Happy Birthday to my bone marrow!

That's right, it has been a year since we laid in the bone marrow donation from Lisa, day zero was 9/30/08.  That seems like a lifetime ago!  I just finished reading almost the entire blog, mostly because I was looking for some pictures I know are there but lost in massive hard drives/multiple user hell.  I need those pics for the speech I am going to give on Nov. 6th, at the big pre-race pasta party, and the process of writing that and rereading all that has happened makes me reflect on what has changed and what has not.


It brings tears to my dry and scarred up eyes reading all the comments of love and support from all of you, people from my past and from my present.  When this began in '05 I expected a lonely monk-like journey back to health, but that is not what happened.  Instead, all these people stepped forward to help me, to cover my back, to prop me up, to do what they could to help me get here.  I cannot thank all of you enough.  I don't know if I ever would have made it without all the support and encouragement and love.  One stumble and a lonely monk might topple off the path, but I had a whole team around me, so when I stumbled they held me up and urged me to keep-a-goin'.


Everything has changed and nothing is the same.  In spite of a reconfigured brain I do some of the same old stupid things I always did, which sounds contradictory to what I said in the last sentence.  What I mean is, when I do the same old stupid things, now they are far stupider.  I am like an older car now, so when I take a curve too fast I sway, and my wipers aren't wiping very well, my struts are shot, and my transmission doesn't mesh as well as before.  So I have to learn to drive differently, or pay the mechanic. 


My mom ended up in the hospital a few days ago, so she really wasn't feeling any better when I left.  She has pneumonia and they are working to control it with antibiotics.  I called the hospital and tried to get her into a single room, and they will do that when they have one.  How stupid is a system that puts people with complete strangers when they are at their most needy and vulnerable?  We need to rethink this.


So I regret not staying in RI an extra week, not just for Mom but also for the people I need to see, Mo and Paul M. and Bill McNiff and Roger and others.  Unfortunately I may have a return trip sooner than later, to help mom's recovery, and I will leave that open-ended.  I am doing as my wife suggested and signing up for some volunteer work, Hospice (uh-oh, here we go again) and the Literacy Council, so that will complicate things.  The Literacy Council may not want me since I pointed out 4 mistakes on their website, or maybe they will want me because of that.  That is one of my OCD manifestations, noticing misspelled words.  It is funny because I found a number of typos while going through my blog.


I started reworking this blog into a book, but it is going to be a massive job of editing.  And I have questions, like what if it made money, what cut do I have to give Mo and Pat and Mac and Manitoubou and others?  I think the comments make the blog what it is, funny and irreverent and hopeful.  I was imagining how it might be without that support and I wrote this, in part in response to the weekly prompt from the writing workshop I attended and still visit online.


My friends are tired, tired of me
being sick, it is
taking too long.
They wouldn’t say ‘Die or heal already’
but they might think it.
Like a coconut I have shed my hairy husk,
down to a hard kernel, a nut filled
with the milk of life.
I worry that I have become the cancer,
it is all that is left of me,
it taints my milk, and my friends
smell what they think is death.
I must rise up and crack this hull,
spill out this life and
show them I am here, I am fine,
they are dying too.


My son Mike said that was 'woeful', and I had to remind him that I have a poetic license with no expiration date.  And furthermore, he is the one that dressed up as Nancy of Sex Pistols/Sid Vicious fame.  Dang, I used to think he might look too pretty!

Where have I been?

My Mom, looking good at 86, but not feeling all that well

Started this 3 weeks ago:

I am getting ready to go to RI, see Mom and celebrate her birthday, see Bill's new house on Arnold's Pond, play some golf, go see the Red Sox Thursday night (thanks Bill), party Saturday night with the East Coast friends. I should have planned a longer trip, but don't want to wear my Mom out.

This morning I noticed the knot of scar tissue on the inside of my left cheek is gone! The mucositis in my mouth is almost entirely gone! The doctor cut me back to 30mg prednisone every other day, down from 40, because all my counts are good and liver function tests are back near normal. My eyeballs are still goofy, googly even, so I lubricate regularly, this too shall pass. Now if I could only regain some strength; Bill is going to be shocked at how weak I am on the golf course, but oh well.

Even though I am weaker, I have beefed up my legs, I think. Training is upwards of 20 miles/week, Saturday was 7 miles which I did at 17 minute miles (I am walking). I was going to mix in some short jogging periods to mix up the muscle groups, but when I mentioned this to the doc he said not to do that. Not only are my muscles wasting from a year of prednisone, but my bones are getting so brittle that he is afraid I could fracture that crappy left hip if I jarred it by jogging. So I walk. Somewhere in the first mile my left hip always asks me, 'WTF are you doing, Tonto?'

