I check my watch:
6:30 pm.
I should call Mom,
she's probably home
right now.
I come to an intersection
and look around.
Hmm.
Left looks good.
There seems to be
more businesses
this way.
Good choice.
There are surprisingly few
people out on the streets.
It's almost like
a ghost-town.
I spot a pay phone
that takes credit cards
and try the call.
No answer.
Oh well.
My stomach
won't shut up,
so I cross the street
to the Abacadabra.
The first thing I notice
as I walk in
is the music:
Spice Girls.
Great.
Just what I need
to go with my headache.
I had hoped
to find a generation
in touch with their culture,
the arts,
and the Faith.
I'm beginning to despair.
-------
This town isn't
so bad.
Standing here
on the dock,
looking towards
the mountains
in the distance,
enjoying a slight breeze:
I wouldn't mind
doing this every day.
The setting sun
reminds me that I have
a ten minute walk
back to the B and B.
I put my camera
into the inside pocket
of my trench coat
and head back.
I can't stop
thinking of Audrey.
Why do I
do this to myself?
Will I ever learn?
Being a thinker
has its occasional advantages,
but mostly
it's just depressing.
At this point,
I know that God
is not calling me
to stay here
in Ireland.
Even if she was
interested in me,
would a cross-Atlantic
relationship ever
really work?
Sure, all things
are possible with God,
but He only rarely
works outside
reasonable means.
Lord,
why must I
be afflicted
with such a fickle heart?
Sometimes I wish
I had never experienced
the realm of the miraculous.
Sometimes I wish
I was incapable
of hoping against hope.
Then I wouldn't get myself
into these situations.
If only I was unaware
that all things are possible
to God,
then I would never
have given Audrey
a second thought.
If I weren't such
the optimist,
I'd realize that it would
take a miracle
and leave it at that.
I look up
and see the sign
for the B and B
just ahead.
Good.
I can wash my clothes,
write in my journal,
look at my map,
and anything else
that will take my mind
away from these thoughts.
I just hope
she stays out
of my dreams.
-------
The morning sun
sheds a new light
on things.
The city seems
even more friendly
and filled with life.
The bus stop sign
says the next pick up
that heads to
Rathdrum
doesn't come through
until 10:15.
It's only 8:37 now.
Maybe there's another
bus stop somewhere.
Deciding to go ahead
and sound like a tourist,
I walk around the corner
to the Grand Hotel
to ask for some info.
I see a maid
speaking with an older couple
out front.
"Excuse me,
I'm sorry to interrupt,
but are there any other
bus stops in this area
other than that one
over there?"
"No, not on this side
of town.
The nearest one
would be about two miles
that way,"
the maid answers,
pointing down the street.
"Oh, forget it.
I'd rather wait
than walk."
"Where are you from?"
the older lady asks.
"Alabama, in the States.
And you?"
"We're from England,"
she answers.
"Birmingham area,"
the man adds.
"Are you on vacation?"
I ask.
"Yes, permanently,"
the lady answers
with a laugh.
"We're retired,"
her husband clarifies.
"Oh, must be nice."
"Yes," the lady starts in,
"we're trying to get around
as much as we can
while we're still able.
This is our third
and last week in Ireland.
We're going to Spain
next month."
"Wow."
"Perhaps Australia
after that,"
the husband adds.
"Do you like it here
in Ireland?"
I ask.
"Oh yes, it's lovely,"
the woman responds.
"They treat us old folks
quite well really."
We all laugh at this.
"Here's your cab, maam,"
the maid interrupts.
"Oh, yes, well,
have a lovely trip."
"Thanks, you too.
It was nice chatting with you."
I turn to the maid,
"Thanks for the info,
have a nice day."
"No trouble,"
she answers.
On my way back
to the bus stop,
I see a church
on the hill above.
If I hadn't come over here,
I never
would have noticed.
Thanks for the invitation,
Lord.
-------
On my way up to the church,
I pause to stand
below the crucifix.
How many more
little crosses will I bear
before my journey
is done?
I offer a "Glory Be,"
then pause at the statue
of the Blessed Mother.
Mother, your heart
was ever pure,
pray for me,
that my heart
may be purified,
that I may learn
to truly love.
After a "Hail Mary,"
I enter the large church.
A sign says "Welcome
to St. Patrick's."
Ahh, St. Patrick,
you know the way
of the pilgrim.
Pray for me.
I kneel in a pew
before the Lord,
present in
the tabernacle,
and pour out my love
the best
my feeble heart
knows how.
-------
As I return
to the bus stop,
I see a man and his wife
sitting down on the bench.
The man is holding
a can of beer in his hand
and is apparently
handicapped in some way
since his wife
helped him
to the bench.
His short, black hair
contrasts his white shirt
and his face has
a contented-looking smile.
His wife has short,
curly brown hair
and a patient air about her.
Perhaps they know more
about the bus schedule.
"Excuse me, do you know
if the bus that picks up
in five minutes
heads through Rathdrum
or not?"
"No, I don't know,
do you dear?"
the man responds.
"I'm not sure,
let me peek
at the sign."
"See," the man begins,
"we're not out here
to catch the bus.
No. Every day
I like to have a can
about this time,
only I don't care
to sit in that dark old pub
and listen to the old men
complain about everything.
I prefer to bring my can
out here to the bus stop
so I can enjoy the weather
and meet people.
You'd be surprised
how many interesting
conversations I've had
out here on this old bench."
With that,
he pats the bench
with his left hand.
I smile in return,
amused at this
unexpected encounter.
"I'm not sure
whether the next bus
goes to Rathdrum or not,"
the wife interrupts,
"but we can ask
the driver when
it comes by."
She then walks over
to the street
and looks up the hill
to see if she can
spot it yet.
This call to duty
has apparently
awakened in her
those powerful
maternal instincts
which no mother
can deny.
Amazing that she
would take such interest
in helping a stranger.
"So, you're headed
to Rathdrum, eh?"
the man begins again.
"Well, I'm actually
trying to get
to Glendalough,
but Rathdrum
is the next stop
along the way."
"Oh yes, I hear
it's lovely
out that way.
Never been myself.
So, you're from
the States, are you?"
"Yeah, my accent
gives it away every time."
"I like your accent.
Never heard one
quite like it, though.
What part of the States?"
"Alabama."
"Oh, yes.
I thought maybe Texas.
Wasn't far off,
now, was I?"
"Not too far."
"Why’re you in Ireland;
just on holiday
or visiting relatives?"
"I'm backpacking
around the Republic."
"Oh, lovely.
Did you start in Dublin?"
"Shannon, actually."
"Oh, yes.
I hear the West coast
is quite lovely.
Never been there
myself, though.
I'm happy here
in Wicklow.
The cans
are just as cold here
as they are there."
At this,
he holds his beer up
in the air
and chuckles.
I can't help
but laugh myself.
"Oh, here comes the bus,"
the wife announces
from her sentry point
by the street.
"You keep chatting,
I'll ask for you."
"Okay, thanks."
This is remarkable.
The friendliness
of this couple is such
that it leaves me
a bit taken aback.
"Well, I hope
you have a lovely trip
back to the West,"
the man says smiling.
"Thanks, I'm sure
that I will."
"Yes this is it,"
the lady calls over.
"Good day,"
I say to the man
before walking over
to the bus.
He just nods and smiles.
"Thanks for the help."
"No problem, dear.
Have a nice trip,"
the lady responds.
If I ever forget anything
about this trip,
I'm sure it won't be
this encounter.