The Story of the Visitors

After we moved to Ireland, my mom determined that she wanted to visit us here.  All the machinations, all the planning, came to fruition on Monday (April 13).

We took the tram to Ranelagh and de-trained, intending to take the Dublin Express coach to the airport.  We had considered multiple options for getting to the airport:  taxi, city bus, etc.  However, the Express coach seemed like the most expedient way to get there.  The city bus would've been the cheapest option, but would've taken the longest as the buses make multiple stops.  The taxi would've gotten us there rapidly but would've cost quite a bit.  The Express coach only cost €20 total (the taxi would've been 2-3 times more).  It arrived on-time, was pretty comfortable, and only made a couple of stops for other passengers before heading for the airport.

I was feeling good about this choice...and then we entered a tunnel.  One of the things you might not know about me is that I'm terribly claustrophobic.  When I'm traveling through a tunnel, all I can think is that it's going to collapse and I'm going to be trapped.  [I remember Lissa and I driving to Duluth once, and our route took us through a short tunnel.  I mentioned my fear to her, and she said "If that happened, we'd be crushed and die pretty quickly."  My droll response was "I'd probably get an air pocket."]

I shut my eyes and focused on my breathing.  The tunnel had skylights that strobed as we passed beneath them so even with my eyes closed, I could tell we were still in the tunnel.  And it went on and on and on and on.  It was the longest-ass tunnel I've ever been in.  I'm grateful we never had to stop for clogged traffic because I probably would've clawed my way through the window and walked to daylight.

At the airport, we had some confusion as the bus stop was right outside the building that basically housed the car park, and we needed to get into the terminal.  Eventually, we figured things out and made it to our destination.  We were quite early, so we got a snack at Insomnia (coffee shop) and then sat in the arrival hall.  After a bit, Eli went to scout out the taxi stand, as we would be grabbing a cab to get to the hotel.

Mom was accompanied by her travel-savvy friend Barb so I had little concern about her taking such a long and involved flight.  They were flying IcelandAir, stopping over in Reykjavik for a couple hours before continuing to Dublin.

Happily, their flight arrived 20 minutes early.  Unhappily, Mom's bag didn't make it.  She had not planned to bring a checked bag, only bringing a roller bag and her purse.  However, IcelandAir determined her roller bag was just a tad too long and told her she'd have to check the bag.  Aside from the fact this cost $130, it would've been fine - IF THEY HAD ACTUALLY PUT THE FREAKIN' BAG ON THE FREAKIN' PLANE!

Eli and I were standing near the doors leading into the arrival hall, and his phone rings.  It's Barb letting us know that they've been delayed because Mom is having to fill out paperwork regarding her missing bag. IcelandAir only has one flight a day to Dublin, so her bag wouldn't arrive until the following day.

Eventually, they made it to where we were waiting, and there were hugs all around.  We ambled to the taxi stand, and then we were off.

During the drive, we were talking about the complexities of the Irish language.  I was trying to say Dia Dhuit (hello) and was pretty much mangling it.  Our Irish cabbie pronounced it for us, and I said, "You'll probably be glad to get these people out of your car since we're screwing up the language."

We walked into the Clayton Hotel in Leopardstown, and since I was paying for the stay, I moved to the reception desk while everyone else relaxed in the lobby.  Considering I would be taking the stairs to their room [no elevator for THIS gal], I was keeping my fingers crossed to have a lower floor.  The guy checking in next to me was on the first floor; I was given keycards to a room on the....sixth floor.  I almost felt like tackling the other guest and wrestling his first-floor keycard away from him.

Fourteen flights of stairs later, I arrived at room 628.  We pointed out the little idiosyncrasies of the room (no outlets or light switches in the bathroom, have to keep a keycard in a reader by the door or the lights will turn off after a while) and then headed for the tram.

We know how exhausting a travel day can be so we decided that Monday night would be a time to relax.  We ordered pizza and sat chatting while we waited for it to arrive.  Patrick was happy to be in Barb's and Mom's lap; Norris, who had raced upstairs to hide, came down but was too skittish to approach.

After stuffing ourselves with pizza and mini muffins, we made the tram ride back to the hotel so our guests could settle in after dinner.

Tuesday

Eli and I stepped out into a grey, misty, windy morning.  As we took our usual path to the tram, we were blessed with a Babby sighting.  (Babby is the neighborhood cat who lives in a house one street over from us.)  It looked like she was hunting, but she gave a big stretch and came over for pettings.

We collected our visitors from the hotel and started for Heuston Station, riding first the LUAS Green Line before walking a block or two to catch a LUAS Red Line tram that took us right alongside the station.

Inside we found seats, watching pigeons strut around looking for crumbs.  There was a piano near the seating area and when we arrived, a young person was absolutely killing Für Elise.  And by "killing," I mean "murdering the tune so badly I fully expected Beethoven to come lurching through the station doors to put a stop to it."

I couldn't handle sitting there so I moved across the station to look around the small bookstore.  Wound up buying Marcus Aurelius' Meditations and a cute keychain that had three dangling shamrocks.  After that, I went to a food market called Fresh and got a bunch of snacks for the trip.