Saturday, 9/26

RI was not a particularly fun trip, as Mom wasn't well and I didn't give myself enough time. The airlines suck, US Air sucks, and I suck for not managing it all better. I can't see ever booking a round trip, since there is no cost savings unless fares are rocketing upward. In the future I will go one way, see how things are at the destination, then book a return. I did get to golf a couple of times with Bill M., but I could not get anything done with his clubs and my swing, and shot over 100 twice. Shot an 89 yesterday at Dairy, so I guess I won't quit just yet.

Bill bought this house on Arnold's Pond in Warwick, awesome spot. I think he did the tax return for the old doctor that lived there, and when they carted the old guy off to jail for evasion, Bill got the house. There is this mural in the living room that was painted way back in the 60's by John Lennon and Jerry Garcia, who grew up in our neighborhood and I used to beat up JG in basketball and broke one of his fingers many times. I think he had problems with that later but took up guitar just to show us he was tough. Some of this story may not be true, and the names changed to protect the guilty. Anyway, here are some pics, unretouched so they are real.


Bill and Rose's front yard, private beach and all

View from the LR

The mural

Bill took me to see the Red Sox v. Angels on Thursday, and we had a great time even though the Sox lost, 4-3. We went to get a dog and a beer (my first beer in a year, maybe the last) and while we were in line the Sox scored all three runs. Grrr. Still a lot of fun, 20,000 sports fanatics and me, the only one without a Sox shirt or hat or something because it was back in CA. Thanks for the game, Bill!

Donald W. drove down on Friday and met me in Lincoln, and did my 8 mile training walk with me, which was like a walk in the park for him. Wait, it was a walk in the park! Anyway, we then went and had dinner with Randy, good to see them but too short. I had lunch with Earl at the cool cafe that Pat runs, and I brought a piece of driftwood and some jade for Mo, which I like to think of as interactive art. A couple years ago he sent me this cool stick in a rock, a walking stick that could be a blunt trauma instrument if needed to be, so I reciprocated with some rocks in a stick. Mo, send me a picture once you've interacted it so I can post it, and I will put up the walking stick too.

The downside was that I didn't leave enough time to see Paul M., Mo, tool around on Earl's boat, get calzones at Elaine's, fix Mom's faucets, and generally visit some more. I thought Mom was feeling better when I left, but she checked herself into the hospital yesterday when her oxygen levels were real low. I talked to her today and she sounds much better, but they are keeping her and running tests, as they would with any other celebrity.

The finches love the new feeder we put in the yard; the white sack feeder was there to introduce them to the new clear feeder, which they didn't seem to figure out for a while but are now all over it. They eat more than I do.


That is where we are at. Dana is getting tired of me being all-talk and little action, so I have to shut up and get moving. Beauch gives me a lot of the same flak, calls me a not-blogger. So here I am, blogging about not blogging. The eye doctor says my eyes are getting better, but I can't see where I am going and I am not sure where I have been. I now have the DVD of the wedding we held at Patrick's Point, but it needs some work to shorten it to something I can post. I have been confirmed as one of the podium speakers for the big LLS/Team in Training pasta party the night before the Santa Barbara Press Recorder Marathon, so I am working on a speech and slide show, about eight minutes at East Coast speed. Why would I do that? To say thank you.

Eyes without a face

Waric awaits. I had lab work done last week, and everything looks good, liver numbers are almost normal, barely anemic, immune system is fine. When I mentioned that I was losing strength in spite of working out, the doc told me that I was suffering from 'prednisone wasting', where over a long term of prednisone the long muscles, especially quadriceps, start weakening. Time to get off prednisone, in other words, so we are weaned back to 40mg every other day.

The mucositis in my mouth is better, but my eyes are getting worse. I went to see the eye doctor, and he showed that I am building scar tissue in the inside of my eyelids. The eyeball does not like that, it likes a nice smooth surface, and if left unchecked I could rub a hole in my cornea. That would be bad, and they would sew my eyelids shut for a few weeks to heal it. Hmmmm. So the path is to lubricate the eyes many times a day, and use restasis drops, and go back in a month. The eye doc also said stay out of the ocean, the salt water is just adding to your trouble. Just as well, my balance is so shot I can barely stay upright on dry land, forget about on a surfboard.

