Friday, June 24, 2011

60 days vs. 8.5 hours

I was poked on the shoulder by my kindly flight attendant an hour out from landing; "Good morning and happy birthday, birthday girl. Time for breakfast!" (Thank God he did not insist on singing Happy Birthday to me again - as he did during dinner and then the movie, and during the icecream sunday he served last night....there's only so many times one needs to hear Happy Birthday sung to them loudly on a plane.)


It was 1:30 am my time. Closer to 7:30 in Ireland. Time to adjust the internal clock.  


Without moving or opening my eyes, I smiled.  It's my birthday and I'm almost in Ireland. I just need to sit still and let this moment be.


I ate my breakfast with my face turned toward the window. The Irish landscape resembled a very green blanket all scrunched up in places...high places, low places....high places again...


Ireland is green. The stories have not been exaggerated - I have never seen so many shades of green from one window frame in my life.


Later, as the wheels finally touched down, I was washed away with an "Oh my God" moment. What took John Murphy 60 days to do in 1807 took me a little more than 8 hours. I had reached my destination. 


I wonder if he could have ever imagined that more than 200 years after he left Ireland for America - that his 4 times great granddaughter would return to find him. I can't imagine that he did. After all, I have rarely given thought to what my legacy will be to generations that follow me. Maybe I should spend more time on that. 


Less than an hour of wheels landing I was walking the grounds of a 12th century castle. It was early in the morning so it wasn't open yet which means we had the entire grounds to ourself....except for a man walking his small scruffy dog. As I was reaching down to feel the grass - which was as soft as it looked, the dog ran over to me and put his very muddy paws right on my jeans - I laughed out loud. It was great. My first encounter in Ireland is with a sweet mutt. I asked the man his dog's name, to which I THOUGHT he replied "Bootie" but turned out he was saying "Woodie"...ah well...he had a thick Irish brogue. 


I was in love. With the land, the soft grass, the castle, the dog and his owner. 


It's true - when you come to the land of your heritage you really do experience a "coming home" experience.


More later - I'm down for a wee nap. 
Slainte.

3 comments:

  1. Happy Birthday from America! Glad you finally landed in Ireland. Your early encounter with a dog on your visit is not surprising given the history of the Murphys and their dogs. I remember Aunt Faye showing pics of Grandpa Murphy, Hobert, Uncle Bill and others and dogs were a common theme (not to mention the dogs she and Dudley had over the years). She summarized the phenomenon with "we Murphys love our dogs, always have!" Safe travels and many wonderful adventures!

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  2. Happy Birthday, as I head to an interview in 100 degree weather, I will just imagine I am hiding in your suitcase. My mother daughter of June Lorraine Murphy has 6 dogs and has had more, so the Murphys love dogs may be true.

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  3. I is true. Now you know. It's an amazing feeling that somehow, somewhere, you are tied to the land and the people because you are a part of the one of the children they were thinking about when they said "Our victory will be the laughter of our children."

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