Commencing Countdown, Engines On

As the snow falls (and falls) in Grove City, I'm happily packing for a damp Irish November and enjoying that warm little buzz that comes with seeing the passport sticking out of my red backpack. Tomorrow--finally!--I leave for Dublin.

Jo has been sending back scouting reports all week, and I can't wait to join her there and see everything for myself. We shall have ourselves another excellent adventure!

I've had a rapid-fire montage of things Irish going in my head all day--verses of Yeats' poems... counties called Clare and Cork and Kerry... James Joyce's little wire glasses... medieval monks in beehive huts on lonely crags... illuminated manuscripts (Larry, remember when we saw the Book of Kells in Philadelphia?)... cable patterns in heavy woollen sweaters... a queen named Maeve... stepdancers with rosy cheeks... arial views of patchwork farms in every shade of green... creamy foam on a Guiness pint... funny lines from Oscar Wilde... Judy Collins singing "The Patriot Game"... disconnected names from history, like Parnell and de Valera and Bobby Sands... Fr. Keane and Fr. Minogue and Mr. Rooney from my high school days... names like Tyrell and Spillane and Murphy and... one thought after another, all day long, as I pack my bags and count the hours down.

I am going to Ireland tomorrow! What a life I have!