I am going back to RI on 9/14-9/22, to see my mom for her birthday, so all you crazy Waricians get ready. I have been taking my time writing this post and now it is Friday. I should have gotten this done as I was home without a car most of this week, and it has been 90+ out, just bearable in the house. Mike is in full swing at school, very busy, and Sean his carpool mate got sick, so I go without a car more than my share, that's the deal. Mike came home feeling very sick on Monday, flulike without a cough, but then mustered by Wednesday.

Dana is back at work full-time, which means at least nine-hour days plus some weekend hours. And it means I have to start thinking about making dinner again, which is just not my normal way of thinking. I was getting there in spring but floundered in summer. What is frozen that I should thaw for tomorrow?

It is now tomorrow, and the chicken is thawed, and it is bad, it has been thawed for days, as it turns out. This morning, Saturday, the TNT half-marathon team did a 6-mile training walk/run. I am trying to get under a 20-minute pace and hit it at 18 minutes/mile this am, so at least that. I did 3-mile walkd 3x this week and a 5 miler on Wednesday, so a 20 mile week. And I feel fine, meaning no worse, although the hip likes to sing me the blues now and then.

This has been a strange period, with Mike taking my car at least every other day. What do I do? I cleaned house, cleaned the garage, did some gardening, the laundry is all done, but I am having a real difficult time getting into the kitchen and caring about cooking. I need to tie it all up into a menu for the week and see how that goes, but Mike and Dana have been coming in from school at odd hours, so I have that excuse.

Maybe I will start doing market research and see if I can make more money with the money I have. I've been hunkered in CDs while this neoconomics finishes playing out. I can't think of a better way to stimulate the economy than by losing all my money in the market and going to work at Carl's Jr. I have started some genealogy research, so we'll see where that goes.

Something borrowed, something blue

On Wedding Rock at Patrick's Point

Something old (me), something new. I was a minister on Friday, and married Michaela and Damien so good they are going to stay married. Quite a wonderful affair, outdoor at Wedding Rock at Patrick's Point State Park, perfect weather, a perfect day.

Beauch had secured a group camping area for the week, so I drove up on Wednesday. Mike Fiore wanted a ride to Calaveras Big Trees to go camping with the Sheffer Clan, and I agreed thinking Calaveras was in Half Moon Bay. Oops, that's Butano State Park, Calaveras is east of Sacramento. An extra three hours driving to make for a thirteen hour drive, oh boy. Once I got to Patrick's Point it was 10pm, and I could not find the group camp area for the wedding, so I put up camp in some empty area. It turns out the group camp was no longer shown on the maps as a group camp, but that is where we were camping, and I moved there the next morning.

Once I got resituated, we spent the day traipsing the area, and then had a rehearsal in the afternoon where we ironed out the movements of the wedding. We feasted that night with a barbecue, but only a few of us camped, as most had friends in the area, or were staying in a hotel or at the spectacular house Michaela and Damien had rented for the reception.

On Friday I hiked around with Scott, one of the guests, then we all got ready for the wedding. We all marched out to Wedding Rock, a somewhat challenging hike for a seventy year old, maybe. There were about 20 guests waiting, and Joel, Mike B's nephew, was posted higher up in the rocks, playing violin and setting the mood. Patience was the Flower Girl, and she came up the path, carefully placing daisies an exact distance apart from the prior daisy, even going back to make some adjustments to daisies that were suddenly out of place.

Mike walked Michaela up the aisle to where Damien and I and the Best Man waited, and once she was ready we began the ceremony. Michaela and Damien wanted me to begin with the scene from the Princess Bride, where the minister begins, 'Mawwiage is what bwings us togethaw today. Mawwiage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam.' So I did, but then brought us back to the solemnity of the occasion, and it all went very smoothly, short and sweet.


Michaela, me and Damien

We then had a reception at this nice coastal house with tremendous views, decks and a great room that was magnificent. George cooked us up a feast of salmon and all the fixings, and when we realized there were enchiladas coming, it was too late, we were stuffed.

I hope to have some video really soon to put with this, and I may wait for that video before I post. (I didn't)


The Beauchemin Clan

It is now Saturday morning and I don't have video yet, but I do have these pics so I am posting. I just booked a trip back east to visit my Mom for her birthday (86!), from 9/14-9/22. Training for the half-marathon is getting more challenging, and I need to get a 5-mile jaunt in today. No team training today as many are doing the Montana de Oro 8K tomorrow, but I did not need to spend $25 to find out I am slow and out of shape. I have been humping up Islay Hill every other day as part of a 3-4 mile walk, and 2 miles flat on the off days.