Our boarding time arrived, and we began the hike to the train that would spirit us to Galway.  We walked and walked and walked...and walked some more.  I began to believe we would be walking all the way to Galway.  Eventually, coach E came into view and we boarded, finding the seats with our names helpfully glowing on an LED panel above the window.

The 2.5-hour ride took us past green hills, stone fences, ruins of ancient structures, wind turbines, cows, horses, and sheep.  It's lambing season, and we saw so many tiny little nuggets during the trip, delighting in watching them play or just rest near their mothers.

Barb had wanted to visit the Aran Sweater Market, and Eli wanted to show us the Spanish Arch so we took a short bus ride that let us out near both of these attractions.

The market had many beautiful (expensive) things.  Everyone but me bought something from the shop:  Barb got a couple sweaters, Eli got some gloves, and Mom got a jute tote bag with a cute sheep print.

Who's this guy messing up my photo of the shop?

The Arch was right across the street, so we headed in that direction.

From Galway Tourism:  The Spanish Arch was built in 1584 but is an extension of the 12th century Norman-built town wall, which stretched from Martin’s Tower to the riverbank. It housed soldiers who kept watch and manned cannons on the roof. Constructed by Wylliam Martin, the 34th mayor of Galway, it was first known as Ceann an Bhalla (‘the head of the wall’) but later became known as the Spanish Arch. This misnomer is thought to be a reference to the former merchant trade with Spain and Spanish galleons, which often docked here. In medieval times, European ships carrying cargo of wine and spices sold their goods at the docks. In fact, Christopher Columbus visited in 1477.  In 1755, The Spanish Arch was partially destroyed by a tsunami. In the 1800s, the Eyre family added the Long Walk extension. Until 2006, The Spanish Arch housed the Galway City Museum, which has now moved to a new location 50 yards away behind the original museum building.

I don't think the construction fencing is part of the original structure

The street around the corner from the sweater market was full of shops and restaurants.  We walked up a length of it, looking at menus to see which restaurant would be a good fit for lunch.

We decided on a place called Sonny Molloy's, a dark atmospheric whiskey bar that had a decent menu.  The staff was friendly and attentive, and the food was good.  I had bangers and mash, Mom had beef and Guinness stew, Barb had fish and chips, and Eli had veggie chili loaded nachos and chips.

Happily stuffed, we boarded another bus that would take us to Salthill Promenade on Galway Bay.  Barb collected some sand and snapped some photos.  I walked to a breakwater, watching the waves and listening to the bay.

We spent some time looking out over the water before making our way across the street to the Circle of Life Commemorative Garden.  It was created to honor and commemorate people who had been organ donors.

It's a beautiful and tranquil space, particularly on this day when we were basically the only visitors present.

There was a curved bowl of rock near this small water feature that was full of stones.  The sign invites people to drop a stone into the water in remembrance of their loved one.

At this point in the story, I will need to direct you to a different post.  Something so miraculous and unbelievable happened while we were there, and it deserves its own post.  Go to the post called "The Story of Circle of Life" and then come back here.  Here's a link to that post:  Irish You Were Here: The Story of Circle of Life

Okay, now that you've read that, we'll continue with our Galway adventure.

We hopped back on the bus and traveled to Eyre Square, wanting to be near the train station as our departure time drew closer.  This is a green space dotted with trees and a lot of birds.  Pigeons and gulls are smart enough to consider people a source of food, and there were a few kerfuffles when someone tossed a scrap that got descended on by a flock of squawking gulls.

Our arrival time in Dublin was scheduled for around 8 p.m. which is a bit late to have supper.  Before heading for the station, we grabbed something we could eat on the train and readied ourselves for the trip east.

Before we pulled away from the station, I made use of the facilities.  I was trying to get the water to turn on when a loud recording started blaring "Smoking is prohibited in this area.  Staff have been alerted."

I flew out of that cubicle very quickly, planning to douse my hands with sanitizer since I couldn't get the water to flow before I was rousted by that message.  There was a woman standing right outside the bathroom, looking at her phone.  I said "I wasn't smoking!" and she grinned and said "Run!"

The trip back to Dublin was thankfully uneventful, and we walked to the LUAS platform, planning to retrace our earlier journey.  A man sitting on the shelter bench was smoking and I moved away because I can't deal with the smell of smoke.  I could hear him railing about something and noticed he had a half-empty bottle of liquor sitting on the bench beside him.  Eli later told me that he was holding court about how terrible the current US president is, saying that Trump wants to put himself above God but that God and Mary control the world.

I saw the tram was approaching, and I went back to touch Eli's shoulder and let him know we could leave shortly.  I went to stand nearer the tracks, and the guy next to me smirked and said, "You saved him," meaning Eli.

During the day, we'd received notification that Mom's missing bag had been delivered to our house.  So Eli, gem that he is, continued on to the house to collect her luggage and bring it back to the hotel.  I walked Mom and Barb to the hotel and then waited to go back with Eli after he delivered the bag.

Wednesday

We were scheduled to eat breakfast at the hotel with our visitors before embarking on a boat tour of the River Liffey.

