County Tipperary. She knows exactly which turnoffs are worth stopping at, which will provide the best pictures.



It rains nearly every day in Ireland. Today it was pouring as she drove us down the curving roads of the coast. She eyes the blue sky in front of us, past the rain and black clouds. "That's where we're headed; it'll be sunny there," she proclaims. And sure enough, as we pull up to our destination, the sun breaks out and the rain lets up. And we see the most beautiful double rainbow I've ever witnessed.

"Never let the weather keep you from your plans - the rain always stops eventually."

She knows the exact mountain to visit to see the rhodedendrums that are only out for a few weeks of the year. We drive up The Vee (mountain area not far from Fethard) and are suddenly surrounded by the blossoming pink flowers. They're everywhere, above and below and on either side of us.


She tells stories that sound like urban legends; one about a man who was buried standing up on top of a mountain so he'd always enjoy the view. Another about a bottomless lake nestled between two hills. The thing is, these are not just stories. Everybody in Fethard swears that they're true. These stories are passed through the local residents - no tour or book tells you this stuff.

I know I could come to Ireland any time and my family there is constantly telling me to bring friends to visit, but honestly, I'd really miss having my mother as a tour guide. Without the stories, it just wouldn't be the same. They add so much history, interest, and hilarity to the whole experience of being here.

So, in conclusion, if you ever travel to Ireland, you should probably hire my mother to guide you. I promise, it's worth it.

Ireland #2: Two is For Joy

There is a saying about magpies - the black and white, scrappy-looking scavenger bird that crosses your path randomly in Ireland. Nanny used to say it and my mother repeated it and I had it completely memorized as a teenager. It runs through my head - in my mother's voice - every time I spot one flying in front of the car or swooping from one tree to the next:

One is for sorrow, Two is for joy
Three for a girl, And four for a boy,
Five is for silver, Six is for gold,
Seven for a secret never to be told.

As my family sits in the living room, drinking tea and catching up, I feel myself zoning out, my mind wandering to the usual places its been going lately - to loss, sadness, so many other things. I cannot focus. Instead of appearing preoccupied, I drift off to the kitchen to do some dishes. To make myself useful. I look out the window. From a tree flies one magpie. One is for sorrow. My mind wanders further. For sorrow. So much sorrow. A word that cannot even describe, yet is so gentle and kind, and in a strange way, a bit perfect.

I feel the tears in my eyes; despite the perfect word, I am just too consumed by what it means. There has been too much sorrow lately, and sometimes I find it difficult to come back up out of it once I start drifting. I'm trying consciously to hold it together and calm down, so I lift my face to the sun that is struggling to push through the clouds and magically, as a beautiful reminder, a second black and white bird appears. A magpie. And I remember: Two is for joy.

For joy.

Ireland #1: We Are Home

I wrote a ton in Ireland and Italy, and although I wasn't able to publish any blogs because of the lack of technology, I saved 'em all up in a notebook and will publish them over the next couple of weeks.

Perfect timing is rolling up to Burke St. (after a 7 hour flight followed by a 2 hour layover followed by a 2 hour flight followed by a 2 1/2 hour drive) and within seconds of stepping out of the car, hearing a familiar voice screaming "Lou!" (my mom's name in Ireland, pronounced like LEW). "Cuz! Hey cuz!" It's Ian, wonderful cousin Ian, who is getting married in five days. He is accompanied by two men who are each carrying a bag of freshly fried chips and cradling them to their chests as if they were holding babies. The three are trashed, smiling and laughing, and a beautiful sight for my bleary, dry, and yes, sore eyes. So happy these guys were here to meet us.

Ian embraces me and lifts me off the ground as he launches into his lightning-fast and often hard to understand exclamations about how he's nearly shitting himself about the upcoming wedding. He offers to help with our bags, and he and his friends go ahead and carry our suitcases up the narrow staircase of my great-grandmothers house; 13 steps to the second floor, 13 more to the third, on a staircase no wider than 2 1/2 feet. I hear MJ (who I will soon learn is "the funny one") shouting "how many fecking floors does this fecking house have?!" He nicknames it Fawlty Towers.

At this point, it's about 12:15 am and we hear a knock on the window of the first floor living room. It's Ian's father, my uncle Michael, who "heard something" (i.e. his son screaming in the street) from his house three doors up the road. Everybody is chatting, laughing, hugging, offering tea. MJ asks if we need a trip to the pub. I look around at the bright faces and smiles and I feel my heart surge - I know we are home.

This is Ian. Love you, Cuz!


Aaaaannnd this is MJ and Christie, the bag-carriers:

Roots

Oh hay there! I have a question for you all. Do you think my mom and I look alike?


Yeah...most people don't. Wah wah! My mother is 100% Irish, which (because of math) makes me 50% Irish. Man, I love being Irish. We have like THE best music ever. Proof:

All God's Creatures


The Wild Rover


Boulevogue


These songs always strike such a strong chord in my heart. There are certain melody lines, certain inflections, in Irish music that are like no other music. The songs are so sincere and meaningful and heartfelt. Or, in the case of All God's Creatures, so hilarious.

And man, maybe Ireland isn't known for its food, but there are a few choice items that are so ridiculously amazing if done right. The other night, Genia and I went out to celebrate being Irish and spilt two dishes at Brocach: corned beef & cabbage and fish & chips. So delicious. Unfortunately, some of the more delicious things in life do not photograph well in a dark environment on a new camera I haven't quite figured out yet, so you'll have to observe these and use your imagination. And just trust me that they were absolutely delicious.


Here's my drink: a Murphy's. Look closely at the foam - see anything?


By the way, the people at Brocach say the name is Gaelic for "badger den." My mom says they're making it up. I believe her. But hey, the food is delicious and the atmosphere is pretty lovely.


I'll be traveling to Ireland this summer for my cousin's wedding, and I'm so excited to go. It's been awhile, and I miss it terribly. As kids, we spent many summer weeks in Ireland; I feel like I grew up there. My mother's entire family lived (and still lives) there, and I feel lucky that we got to know all my cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandmother as well as we have despite the distance. And Ireland is so beautiful. You know all those rumors about the rolling green hills and beautiful mountains and rocky cliffs and green everything? Well, they're all true. Ireland is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been. Besides the natural scenery, there are ancient churches and castles by the side of the road anywhere you go. It's amazing. Check out these pictures from my sister from our last trip there in 2007.












There is a feeling, an energy, a smell...something, that is so different from here in the US. Maybe it's memories of childhood and growing up, or maybe it's the lushness of the land, or maybe just different air. Whatever it is, I miss it and I love it, and I cannot wait to go back there. This trip is really going to be a special one for me.

Lastly, I'll leave you with this. On St. Patrick's Day this year, why not make it a little less about the booze, and a little more about the Irish? Seriously. Celebrate my homeland and my people, but stay classy about it, okay? I mean, if a bunch of rowdy Arab men can do it, you can too!