Alive Alive Oh!

I’m wrapping up my series of posts about our family trip to Ireland with Dublin, the last chapter of an epic adventure.

Our stops along the Wild Atlantic Way exhilarated all of our senses. I will, for instance, always remember the bowl of mint pea soup I ate at an unassuming roadside tavern overlooking both the Atlantic Ocean and some ancient stone cottages on a windy afternoon, and the way it tasted as we sat around a rickety wooden table together.

I’ll remember how shocked I was to discover that my old brain could adjust to driving on the left side of the road (and the hilarity of seeing my front-seat passenger duck each time I veered just a little too close to the curb).

One dismal day in the future, I’ll pull out my memories of this trip — the long walk I took through Killarney National Park and how peaceful I felt, until my phone started pinging with texts from family members spontaneously gathering at a pub and the FOMO hit me so hard I sprinted back to town; the pub bands; the whiskey, scones, salmon, stew and ice cream; that chef-prepared meal at our AirBnB when I cried from the sweetness; the glorious views.

I’ll remember all of that and I’ll smile.

We fashioned a self-guided walking tour of Dublin on that final day — Trinity College and the Book of Kells, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the River Liffey boardwalk.

I was somewhat horrified by the statue of Molly Malone, heroine of the lullaby I used to sing to our Molly. Apparently, groping that statue brings good luck? We passed.

We felt lucky enough anyway.