As with the tale of our trip to Galway, there is another necessary detour you'll need to take to a post titled "The Story of Yaya."  Or as I call it, Miracle #2.  Here's a link to that post:  Irish You Were Here: The Story of Yaya

Now that your heart has been sufficiently warmed, we can continue.

Obviously, we had to pivot from our original plan for the day.

As Eli and I had planned to eat at the hotel, we were both famished after our two-hour ordeal with Yaya by the time we reconnected with Mom and Barb.  We went to The Pantry, which is one of our favorite restaurants.  As we were waiting for our food, we filled in the details of our morning.  They knew the bare bones of what was happening but not all of the facts.  When I got to the part where I relayed that Yaya's young owner was autistic, I started to cry.  The story was sad enough to begin with but learning that fact just broke my heart.

After eating, we caught a bus to Dún Laoghaire and then boarded a DART train, headed for Bray and the Irish Sea.  I mentioned that my new keychain had three (lucky) shamrocks - one shamrock was for the miracle in Galway and one was for the miracle of Yaya.  I said maybe we'd see a mermaid in Bray, and that would be the third miracle.

Leaving the DART station, we saw a sign for the Mermaid Theatre and a shop called Mermaid Florists.

Eli, Mom, and Barb parked themselves on a bench on the promenade, and I braved the fierce wind and rocky beach to go down to the sea. It would've been perfect - except for the screeching teenagers that were right behind us while we sat and looked at the water.

We caught a different bus for the return trip on the route that has a stop right near our house.  During our transit home, the sky blessed us with a huge, bright rainbow.

Barb and Mom both said they were fine with the change of plans because they were worn out from the trip to Galway, so they were glad our day turned out as it did.  We ate leftover pizza for dinner and talked for a while before returning them to the hotel.

Thursday

St. Patrick's Cathedral and Dublin Castle were on the docket for the day.

St. Patrick's was our morning adventure.  We took the tram to St. Stephen's Green and caught a bus to the cathedral.

With soaring architecture and a plethora of stained glass windows, it's truly a sight you need to see in person to appreciate.  Pictures don't really do justice to the place.

Scattered around the cathedral were racks with votive candles.  I put a €2 coin in the donation box and lit a candle for Lissa (hers is the bright light on the top right).  I said that neither of us were Catholic, and Eli pointed out that the church wasn't Catholic either (it started out Catholic but then changed to Anglican).

After the cathedral, we traveled to St. Stephen's Green so they could see this wonderful park.  We sat near the water feature, watching gulls and ducks and swans gliding around the surface.  We moved deeper into the park so they could see all the blooming flowers and fountains.

Eventually, hunger called so off we went to a place called Thunder Road.  We had gone there when Eli's college friends visited last year, so we knew the food and atmosphere was acceptable.  We were actually seated at the same table that we'd had during his friends' visit so Eli took a photo of the picture hanging on the wall by the table and asked his friends if they remembered it.

After lunch, we had time to kill before storming the castle so we paid a visit to one of my favorite places:  Hodges Figgis bookstore.  None of my compatriots were as interested in browsing so eventually, the three of them went next door to have a cup of tea at Pret a Manger.

I traversed all three floors (didn't buy anything but it's always fun to look) before saying goodbye. 

Outside the entrance, there was an unhoused person huddled by the door.  She asked me if I could spare any money, and I said I don't carry money.  Then she asked if I could buy her something to eat.  I wanted to say no, but my soft heart overtook my vocal cords and I wound up saying yes.  I asked what she wanted, and she asked for a chicken sandwich from McDonald's, some fries, and something cold to drink.

I wasn't sure where McDonald's was located so I went to Pret a Manger and asked Eli to help me find it.  Turns out it was just down the street and around the corner, so I ordered a chicken sandwich meal and got her some bottled water.  Cost me all of €6.

Eli went back into Pret, and I walked over to give this gal her lunch.  She thanked me and asked for my name.  I told her, and she said her name was Sabrina and that she was homeless and trying to get back on her feet.  I wished her well and turned to walk back to Pret.

A man wearing a bright yellow work vest and carrying something (perhaps he was a City worker?) was walking beside me and he said, "I work hard and nobody ever buys me McDonald's.  These people are gypsies, and it's their culture to come through and scam money off people.  I'm sorry you wasted your money."

I didn't really know what to say because I was not expecting to be faced with these remarks.  If I'd been thinking clearly, I would've asked for his name and his department so I could report him for being a racist jerk.  And I was irritated because I felt good after helping that woman but his words made me feel stupid and gullible.

Later in the evening, I came to the conclusion that I'd rather help someone who didn't really need it than to turn away from someone who was suffering.

A brief bus ride brought us to Dublin Castle.  Eli and I had visited the castle the first year we were here, attending a Christmas market.  From what I can recall, our bus dropped us off near the entrance to the courtyard.  This time around, I think we got off at a different stop because we seemed to be at the back of the place.

There's a lot of construction related to the castle, and the signage pointing us to the entrance was sorely lacking.  We slogged our way along and eventually found the courtyard.

The cobblestones in the courtyard are very uneven, which makes for an uncomfortable walk.  I don't remember my feet hurting the first time we'd visited but during this trip, my dogs were barking.