It is amazing to watch my gut swell with steroids in spite of all this walking. I bounced up to 170 lbs from 160 when the steroid dose was increased, 50mg every other day, so I have to watch the nervous steroid snacking thing. I will see the eye doctor this week, and the local oncologist, as my liver function numbers remain high. I went through Scotland and Ireland without a drop, and the wedding without a drop, and for what? Is life fair? Heck no.

This is guilty week for me, as Dana prepares to go back to full-time teaching and Mike is off to PCPA training. Dana does not want to go back to work full-time, but there is the quandary of retirement based on your three highest-earning years. Each time I sniff at a job, I find I am over-qualified or have too diversified a background. Hah, what do these people know? So I have to clean the whole house and do yard work to show I have some value, but it doesn't get me anywhere. I am just playing out the string.

Back to Reality

The beach at Lehinch

The Poulnabrane Portal tomb

The Burren landscape, in background

Tourism on the Burren

Dunguaire Castle

Modern thatched-roof estate

Laura flipping the bird

Ladies Day in Galway (for the races)

Mikey sings 'Nantes', camera refuses to tape

Downtown Clifden

Kylemore Abbey in the background

We are home at last, mostly recovered. It is Saturday afternoon, and my sleep pattern is pretty messed up, getting up at all hours, and finally giving up at 4:30 or so. My eyes are really hurting me, very dry - I woke up last night with the feeling I was being stabbed in the eye with a dull nut pick. I finally went surfing, yesterday morning, and maybe the ocean water didn't help my eyes, they were horrible after I got out. It was great to get back in the water and find out just how bad the engine has gotten - pretty bad. I caught a couple of little waves, splashed around, had some fun. Beauch and I went, and as we were suiting up the Jr. Lifeguard squad invaded the spot, 20 of 'em, oh well, we went anyway. I ran at least one of 'em over! Oops!

This morning I went with the Team-in-Training on a training run, or walk, of 4 miles, not bad. Now I will try to catch up the last of the trip.

Saturday night and Sunday we spent day-tripping the area around Kinvara. We went to Aillwee Caves, and they had a brids of prey show that was pretty cool, and we toured the cave. The terrain of the burren area is very barren, stripped bare over time and left to limestone and whatever can survive in the windswept rocky terrain. We also visited some burial sites and ringforts, and a portal tomb that is 6,000 years old.

Monday we made a short move to Lisdoonvarna, where we were all going to stay in the nicest hostel in Ireland. Maybe it is, but Dana and I went looking for a B&B for us. We found a very nice one with a great bedroom, tiny bathroom, and great Irish breakfasts, and the same net price when you account for the breakfasts (coffee, tea, eggs, toast, yogurt, cereal, 3 types of sausage, fruit, date breads, ham and OJ). The kids stayed at the hostel.

When we were in Ireland in 2001, we finished our trip with a bang, at a banquet at Bunratty Castle, and that next night Dana and I went to Lehinch, the Cliffs of Moher at sunset, and into Doolin for a great music session. This time we went to a much smaller banquet at Dunguaire Castle, and it was good except it was only a 3-person show about the writers that had come from the area. The Bunratty show had many singers and dancers performing songs that many knew and sang along with. We went into Doolin for the session music, got there early and had good seats, but it wasn't really happening that night, with just a few players, no guitar to match ukulele chords with, and lots of tourists. Disappointing.

In 2001 when we got to the Cliffs of Moher, it was sunset and there were maybe ten other people in the area of the old fort tower. It was pretty wide open, small parking area, very serene. Eight years later and the Cliffs had been turned into a tourist exhibition, with movies, exhibits, gift shops, cafes, and 10,000 people all so happy that it wasn't raining they went to visit the Cliffs of Moher. Disneyland, Legoland, Ireland - Cliffs Adventure.

There is a trail that traverses the cliff edge from the visitor center all the way to another tower lookout, about two miles plus. About 500 meters down that trail is a barrier noting the cliffs are dangerous and saying that from this point on is private property. There is also a memorial dedicted to all who have died at the cliffs but the tourists are going right over the barrier and getting their pics taken as close to the edge as they dare. Remember, it has rained for the last 28 days, so that cliff is pretty soggy. John and Laura right away go over and head for the far tower, and within a few hundred meters the crowds have petered out. I wish I had gone with them, but Dana's foot is bad and she is hobbling so we stay.

