I’m sitting in the middle of a JFK terminal, surrounded by people and noise and music . . . it’s very busy and very crowded. (One of the best things about Ireland is that generally, it’s not. Crowded, that is.)
I have said goodbye to my three friends and we’ve gone our separate ways. I won’t be home tonight until after midnight, which is five a.m. Ireland time, which is another nearly 24-hour day. But one of the nicest things about leaving is getting home, no?
We had such a good time on the trip. Laughing at all kinds of things–at one gas station, the woman behind the counter asked me if Clinton was going to pull it off, and I launched into this diatribe about why she shouldn’t, in an Irish brogue, no less! The others keep teasing me about how easily I lapse into whatever I hear, but I think it’s the music. Or I’m a natural mimic, something like that.
We were telling the man on the shuttle bus this morning about the inebriated fellow who wouldn’t leave us alone at Durty Nellies’. He said, “Och, and he was chancin’ his arm,” and at that point I had to ask for a translation. I think Linda said it best when she said, “He was offering you his arm, and you didn’t take it.”
Och, no tanks. (And that’s not a typo. For some reason the Irish drop the “h” in things like “Thursday” and “three” and stick an “h” in in names like Sinead and Seamus.)
In any case, I’m happy to be home and it’ll take me a couple of days to recoup. And before I know it, I’m heading off to San Jose to teach at the Mt. Hermon Writer’s conference–and that’s a fun time. I’ll be homesick for me office this month!
Thanks for coming along. And now, I think I’ll find a corner to take a nap . . .