I had printed our entrance ticket but wasn't sure where to go to check in, so I went to the Tickets counter.  The gal scanned it in, gave me wrist bands for the group, informed me I'd have to lock up my backpack in a (free) locker, and said to wait in the entranceway for the tour guide.  Nothing was marked clearly so it was a bit of a befuddlement trying to figure out where to be.

Our guide Audrey arrived, and our first point of interest was outside.  So it was back over the cobblestones twice more.  She took us through rooms that Eli and I had already seen, but I appreciated hearing the history of various objects.  I've read a bit about Ireland's past, so I already knew that England had treated Ireland poorly for centuries, and some of things she pointed out just reinforced that opinion.

Our tour let out around 5 p.m.  We knew that the trams would be packed at that hour, so we'd planned to kick around City Centre for a while, waiting for the tram commuters to thin.  However, we were all flagging by this point, so we decided to get a taxi back to the hotel.

While we were standing on a side street waiting for our ride, I was watching two people across the street from us.  They were crouched on the steps with their backs to the street.  I couldn't see what they were doing.  They stood up, and the guy opened up his coat.  The woman leaned into the shelter of the coat and a plume of smoke emerged.  Some kind of drug, I imagine - perhaps marijuana?  After a few minutes, the couple ambled up the street.

Our cab pulled up.  It wasn't super small but the backseat had an odd ceiling-to-seat ratio, and Eli couldn't even get his head in.  I had planned to sit in the front seat, so we switched and that worked out alright.  It was a bit close, but I opened the window and that helped it feel a little more open.

The drive took us up the same street Eli and I had been on when we caught the Express bus to the airport on Monday, and we passed the same bus stop.  It made me giggle because a business near the stop was called "Deja Vu."

The hotel has a couple restaurants, and one of them is basically their atrium.  We were sitting on lounges trying to determine what to do for dinner, and a server came over, asking if we wanted menus.  We initially said no, and then it was difficult trying to catch someone's attention again to procure said menus.  Eli, Mom, and Barb all had the soup of the day, and Eli had a side of potato wedges.  I was still full from lunch so I didn't have anything but water.

I felt like I'd been wrung dry.  I am the opposite of a "people person" and all the extroverting had completely decimated my energy.  We didn't stay long at the hotel because everyone was pretty wiped out.

Friday

Since we hadn't been able to have breakfast at the hotel on Wednesday, we decided to reschedule it to Friday.

The spread was just as impressive as the buffet I had experienced at the Clayton Hotel in Charlemont back in December.  Fixins for a full Irish breakfast, pastries, breads, cereal, yogurt, charcuterie, juices, fruit, coffee, tea.  I had not one but two pain au chocolat; they were flaky but moist at the same time.  Soooo good!

Eli had asked them to share their favorite parts of the trip.  After they gave us their highlights, I said, "Here I thought you'd say it was my sparkling personality.  I light up any room I walk into."

As we were winding up our meal, I looked over at the patrons who had seated themselves at the table next to ours.  I smirked and leaned over to tell Eli to take a look at the guy sitting behind him.  He turned to see the man wearing a Philadelphia Flyers baseball cap.  When we got up to leave, Eli went over to the guy and said "Nice hat" while putting out his hand for a fist bump.  The man gave a huge smile and returned the bump.

I hadn't planned to make the trip to the airport.  If we had been able to accompany our guests to the gate and sit there for a while, it would've been different.  But this was basically just dropping them off at the terminal and turning around to head for home.  Too, I was concerned that the taxi might be a tight fit again so I felt the passengers might appreciate the extra space.

We stood in front of the hotel, caught in that awkward and emotional process of saying goodbye.  Mom and I hugged, and then I hugged Barb.  When the taxi pulled up, Mom gave me another hug.  They piled into the taxi, and I started the walk to the tram that would take me home.

Once I found out Mom would be visiting, it was never far from my mind that this might be the last time I'd see her in person.  Then again, if Ireland has taught me nothing else (especially this week), it's that nothing is impossible and magic exists.

Mom brought me this trove of exotic gifts from the Old World. 

(I CAN get Kraft Mac and Cheese here, but it costs anywhere from €3-5 per box.)

Barb is an avid quilter, and she gifted us with this beautiful table runner.

I'm planning to hang it on the wall so the cats can't somehow destroy it.

The Story of Circle of Life

[To recap:  During our visit to Galway, I wanted to check out the Circle of Life Commemorative Garden, which is dedicated to people who were organ donors.  This is what happened while we were there.  As Eli wrote on his Facebook post, if I were to tell you about the events that took place, you would think I were pulling your leg.  But I promise, this actually happened.]

As I moved through the garden, I saw this bench.  The inscription reads "This garden, dedicated to organ donors and their families, was inspired by the life and memory of Éamonn Goggin."  It made me wonder about this person's story - what had happened to lead to the inspiration for a memorial garden.

I had been hearing a chiming sound, and I wondered if it were part of a garden feature.  It stopped and then started again, and I realized it was coming from a cell phone that had been left on top of one of the standing stones.

Eli picked up the phone and tried to determine the best way to locate the owner.  It wasn't locked so he was considering returning the call that had just come in or perhaps looking through recent texts to try to find a regular contact.