Tuesday we go out for our last meal to a recommended pub in Lisdoonvarna, change tables three times, and have dinner. When the bill comes, we find they don't take credit cards, and there is no ATM in the whole town, the nearest is 20km away, and we are about 30 euro short. Mike goes back to the hostel and scrounges up all the money he can from John and Laura, and we have just enough. As we are paying Dana spills the last of her cider on the fiddler, and we leave.

At the airport in Shannon we discover that we are to be the first group to go through US customs on Irish soil, a new method, so we wont have to pick up our luggage in Phila and go through customs and then recheck it. The downside is we lose our pears, and barely make it to our gate on time, when we started with 2 extra hours. Otherwise, uneventful flights, and when we get home our house is lovely and stocked up with stuff, thanks Cindy.

Kinvara

Sunday, the 2nd, in Kinvarra, 7 am
We are in a B&B in this coastal town about 50km south of Galway. We left Clifden Saturday morning, picked the kids up in Galway, suffered through a two hour traffic jam to get through Galway and here we are. I will try to remember what happened to get us here. but I can tell you for sure that it has continued to rain every day at least some, the wettest July on record (I overheard). The kids are checked out mentally, they are road weary and disinterested. It appears all they want are better gaming units, and Mike wants his girlfriend.

Last Tuesday, the 28th, Dana and I did go into Roundstone, a very quaint and artsy town. The kids were dropped off at the Atlantic and presumably spent the day on the internet and throwing darts. We went to the Modhran factory, where they make the Irish drum, pronounced bowrawn. We were greeted with a 'How y'all doin?' by Tex, the proprietor, and he told us everything we needed to know about bodhrans. We bought one, and somebody will be making a lot of noise with this thing soon. Eventually it will look good hanging on the wall with the other instruments in the house. We bopped around town looking in all the shops, and got the scoop on all things local from the antiques dealer, a guy from Boston MA. Go Red Sox! We ate a very good seafood dinner at O'Dowds, and headed home.

Wednesday I filled you in on the last post.

Thursday, 8/30
We got a pretty early start to Galway, where we are dropping all three kids off at a hostel. It's about a 1.5 hour drive. On the way we stopped at Recess to check out Joyce's Crafts Shop, and the home of Connemara Marble. The owner is a sculptor of this soft stone, and the marble is beautiful. I traded him one of my last jade pieces for a piece of polished marble, and it turns out a couple of bigger stones we picked off the beach are also Connemara marble. The shop has a ton of woolen pieces, so we want to check it out further when we don't have the impatient easily bored crew in the car waiting.

It is race week in Galway, the biggest week of the year, and additionally Thursday is Ladies Day, so the place is crawling with ladies dressed to the nines, all looking very stylish with fancy hats and stilletto heels. Vavavavoom! We get the kids dropped at the hostel, which looks pretty cool, right near the heart of Galway. They will be in a dorm room with ten bunkbeds, just what they need. Dana and I go off exploring (shop-a-rama). Galway has a nice pedestrian area, the way SLO should do it, and the joint is jumping. There is a gritty side to the city, and we are told that after dark it can be dangerous, but what city isn't? Dana and I get out of there and take the coastal route home. We stop in Spiddal and have another great seafood meal, salmon, fish cakes, brown bread, great veg.

Friday, it rained all day, and we just hung around reading books all day. That night we were committed to getting to the music at J. Coneely's early enough to get a good seat, and we do, sitting right up front, sharing a table with an English couple from the Cotswolds. It was the same 2 guys that were there last Tuesday, Fergal Scahill and Mickey Martin. Mickey says Fergal is the Senior Fiddle Champion of Ireland, but he looks about 30. Mickey plays bazookie, a flattened mandolin, and sings, and Fergal also plays guitar. They are awesome, Fergal with the mad skills, and Mickey is very entertaining, great craic and a laugh like Amadeus. The joint is jumping, and people get up and show their jigging skills. Two gals are dancing a swing style right in front of us, and near the end of the night one of them goes looking for a partner. She is denied by her boyfriend and settles on me, and won't take no for an answer. This turns out to be the big finale song, and it is fast and long. I am in a sweat trying to keep up. The other girl joins in, Fergal is up on the bar tearing up the fiddle, Mickey is up on our table, the girls are spinning me around and toying with me, and of course we don't have a second of it recorded. It's probably on YouTube under 'Pathetic American Tourist gets schooled by Irish lassies!'

