Mom and Moone

We trekked up to the airport after breakfast to pick up my mother for her whirlwind tour of Ireland. I should clarify: "We" only included those who habitually rise before noon. After greeting her and her travel companion, I showed them where we would meet up a mere six days later; this was all the time they could squeeze out of their busy schedules.

Knowing that Mom would be tired, but that she would need some activity and fresh air after the long flight, we aimed for low-key activities that took into account the limited mobility that late summer chickens have. We were also guided by the precept that we don't want to have to revisit the same monuments over and over again to please our guests; we are also here to experience the place!

Off the great wall came the National Stud and Japanese Gardens in Kildare. We had heard of this unlike-sounding pairing, and as the now-risen and showered teenager is enamored of the Japanese Gardens at home, we decided to tootle over the Curragh to this mecca of bloodstock. Of course, different people see different things: we had forgotten how charming the sheep are (as ubiquitous as trees and green), and how refreshing the hues of green can be for someone living in arid northern California.

Mullaghmast standing stone, selected on a single criteria: at about six paces from the side of an extremely quiet lane, it is absolutely the easiest standing stone to get to that we know of. It also helped that it is was close to Kildare. I'm still fascinated by the vertical grooves on it; and the boys discovered that the base of the stone contained a modern inscription with its name on it, something that had escaped our notice on our first visit.

We figured the Moone high cross would turn my mother on, and we were right. And no surprise, as the master of Moone knew his way around a granite block. We made an exception to the revisitation policy, as this is a favorite of us all--it seems to make more sense, and the changing quality of light reminds us that we are not photographing things, but moments.

Away down south

So how to top our adventures in Wicklow with the godson? Why, plan a quick road trip, of course! A quick consult of the Great Wall revealed a couple of things that piqued his interest, so we decided to head south toward Waterford, that great Irish town of crystal fame.

An aside: You may have heard all the brouhaha about the launch of Microsoft's new search engine, Bing (I guess nobody else thinks of White Christmas and Bob Hope when they hear that name?). Since Darling Husband is part of the family, we decided to try its navigation feature out. How long would it take to get to Waterford, and what was the recommended route? In a head-to-head with the great G, little B took us south toward Tullow, then past New Ross and to Waterford, and then past it, up the River Suir another 30 km to a small village of the same name. Clearly, there are still a few bugs to work out.

Our targeted attraction was not light-catching dust collectors, but the Waterford and Suir railway, a narrow gauge restored line that would take us on a 40-minute scenic ride along the river. There were a few attractions along the way back that we hoped to see as well, to break up the drive.

With Alfred released from the office a wee bit early (it was a Friday, after all), off we headed, south to County Carlow. We were headed for a hostel beat New Ross, similar to the digs in Omagh. To change things up a bit, I took the wheel, and let my life partner in crime navigate, which meant far more little white lines, and fewer thick red ones--or even middle-sized yellow ones. We also had trusty Peter with, and between the map and the book, we only had to double back three times before we found a place to park the car so we could explore Ballymoon castle and refuel the starving teenager.

Characterized as an "unusual fortress" by Peter, the place was enormous, with the remains of the walls revealing thick walls and evidence of many rooms, some with quite elegant proportions.

With our destination still a bit of a ways off, we decided to stop for a meal in the next town big enough to have a pub with food. Duiske fit that bill, and despite the challenging parking situation, found ourselves in a cozy pub with a lanky waiter and tasty food. Even better, it sported a handsome bridge, and featured a quite tasty sticky toffee pudding.

We arrived at the hostel just a bit before bedtime, and were greeted by a peat fire to reward us for our perseverance, for it laid at the end of an excruciatingly long dirt track that threatened both the side mirrors and the exhaust system of the car (they both survived, thankfully). The hostel sported a power shower, a chess set and a resident rooster who came to beg at the kitchen window when he smelled toast.

The next morning, we headed out bright and early (after that classic hostel meal, baked beans on toast). Through the town of New Ross, where we stopped to peek at the Dunbrody Emigrant Ship, a tall elegant old lady moored in the river.

The wide spot of Kilmeadan boasts a thatched-roof pub and the terminus for the Waterford and Suir River Railway, a serious little narrow-gauge railway that is holding its own against the adjacent motorway construction. While the weather went from cloudy to very wet, the coachman described the sights along the way as well as future plans and past history for the railway. It was by all measures, delightful, and much drier than traipsing around stone ruins in the rain.

We really didn't want to traipse around stone ruins in the rain, but when we got to Jerpoint Abbey, it was still pouring. But I wasn't about to miss out on what Peter calls "undoubtedly one of the finest Cistercian monastic ruins in Ireland." Borrowing an OPW (Office of Pubic Works) umbrella, we braved the wetness to follow the informative guide and view the exquisite carvings in the most "excellently reconstructed" cloister.

The easiest thing would have been to speed home directly, but the straightest way took us past one of our favorites, the high cross at Moone. The master of this cross never fails us, using simple gestures in a coarse medium to suggest complex stories. Remember the story of the loaves and fishes? It's here.

Alfred headed up to the airport the next day to farewell to his godson the following day. The number of visitors on the docket is down to two!

Lion or lamb?

Today, Friday, has dawned sunny and nearly mild. But this may change, given that it is spring and that's what spring weather does. We still haven't figured out whether March came in like a lion or a lamb: in the first four days of the month we've had both each day: snow in the morning, open sunroof by afternoon. Or vice-versa. I need to remember to close the sunroof when I park the car, even if it's only for an hour.

We had a great time last weekend, trying to keep our first guest awake between monuments, but he ended up enjoying himself thoroughly (or so he said). We gave him the full treatment: the high cross at Moone (and the great playground next to it); the windswept hilltop at Old Kilcullen, and a foray over the Wicklow Gap to Glendalough. We even took him to a pub to hear legendary fiddler Tommy Peoples. It was a good start to the week, even if it did mean we didn't sleep much.

Both homefronts seem to be shoring up a bit: the rubbish magically got collected last Sunday (but is full again), no improvement on the water, but we're somehow more used to it (and have a friend's key for backup), and the Internet has stayed up (touch wood). In Redmond, a couple of friends stepped in to sort mail and scan the important bits (can you say 'tax season?'), which took a huge weight of my shoulders. Now to find a suitable person to pet the cat on a daily basis.

Which means that not much is happening, but we're actually grateful for that. The week itself was actually the first "normal" week we've had in ages: I got to go to knitting group, there was a fair amount of paid work that got done, and we even managed to schedule a low-key birthday party for the young one (borrowed a DVD from the neighbor and will order pizza. Don't know if anyone will show up!) Orchestra and music lessons happened, and the daffodils started blooming.

As we came out of the vale of Glendalough last Sunday, we could see sunshine, and then a full rainbow came into view, causing much excitement in the back seat. We followed it for miles, but never did find the turnoff for the pot of gold. Oh, well, perhaps we'll just set some leprechaun traps here (I'm sure this place must be infested, given the other issues), and see if we catch any.