As he pondered a course of action, the phone rang again and the screen noted the caller as "Aaron."  Eli felt a contact with only a first name would probably be someone close to the owner but even so, he answered the phone and immediately said he wasn't the phone's owner, that it had been left in the garden, and was the caller able to reach out to the owner?

The phone's owner was with Aaron.  Aaron asked if we could hang out for a little bit, as the owner was at the hotel right next to the garden and would be arriving momentarily.  We were told to expect a "65-year-old man swearing a grey jumper."  [For those unfamiliar, a jumper is a sweater.]

A few minutes later, the man in the grey jumper arrived.  He was beyond thrilled to have his phone back.  He said that he had thousands of contacts contained in it, and he wasn't relishing having to start from scratch in rebuilding the list.

He was happy to meet American tourists, and in typical Irish fashion, he warmly welcomed my mom and Barb to Ireland.  He asked what had brought us to the garden.

Eli explained that he and I (and Mom - I don't know Barb's feelings on the matter) were proponents of organ donation.  He launched into a story telling us about the inspiration for the garden, about its planning and construction.

The name I had seen earlier and wondered about - Éamonn Goggin - was the garden's inspiration.  He died in a car crash some 20 years ago at age 26, shortly after telling his mother he would wish to be an organ donor if something ever happened to him.

Our new friend told us that the early attempts to get the garden approved were ignored multiple times by the city council until apparently they got tired of saying no and said yes just to stop the conversation.

He said this font (which we were standing near while hearing this story) was unearthed from the site of an ancient church.  All of the other stonework had been scavenged, and the font was buried until someone happened to come across it.  The church had stood only a few hundred meters from the hospital where Éamonn's organs were harvested for transplant.

He talked passionately about the wonderful generosity of people who offered time, talent, and treasure to bring this garden into bloom.  Stones were sourced from all over Ireland.  He spoke of a couple of people who were instrumental in helping create the garden.  There are benches to either side of this font.  One has a carved angel to recognize a volunteer named Angeline; the other had a carved rose to recognize a volunteer named Rose.

It was wonderful to be regaled with stories from such a joyful and enthusiastic ambassador.  We couldn't believe our good fortune in meeting someone who knew so much about the garden.

Reader, by now you may've guessed the twist this tale is about to take.  The reason our new friend was so knowledgeable about this space is because he was Denis Goggin, Éamonn's father.

Do you have chills yet?  I feel my heart beating faster, just remembering this encounter.

Denis had been meeting earlier with a person he described as "the man who built the park," chatting with him about a commemorative event that was to take place in May, and he walked away without his phone.

He said he didn't know how to thank us.  I think I said something like "Your smile is the best thank you."  I also told him he needed to write a book.

After many magical moments, we said our goodbyes and parted ways.  Quite honestly, I almost felt as though I'd left my body because this encounter pretty much pole-axed me.

Days later, the four of us were still remarking on the wonder of what had happened.   Further adding to the wonder is the fact that Denis' phone was down to 7% power - how much longer would it have continued to ring before the battery gave out? 

How is it we were there at that exact time?  All of our movements throughout the day culminated in our being there at this precise moment.  If we had spent more or less time on the promenade, spent more or less time at the shop or the restaurant, visited Galway on a different day - this probably wouldn't have happened.  Every single second was synchronized, perfectly aligned with the Universe to bless us with such a special and memorable gift.

If you would like to learn more about Circle of Life and to see more photos, please visit:  Circle of Life - Garden of Commemoration & Thanksgiving - Strange Boat Donor Foundation

The Story of Yaya

[These events unfolded concurrent to my Mom's visit.]

About a week before our guests arrived for their visit, we had a stray cat show up on our doorstep.

He didn't look to be in bad shape but when I put some wet food down, he gobbled it up as though he hadn't eaten in days.  He went through three cans for breakfast and came back later to eat two cans at lunch.

I had brought a microchip scanner to Ireland to ensure the authorities here would be able to check our cats' chips when we arrived at the airport, and I was able to scan this boy.

I was elated when the scanner found a chip.  I can't even imagine how terrible it is when your pet is lost, and I was so excited that I'd be able to reunite this kitty with his family.

I searched through multiple microchip databases online, only to be greeted with the message that no registration could be found.  One website told me the name of the chip manufacturer but had no other information.  I actually cried, upset that I was so close and yet so far away.

I sent emails to a few local vet offices with a photo and the microchip number, hoping that they had access to a different set of chip databases that would provide the owner information.  I also mentioned that I'd read that sometimes the chip manufacturer could tell you which vet clinic got a specific microchip.

All of the responses from the vet clinics were kind and helpful, despite the fact that their searched turned up nothing as well.  One of the clinics submitted a traceability request to the chip manufacturer, and I posted the photo on multiple Facebook sites regarding lost/found pets.

A few days later (the day of our Galway trip), someone named Orla reached out to me via Facebook and said she thought this cat might belong to her neighbor, Jenny.  I was able to connect with Jenny via Facebook messenger as well so late Tuesday night, after we got home from our Galway excursion, I was trading fast and furious messages with these two gals.

