Home… Home Again
I spent some of last week in Ireland. I was on business, but the change did me good.
I know I talk about the persuit of a happy life and doing the right thing, but the truth is these are aims and a journey rather than a destination I’m already at, sipping mint julips on a porch somewhere (nice thought, though). Some of the time I’m just as uptight as everyone else and a lot of the time I’m less happy.
Things had been getting to me lately and I had been noticing it in small ways. A couple of days before I left, I ended a conversation with Wife with “Have a great day”. This is normally OK, except it was 6pm and I was on my way home to see her.
Not good.
I love Ireland. It’s the land of my fathers. Well, technically it’s the land of my father’s mother and her fathers, which makes me a quarter Irish. I like the way the people are funny without realising they are. Of maybe they do and it’s no big deal.
In the taxi from the airport the cabbie was pointing out some places.
Cabbie: “Dat dere is Jack’s. It’s a noit club and dey have a loive band. It’s a good craic all right. And over dere you’ve got T and Haitches. Dat’s the oldest pub in the town. It’s a great shop. Dis is where is all kicks off on dis street roit here.”
Me (I say “right” a lot): “Right. What street’s this?”
Cabbie: “I don’t know meself. I mean, I know all the places and dat, but I don’t any of the fookin’ names, loik.”