Saturday we pack up Clifden, check out, and head for Galway. We stop at Joyces' Crafts and pick up some gifts we've been meaning to get, go through Cong where 'The Quiet Man' was filmed, stop on the road for lunch, and enter Galway, where the worst traffic of the year has the city in a knot. It takes us 2 hours to drive 5 km through it, with the kids jumping in the car as we are stuck in traffic. Bad timing, I wish someone had warned us. Mike and Laura are asleep within one minute, and John is on the PC. They may have had too good a time in Galway. John says they were denied entry to the pubs because the bouncer said they were drunk, but my guess is he was unimpressed with the waif-like nature of their appearance. They got booze somewhere, because they sure seem hungover now. Once we get out of the traffic jam, it is not too far to Kinvara. Our B&B is very nice, The Meadow, but the view of ocean and castle they used to have has been blocked in the building boom that has gone on here. A lot of these houses are going begging now.

The kids go into town to get something to eat, while Dana and I engage our hosts, Mary and Denny Duffy, in some talk about the area. Mary is a retired nurse, and Denny is a retired policeman, so they know everyone in town, and Denny is an Irish history buff. Later we go into town to check it out and get a prescription refilled. Seems I shorted myself a few days. Of course, I forget the bottle, so I make the 1/2km jaunt a few more times, and then pay 35 euro ($50) for 15 pills, all they have. I pay $20 for 120 pills in the states. The big difference is these are brand-name, and I get generic at home. Ouch. We get some food, go back and take a short nap, and then Dana and I go check out hte session music downtown. The first bar has an accordion and bagpipe player, who are competent, but then they are joined by a fiddler that is learning, and a bazooki player that started yesterday and is clueless. So we leave there and find the other session is jamming, packed to the gills, and so loud with talking that we can't hear the music.

Today, we have started with a big Irish breakfast, eggs, yogurt, toast, 2 types of blood sausage, scotch ham, breakfast sausage, coffee, tea, cereal, and tomatoes. Criminy. The kids have mustered, it is 10:30, I am going to post this and then we will go touring the local caves, ring forts, dolmens and cairns.

Enough rain already

Thursday, 7:30 am, been up since about 5:20, making taost with lemon curd, no butter, and coffee
It has rained short showers twice this morning so far. I am taking pictures every 30 minutes or so, to try and capture how fast the weather changes here. I have never seen such fast-moving clouds as here, they just race across the sky, in a hurry to get to England. It is supposed to be a nice day today, and we are going into Galway. We will drop the kids off at a hostel where they have reservations and hopefully renewed interest in this trip. With a week to go, everyone is road-weary. As soon as Mike's girlfriend returned from her China trip a few days ago, he became homesick.

It was a steroid day (every other day) and Dana's plantar fasciitis is gimping her, so I drove out to take a long hike, but got distracted by Connemara Golf Course, and found that not only was it 100 Euros to play and rent clubs, but also they couldn't get me on until maybe the weekend, and also I quit golf already. I tried to visit a nearby castle ruins, but could not find a way in; it may have been on private land. I then drove the intended hike route and found it was twice as far as I thought it would be, and it started raining, and I was supposed to take the kids to go horseback riding, so I went back.

John hadn't been very committed to the horse idea, but Mike and Laura wanted to go the night before when we were cooking this plan up. Years ago, when John was about 8, we were visiting the Farrells in Arizona and riding their horses, when John's horse slipped down a creek embankment and fell on John. Luckily the mud where they landed was very soft and he was more shocked than scared, but I think that has kept him from enjoying horseback riding. I also think that Laura was a little hesitant to have us spend money on her for this extravagance. I have probably expressed too many times that we can't be wasteful, and what I meant was that we shouldn't be having $130 dinners and $60 lunches every day when we have a house or aprtment with a full kitchen. We have done a good job in that respect and can focus our funds on fun things to do.

At any rate, when John opted out, Laura did too, but Mike still wanted to go, so I had to throw my hat in, even though I suck at horseback riding and always end up sore. He and I drove out to Cleggan and found out that the next group didn't leave until 4:30 (it was 1:30), but that it also cost 45 euros, about $60, for a 90 minute ride, and that Mike would rather go riding with his gal, who has a horse, when he gets home. This day was taking a lot of derailment. So, John, Laura and Mike spent the sunny part of their awake hours in the pub, on the internet and throwing darts, and Dana and I did some more car-touring and peeking into little shops.