I asked Jenny if she could give me the microchip number, so we could confirm this was the correct cat.  She didn't have it but said she'd contact the vet first thing on Wednesday morning to get the number.

I had explained to both Jenny and Orla that my mother was visiting so I would be away from the house for long periods of time and wouldn't be around to capture him if he showed up.   I said I'd put food out each day before heading out, hoping to entice this cat to continue coming to our window until such time as I was home and could bring him inside.

Wednesday morning, I put food on the windowsills where he had perched, hoping he would show up.

We were getting ready to head for breakfast at the hotel.  Eli had his shoes and coat on.  I came into the living room to put on my shoes, caught movement from the corner of my eye, and looked over to see this kitty standing on our fence.  Norris and Patrick were in the kitchen so I closed the living room door and opened the window, calling to the cat.

He made his way over and came into the house like he owned the place.  Gobbled up the food I brought in from the windowsill, dug around in the toy bin, rubbed on furniture, used the scratching pad, and very calmly explored the room.

I didn't have Jenny's number, but I was able to reach her on Facebook messenger.  It was around 8:30 a.m. at this time.  We told Mom and Barb to have breakfast without us because we had a feeling we were going to be busy with this kitty.

Jenny's vet didn't open until 9 a.m. but I was fairly sure this was her cat.  She said she didn't drive, so she was trying to find someone to bring her to our house.  We don't have a car; otherwise, we would've been on our way immediately.

While messaging Jenny, I learned that this kitty (named Yaya) had been missing for two weeks and that her young son, who is autistic, had been nearly inconsolable because his friend was gone and he didn't understand.  

Eli and I didn't talk about it much before deciding to get a taxi and get this kitty back to his family.  I couldn't bear the thought of this little boy being without his furry friend one more minute.

Kitty was chilling in a box we have turned onto its side.  But he became a tasmanian devil when it was time to get into the carrier.  I wound up putting on two coats and garden gloves because he wanted to bite, and I wasn't having it.

Eli ordered a taxi.  The first driver accepted but then cancelled right away; we assume because he saw the message Eli entered about transporting a cat but it could've been for any reason at all.  Another driver accepted the fare, and he was at our door in about five minutes.

I thanked the driver and told him we were on a mission of mercy, explaining that we were returning a lost cat to his family.  While we were waiting for a stoplight to change, he pulled up a photo of an adorable fluff of a kitten on his phone and said his daughter had been begging for a kitten so they'd be welcoming this little nugget to their home soon.

When we arrived at our destination, Jenny was sitting on her front steps.  She led us into the house, and we opened up the carrier.  Yaya hopped out, and she scooped him up for a hug.  She took him into the next room to show him to their dog Sandy, who she said was sad because Yaya was his/her playmate.

She said they try to keep Yaya inside but he gets out when they open the windows (windows here don't have screens).  Jenny said that he never strays far so she thinks he may've gotten into a vehicle and been transported accidentally to our area, since we're about 11 miles away from her.

She related that her son had a meltdown at school because his classmates were talking about cats, and he shouted that they needed to stop talking about cats because his Yaya was gone.

During our conversation, Yaya was moving unconcernedly around the house, seeming like he was wondering what all the fuss was about.  He got up onto a kitchen chair (his favorite resting spot) and lazed there, one leg stretched out over the side.

Jenny wanted to reimburse us for the taxi, but we declined.  Instead, I asked her to video the moment her son was reunited with his friend and share that with us, if she felt comfortable in doing so.

We were unfamiliar with the area, so Jenny let us know there was a bus stop across the street and we could take it to The Square, where we could catch transport back toward Dublin.

As we stood waiting for the bus, I looked up to see a rainbow stretching across the sky.

Our carrier folds up so while we rode the bus, we were struggling to get it deconstructed.  At one point, Eli said something about opening up the sides.  There was a lady sitting next to us who smiled and said "I was going to suggest that."

Eli started searching on his phone for transport options available from The Square, and just as he found out the Red Line LUAS came there, the lady also mentioned we could catch the LUAS, as she discerned from our conversation that we were unfamiliar with the area and trying to figure out our options.

We thanked her for her kindness as we exited the bus, walking over to wait for the Red Line LUAS that would connect us with the Green Line LUAS which would take us back to the hotel.

In the midst of all of this, I emailed the boat tour company to let them know we had to cancel, and I apologized for the last-minute cancellation.  [Later that day, I emailed the company to explain exactly WHY we couldn't make the tour.  John, the person responding to my email, thanked me for sharing a feel-good story and said he was going to give us a refund - which they didn't have to do considering we cancelled less than 24 hours before our tour time.]

Orla, Jenny's neighbor, offered us tickets to a performance at the Abbey Theater as a thank-you, which I thought was so kind and generous.  I've been messaging her a bit since Yaya was returned, and she said she got a message from one of our neighbors who said that Yaya had also been visiting HER and that she'd miss him.  This little stinker sure got around!

As with our experience in Galway, there was synchronicity afoot in regards to this story.  I happened to post on the Facebook group where I would reach the right person (and there are a LOT of missing/found pet groups).  We were moments away from walking out the door Wednesday morning and would've missed seeing Yaya if we'd left any sooner.  He visited the one house (ours) where someone had the tools and foresight to scan for a chip and then work to find answers.  We got the taxi driver who also had a kitty story to share.

