Hank and I have just returned from an 11-day adventure driving in Ireland, our 30th anniversary cum cancer-antidote trip.
Talk about good for what ails you:
Glorious sweeps of pastureland—it really is that green! ....Crashing waves with the spray hanging in the wind..…200-foot precipices overlooking the Atlantic (“next parish, Boston”)……Petite mountains that rise so quickly it’s as if they’re enormous…..Bossy sheep that like to play “police checkpoint.” Hearing Gaelic spoken on the Aran Islands. Butter for breakfast, butter for lunch….and later, Guinness.
And, of course, pubs, pubs, pubs. I am a new groupie for anyone who plays the flute-like, melodic uilleann pipes (smaller cousin to bagpipes). Also, I seem to have caught on with the men-over-70 set; it’s something about the wig.
We visited several neolithic stone circles where I channeled my inner druid, and Hank caught a glimpse of his. One of my many favorite moments: standing in a cow pasture, all stillness but for a few songbirds, face to face with a 12th-century Celtic high cross. No bustle, no entrance fee. Just us and the ages.
Hats off to Hank, the safe and daring driver and taker of 900 pictures. And even more hats to Hank's parents, who held down the fort while we were gone (even though they're moving on Friday!).
Love to all,
Sally
What a fantastic vacation!! Not sure about you playing femme fatale with the geriatric set...
ReplyDeleteTruth, beauty, and goodness... rarely spoken or lived so well. Blessings and life abound... in the midst of cancer. Who knew?
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