We also took a hike along the bay until we came to D'Arcy's Castle, which we had tried to get to via the upper Sky Road a few days ago but couldn't find the way in. This was an easier approach, and it was too scenic for Dana's camera, with a colt and mare in the field, so the picture will live only in the mind's eye. We picked up fish and chips and the kids, and headed for home. The chips here can come with coleslaw, cheese, garlic mayo, or curry sauce on them, so I got each of those on the side, and it was quite good. After dinner Mike and Dana started practicing their Irish music, Mike on the uke and Dana on the Bodhran, the Irish drum we'd bought a couple days ago.

There was a seisun at Oliver's Pub in Cleggan that night, so the three of us headed there and arrived a half-hour early, just in time for apple pie and fresh cream. The place was packed with diners, but we found out where the musicians would set up and got good seats near there. The musicians arrived, all older than 50, and looking like they had spent the night in the fields with the sheep, with wild grey hair streaming out, and started playing Irish music on mandolin, flute, bodhrans, guitar and harmonica. People streamed in right behind the musicians, the diners crowded in, and the place was packed. Mike went and got his uke from the car and sat down with the musicians and joined in mid-song, and when the song finished the players looked up to see him beaming at them.

A few songs later and they asked Mike to sing a song, which he did. After introducing himself as 'Mike from California', young girls from 12-25 started crowding in to get a look. When he began a rousing version of 'Nantes' in a strong voice, hearts were swooning, they were taking his picture, and Dana's camera chose that moment to refuse to take video. I am so sick of that camera missing the golden moments.

Friday update - raining all day. Kids are in Galway at a hostel where we left them yesterday, and we are leaving here tomorrow, picking them up and going somewhere. ??? Pictures to come, as they are all on Laura's laptop.

On the road again

Murlough Bay, secret spot, shhhhh


Us with Joe and Mary at Drumkeerin

Sunday, 1pm, in Clifden on the west coast of Ireland, County Galway.
On Friday we got an early start and drove into Belfast, little over an hour south. We wanted to get to the Friday market at St. Georges. Belfast is a port town; the Titanic was built there. We get to the market, and it is pretty cool, a lot of food booths, curios, clothes, and fabrics such as linens, basically a covered flea market or rastro. The kids are done in twenty minutes, so we arrange to hook up with them later. I traded some jade from home for a mother-of-pearl bracelet worth $8, and Dana got some linens.

The St. Georges Market

Belfast has a lot of shopping around a nice pedestrian area, with big modern malls. The new areas are designed for rainy days. The Victoria Mall has a glass tower, and an elevator takes you to the top, where there is a platform with great views of the city. We see a giant Ferris wheel a short distance away, but never get there. Instead, we head for another small arcade of shops in a much more gritty area, through the XXX district, and then on for more peeks into little shops. The kids call an hour before we are to meet them for dinner, and they have already eaten and want to get back to their electronics.

Dana in the Victoria Mall tower; note Ferris wheel

Belfast was at the center of revolt in the '70s, along with Derry, and so we retrieve the car ($20 for parking) and head for the Falls area and Shankill Road. Shankill Road is divided by Falls Road, and on one side is the Catholic or Nationalist neighborhood, and on the other side is the Protestand or Unionist neighborhood. The Catholic area has moveable barriers with murals on each, and many buildings are bombed out, gaping holes in the roofs and shattered windows. Murals are painted on many walls, depicting the Troubles and those who died.

On the Catholic/Nationalist side of Shankill Road

The Protestant area has all the red, white and blue banners hanging, Union Jacks everywhere, and lots of murals on the walls here as well. The city is at peace, but there is an undercurrent of tension. Marching season is in July, meaning the Protestants trot out their colors and march around, shoving it in the Irish faces which must rankle them, so maybe that is what I am sensing, but we don't want to get out and walk around. The car has Republic of Ireland plates, so we are trying to look like tourists as best we can. We go on to a stone ring outside of town, and then up on a hill overlooking the city, the grounds of Belfast Castle. The kids hike the hill to the top, but Dana and I just sit and ponder the view.


On the Protestant/Loyalist side of Shankill

We get back to Cushendun at 9pm, grab the ukuleles and head into Cushendall ten minutes away. McCollum's Pub is so packed we can barely get in, and the room we were in the night before that was crowded with 9 people now has 9 musicians and 10 observers, and another room has 5 musicians and 10 observers. It is elbow to elbow and we have to give up any hope of a table or even a place to stand and observe, so we leave and meander through town looking into the other pubs, but end up going home.