Jenny DID send us the video she took when her son returned home from school on Wednesday.  I won't share it here because it involves a kiddo but suffice it to say, he was over the moon to see his friend again.

Unsportsmanlike Conduct

I did something rather momentous a couple of days ago.  It's not really Ireland-centric, aside from the fact that it happened while I'm living here.  So I'm counting it as appropriate to this blog.

Before I do the big reveal, I feel that I must regale you with some backstory.

As far back as I can remember, I have loved hockey.  Being born and raised as I was in Minnesota - the State of Hockey - that's nearly a prerequisite for citizenship.

Quite frankly, I couldn't even tell you how I was introduced to the sport.  Neither of my parents were huge sports fans.  We'd watch the Vikings and college bowl games (Dad would get gambling tickets from his buddy - which I think was illegal but that was nearly 50 years ago, and he's dead, so what're you gonna do, coppers?).  Dad loved watching the AWA (American Wrestling Association), so we'd see Hulk Hogan asking "Mean" Gene Okerlund, "What're you gonna do, Mean Gene, when you got these 24-inch pythons wrapped around your neck?"

But I don't recall that Dad ever had the North Stars on his small TV in the kitchen corner where he had built a nest for himself.

I would play hockey with my older cousins, walking a mile in the winter so we could chase pucks on the frozen Elk River.  Well, mostly frozen.  I remember one year when there was a large hole in the ice; we tried not to shoot the puck close to the gap because no one dared retrieve it.  I took a hard slapshot to the ankle which made hobbling home very unpleasant.

Back in the day, there were no subscription services or cable sports packages so I had to be content with watching North Stars' games on the local Fox affiliate, KMSP Channel 9.  They didn't broadcast every game so there were nights where you would find me like this:  Listening to the game on a small transistor radio, writing goals and penalties in a notebook.  I think that's a copy of Hockey Digest or something lying open against that pillow; interesting to see a Winston cigarette ad on the back of the magazine.  (This was taken in 1982)

I don't remember how old I was when I rewrote "Twas the Night Before Christmas" using North Star themes - "Twas the night before the playoffs and all through the rink..."  I mailed it to either Channel 9 or to the North Stars and thought nothing else of it.  While I was watching the game one night, they were going to commercial break during the intermission and the screen graphic said something like "Next:  Poetry from the masters."

And Bob Kurtz, long-time play-by-play announcer, READ MY POEM ON THE AIR.  I was so embarrassed that I hid in the bathroom, but I could still hear it.

I sent many fan letters to my favorite players, and they always rewarded me with an autographed photo postcard (I still have them).  Sometimes the player would write a personal message on the card, which would thrill me to no end.

In the early 80s, the North Stars brought a young player named Dino Ciccarelli up from the minors.  Oh my (North) stars, I developed a HUGE crush on this kid.  He was known for doing a dance after scoring goals and was nicknamed "Disco Dino."  Someone wrote a song called "Disco Dino" - I bought the 45 record.  I think I also had a lavender-colored off-the-shoulder shirt that bore his signature on the front.

My cousin Rick was able to get playoff tickets one year, and he drove us to old Met Center in Bloomington.  I remember one concessionaire sold these ungodly large slices of cheese pizza that cost a buck and were wonderfully greasy and delicious.

We were only able to get standing-room tickets and by "standing room," I do mean "standing room."  Behind the last row of seats on the lower bowl, there was a narrow ledge and that's where we stood for the entire game, backs pressed up against the cold cement wall.

I don't recall if this game were against the Chicago Blackhawks or not.  I do recall an instance where we nearly got into it with a group of Chicago fans.  Minnesota/Chicago had an insane rivalry back in the 80s, and the hatred of each fanbase for the opposite team's players was legendary.

In 1993, owner Norm Green moved the team to Dallas.  His name is not spoken in Minnesota or if it is, it's met with snarls and narrowed eyes.  We don't forgive and we don't forget.

The Minnesota Wild began play in 2000.  I was living in Texas at the time, so I wasn't able to follow them very much.  I got back up to speed in 2003, when I moved back to Minnesota.

An anthem was written for the Wild:

We were raised

With the stick

And a pair of blades

On the ice we cut our teeth

We took our knocks

In the penalty box

Our mother was the referee

This sport was here

Before we came

It will be here when we're gone

The game's in our blood

And our blood's in the game

Lay us down under

A frozen pond

We will fight to the end

We will stand and defend

Our flag flying high and free

We were born the child

Of the strong and Wild

In the State, the State of Hockey

A big blue line runs around our state

A line that can't be crossed

The day they try to take this game

Is the day the gloves come off

We will fight to the end

We will stand and defend

Our flag flying high and free

We were born the child

Of the strong and Wild

In the State, the State of Hockey.

The game was definitely in my blood.  I couldn't imagine that anything would ever erase the love I had for the sport.

