One trip, so many memories. It was 2009 and I was traveling with my good friend Ruth. If I remember correctly, five days in Dublin, five days in Great Britain, another three days in Ireland—traveling to the western side to see Galway and Yeats’ house museum.
In Dublin we experienced our smallest hotel elevator ever. It barely fit our large bags and us. But the hotel became our homebase for excursions to every conceivable James Joyce memorial, from the Martello Tower to the iconic statue to the front door of one of the houses in which he had lived. Joyce wasn’t Ruth’s favorite author (she preferred 19th century to 20th century figures), but I more than made up in enthusiasm any lack that she might have had when we explored the tower that figures in both The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man and Ulysses.
What was ubiquitous about all of those excursions was the rain—sheets of it that the wind blew sideways towards us. The two of us went through five umbrellas! The five days in Dublin were just simply rain filled. Everything we did, we did either during a rain or under the threat of rain.
The National Library was having a great exhibit on W. B. Yeats’ life—something both Ruth and I were interested in. They had also recently opened an interactive genealogical archive. It was there I found out that just about everyone had had the O’ in front of the surname, so that my grandparents shouldn’t have been Kelley, but O’Kelley. I also found out that my Belcher sons’ Murphy connection, through their fiery evangelist grandfather, was more than likely Catholic O’Murphys who had fled during one of the religious cleansings, escaping to Spain. Ironies abound when we explore our roots.
Although I am not a great fan of Skyping, Jim, my husband, is, and he had convinced me to carry along my small computer so that I could keep in touch through skyping. Believe it or not, in 2009, wifi was not universal as it is now. Our hotel did not have wifi; many businesses did not have wifi. The nearest connection—and a very poor one at that—was at the local McDonald’s, so I would find myself going in to buy some item of food I did not even want in order to try to skype with Jim. Needless to say, the enterprise was not very successful and I was not very happy about having to lug along a six-pound computer every time I left the hotel on the off-chance I might find a good wifi connection.
One particular day, Ruth and I had found a teashop that advertised wifi. In we went to have our tea and to try their wifi. We had taken seats in what would be a “-1” floor for them, below the main shop. It was not crowded, being mid-afternoon, when hot tea is not quite as popular as during the morning hours But the time difference meant that in Illinois, Jim would be up and able to receive a Skype call.
That became the most memorable moment in the trip: he told me that Molly, our cat (the Belcher cat that we had had for 18 years), had died and that he and Geoffrey had buried her in our pond area. I started crying and Ruth, who does not even like cats, started crying, too. I was so sad, but angry, too. I’m not sure what Jim could have done otherwise, but I knew that whatever it was, it would have been better than finding out by Skype that my favorite cat had died.
That was the end of skyping for me. I stopped carrying around that computer wherever I went, which was, in itself, a blessing, since I didn’t have the extra six pounds, and I didn’t have to find out any information from home—except when I wanted to, which was not that often and which was only by email.
Oh, the earrings—no special story. I guess I hadn’t found any that I really liked anywhere, and I had spent a significant amount on a cross of Connemara marble in Galway—a remembrance that I treasure for many reasons, not least of which was the beautiful, sunny weather we experienced on the west coast of Ireland. So, for one other time in my life, besides the very first purchase of collectible earrings at an airport, I purchased earrings at an airport. Lovely Celtic knot earrings, sterling silver—I wear them every time I wear my Celtic cross necklace. Often, I think of Molly, the cat.
A Myriad of Things 