Now this
looks more like it.
Killarney
is much smaller.
I spot the hostel
as the bus pulls into
the station.
I'm not even interested
in options.
I hop off the bus
and make a beeline
for the hostel.
This is great.
Now I'll be able
to unload my pack
and do some unburdened
gift shopping.
There's even a Church
just down the street.
Thank you Jesus.
-------
"Hi,
could you tell me
the times
for the tours
of Dingle
and the Ring of Kerry?"
I ask the lady
in the booth.
"Here you are,
this brochure
has all the times on it."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome.
Have a nice day."
"You too."
I open it up
and glance over it
as I continue my stroll
down the sidewalk.
9:00 tomorrow morning.
That works.
Darn.
It won't be back
in time for the latest
Kerry tour, though.
That means it'll take
two days
to do them both.
Hmmmm.
Maybe I'll just do Dingle.
A Shillelagh
on a sidewalk display
grabs my attention.
I put the brochure
into my trench coat pocket
and head in
to begin and end
my gift shopping
all in one stop.
-------
Oooooh.
A used book store...
well, I've done
my shopping for others,
a little self-indulgence
won't hurt much.
I walk in
and skim over the fiction titles.
and find a handful
of Penguin 60s
to add to my collection
back home.
Some of these
are authors
I've never even heard of.
I continue scanning...
C.S. Lewis!
The Pilgrim's Regress?
I've never heard
of this one.
I add it to
my stack.
I wander down to
the religious section.
I'm in luck.
Another C.S. Lewis...
The Four Loves.
Okay, I better stop
looking around
or I won't have room
in my luggage
on the way home.
The Pilgrim's Regress...
that's odd.
Why can't I remember
that title?
I know I've studied
the list of titles
in the front of every
book of his
that I've read.
Oh well,
not like it matters.
-------
I walk into
the Franciscan Friary
and remove my hat.
Wow.
I reach for the holy water
and bless myself
before walking up the aisle
to find a seat.
I stop in my tracks
to admire the awe-inspiring
Stations of the Cross.
They are canvas paintings
set in ornately carved
wooden frames.
Definitely painted
by someone who
was greatly influenced
by Raphael.
My gaze passes
from these masterpieces
up to the altar
as I enter a pew
and kneel down.
Behind the new altar
there is a traditional altar
with the many arches
and alcoves
climbing the wall
nearly to the high ceiling.
There are statues
filling the alcoves.
I must admit,
I'll never understand
why so many churches
did away with these
beautiful altars.
This one truly
instills a sense
of the presence of God.
The lights around the altar
gradually brighten
as some unseen hand
adjusts the dimmer.
The amazing details
of the many carvings
are even more apparent now.
Here in this church,
amidst these holy reminders,
I am more aware
than ever before
of the glory
of the celebration
that is about to take place.
Lord, I offer myself
to You.
Change me
as I receive You
in this Mass.
-------
I walk out of the church
and look over the town
as the sun is setting.
I think I may have found
a rival
for Charlestown.
I make my way down
to the sidewalk
and head into town
in search of some
traditional Irish music.
If I find it nowhere else,
surely I will
find it here.
After a few blocks,
I find my hopes
fulfilled.
According to the sign
out front,
the music
won't start
for another hour.
Well, I'd rather wait
than walk back
to the hostel
and then back here again.
The warmth of the pub
greets me
as I walk in
and have a seat at the bar.
"Are you okay?"
the girl behind the counter
asks me.
I pause for a second
as I decipher
her meaning.
"I'll have a pint
of Smithie's."
She silently turns
and walks over
to the taps.
Her long, brown ponytail
sways to and fro
as she scans the bar
for other needy customers.
"Two pounds."
"Thanks."
"Are you okay?"
she asks someone down the bar
as she walks away.
I grab a napkin
and take my pen
out of my coat pocket.
That somber mood
sets in
as I try to give birth
to some line of verse.
It's useless, though.
Inspiration
won't be forced.
What would I
write about anyway?
Audrey.
No.
Not again.
-------
"Are you okay?"
"Another Smithwick's, please."
"Two pounds."
"Thanks."
The effects of my first pint
are setting in.
Along with it
comes that melancholy
that is as familiar
as an old friend.
Maybe I should call her.
What would be the point?
I begin to write out
the pros and cons
of this plan of action
on my napkin.
About halfway
through the list,
I remember my feelings
of assurance
that I am to return
to the States.
I stop there
and crumble up
the napkin.
What would be the use?
Long distance relationships
never work.
This really is ridiculous.
"Good evening,
thanks for coming out."
I turn around on my stool
to see the band
as they begin.
Finally,
a diversion
from my thoughts.
-------
I set my glass
down on the bar.
Even though I'm enjoying
the music,
I get up to leave.
I may not know myself
as well as I need to,
but I do know myself
well enough to be aware
of what will happen
if I keep sitting at this bar
while I'm in this
melancholy mood.
As I walk out
onto the sidewalk,
I see a row of
pay phones.
I pause in indecision
for just a moment
before walking over
to pick up a receiver.
I dial info and wait.
"Operator."
"Could you give me
the number
for Carmel Crean
in Charlestown,
County Mayo, please?"
"Spell the name."
"C-a-r-m-e-l...
C-r-e-a-n."
I take the crumbled napkin
out of my pocket
and write it down.
Just in case....