Then along came the US Men's Olympic hockey team, celebrating their gold medal with an FBI director who's protecting pedophiles and proving daily how utterly incompetent and vile he is.  Laughing at a misogynistic joke made by a felonious president with none of them offering any defense of the US Women's Olympic hockey team.

As far as I know, none of the players have offered any kind of apology for their behavior.  Some of them have doubled down, digging an even deeper hole for themselves.

Bill Guerin, the general manager of the men's team, is the one who invited the FBI director into the locker room.  He's also the GM of the Wild.  He has since said that he doesn't care what anyone thinks.  I'm sure he's MAGA, which makes him filth in my book.

When Renee Good and Alex Pretti were murdered in Minnesota, the Wild couldn't even be bothered to have a moment of silence for them.  (By contrast, the Timberwolves postponed their basketball game to the following night after Alex was executed.)

The NHL overall doesn't seem to have much interest in promoting matters of social justice.  I have a feeling many of the owners are Right-leaning and won't allow any of that "woke garbage" near their team.

I can't really explain it but after seeing what happened with the Olympic team, something inside of me snapped.  It was like a switch suddenly flipped from ON to OFF.  I felt revulsion for the NHL and didn't want anything to do with it.

I haven't watched an NHL game since the Olympics ended.  I haven't bothered to check the scores or the standings.  I had a dream that I was watching a Wild game on TV, and it horrified me.

The big reveal is this:  I cancelled our NHL subscription package and don't plan to reactivate it unless something radical happens.  (For those wondering:  Eli and I talked about this, and he said he feels the same way - that he's done with the NHL until/unless something changes.  And if you know Eli, you know this was a momentous decision for him as well.)

I am sad and hurt but what I feel most is anger.  Anger that something so special and important in my life could be destroyed in an instant by the thoughtless and selfish actions of a small group of individuals.  I know some people might think "what's the big deal?" but I refuse to support an individual, an organization, or a league that thinks so little of basic human decency.

Books, Breakfast, and Babby

This past Saturday was Valentine's Day.  We are not the "hearts and roses" type, so our celebration boiled down to picking up a prescription, retrieving a held book at the library, and going out to eat.

It has been raining here a lot.  And by "a lot," I mean that native Irish people are even saying "What the feck?"  Over the last couple of months, there have been only a few days that had a break in the rain.

We got lucky on Saturday - the sun was even out for a while.

One of our paths to the tram takes us through a canopy of trees, and the birds were going nuts with song.  Since we moved here, we have been fortunate enough to see a lovely black cat around the neighborhood, and s/he was sitting on the path, so of course we had to stop and give him/her some pettings.

When I looked at the Google map once, I noticed an icon labeled "Babby's Residence" not far from us (we're the red target on this picture).  It was listed as a "tourist attraction," and when I clicked on it for more information, there was a photo of a black cat with a small patch of white on its chest.  The kitty we see around also has a patch of white so I'm thinking it might be the same cat.

We had good tram luck and were soon headed for our stop at Ballyogan Wood.  During the walk to the pharmacy, we noticed some deer friends in the field.

All in all, this small herd had nine deer.  Usually we only see one or two at a time, so it was really cool to see so many at once.  The pictures don't do him justice, but one of the bucks had a good-sized rack of antlers.

Here are some deer zoomies for your enjoyment.

After visiting the pharmacy and pet store, we walked to the library to get my book and then continued walking to the restaurant.

Standing beside the path was a couple with a large whippet-looking dog.  Even though I'm more of a cat person, I can't resist stopping and talking to the doggos we meet.

We were careful not to reach out to the dog because we're never sure how they'll respond to a stranger.  It was funny because one of the owners said "He's a bit nervy" right before he came over and started giving us dog hugs (leaning into our legs).  The owners seemed pretty impressed that he had such a comfortable response to our attentions.

We continued on our walk, and I pointed out that the puddles along the path had some fairly thick ice on them.  It has been chilly here (below 30 degrees Fahrenheit) but even so, I'm always surprised to see ice or frost.

The Pantry has become a favorite restaurant for us, and it's both a blessing and a curse that it's so close.  It was humming with customers on Saturday, which is good to see.  I hope that means it'll be successful and stay open for a long time to come.

I had my usual Irish breakfast (egg, sausage, bacon, hash brown, white pudding, toast, beans, mushrooms - the beans and mushrooms get teleported immediately onto Eli's plate); he had the veggie breakfast.  We each got a sweet treat - I had a cinnamon swirl muffin, and he had a lemon dessert of some kind.  I also got a pineapple burst smoothie made from pineapple, strawberries, OJ, and yogurt - sooooo good.

A little girl walked by our table, and she was wearing a rainbow-colored tulle tutu and gold unicorn horn headband.  I had the thought that we think it's adorable when we see a child wearing this type of outfit, but if an adult walked around with a gold unicorn horn headband, would we feel the same way?  Would we applaud that person's sense of whimsy or would we think they had a few loose screws?

There was a line from the TV show "Night Court" that has always stuck with me:  Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle is a lie like all the rest.  The astronauts killed the man in the moon, growing up took care of the rest.

Adults tend to suck the fun out of most things.  I hope that little girl will still wear a unicorn head band when she gets older.  The world could certainly use more unreserved joy and whimsy.