Saturday
We leave Cushendun and the Drumkeerin B&B, and miss the place instantly. Mary McFadden, our landlady, had won landlady of the year for the entire UK in 2002, and it showed in all the little touches. Everything we needed was there, I could wake at 5 am and not worry about waking everyone, and it was so scenic it made you ache that you were alive. We'd decided to make the 7 hour drive to the next spot in one shot, since we had already paid for the place in Clifden for a week starting Saturday, and our stay at Drumkeerin ended Saturday, that was the way it worked out. The $250 we saved would have been the cost of 2 rooms in a hotel half-way across the country.

On our way here we stopped in Omagh, to visit the Ulster Ammerican Folk Museum and break up the ride, and because Mervyn had highly recommended it. It was probably the best value monument we had gone to, at 22GBP for all of us. This museum documented the emigration of the Irish people to various parts of the world. You started out with a number of indoor exhibits, then went outside and folloed a path through the woods to visit huts and farmhouses that showed how the Irish people lived in the time before and during the famine years, 1849-53. The buildings were lifted stone by stone from various places in Ireland and reconstructed on the site.

After these exhibits you passed through a reconstruction of the docks at Derry and through a ship's cargo hold area, then up to the top where you came down the plank and into America. Outside again, there are reconstructions of the emigrant journey in America, including farmhouses and outbuildings brought from Pennsylvania. The entire place was staffed by people in period dress doing period work. Dana and I loved the place, and we were out of the car a couple of hours.

On the road to Clifden

Three hours later we stopped in Belleek at the border of Northern Ireland and Republic of Ireland and had a good meal. Lamb stew, chicken pie, fish and chips. We got back in the car and headed on. Driving in Ireland is often tense, with little room for error. We did hit some stretches of highway, but the last 40 miles were the worst road yet, with the car and road conspiring to send us on a roller coaster ride. We drove through beautiful country with very few houses and no towns. I was having dark thoughts that we were heading to such a remote area that the youths would be bored to tears. Have I mentioned that Hertz is really going to hear it from me? I have to stop and fill a leaking tire with air every day, and the suspension seems shot on this car that has 47000 km on it. At least now in Ireland the roads are in KM and I no longer have to convert.

When we arrived in Clifden my fears were allayed, as it is a good-sized town right on the coast, lots of pubs, shops, and restaurants, completely designed for tourists and very scenic, and many small towns around with lots of pubs and artists. The place is jumping when we arrive, but we drive another 4 km to Clifden Glen. It is not what we anticipated. It's a complex of small houses that look very cute, and a small pub and park, but it is away from the ocean and has no views. When we enter the house, it is very spartan and the carpets are old, musty and unclean. It has a kitchen area with big windows overlooking a hacked down woods. We are all turned off right away, so Dana and I go back to reception and I pull out the low immunity card. We hash it out with Christine the manager, and we go to a slightly better house.

We move our stuff from the first house, where the kids have only partly settled, to the second. We bring all the stuff in, but before we get unpacked we all head down to the pub attached to reception. Christine is there, and I express to her our disappointment in as friendly a manner as I can muster after driving across Ireland. As it turns out, she does have a third house, this with newer carpets and a kitchen area with a view of woods. Not great, but better. While the kids are engaged in the pub with their pints, Dana and I move all the stuff from house 2 to house 3. Did I mention that it is raining this whole time?

Monday 6am
I am trying to catch up this blogging of our journey, so the above is reading like a travelogue. It lacks much feeling because I have my clutch riveted in. Let me just say that in 2001 when we were in Ireland I was very disgusted with the incessant GameBoying, and nothing has changed except game systems.

Sunday Dana and I went into town and went grocery shopping at the SuperValu, a pretty upscale store similar to a Vons with more household goods. The place is hopping at 9 am. Dana goes off with her list, and I know this is going to be an arduous journey. She loves to see what they have in places we go to, and has to read every label and squeeze every veg. I go around trying to find those few things I am qualified to get, cereal and sponges and chips, but in the end she switches my cereal, sponges and chips for others. Two hours and $160 later (and no alcohol since that section of the store is dark, it is Sunday), we are back home and making lunch.

After lunch we go into Clifden to check it out, and the kids go to a pub/hotel/coffee bar with internet access. It is on and off raining and really windy. Dana and I walk around and check out the stores and art galleries, and have dessert and tea and coffe. We then meet up with the kids, and they want their dinner. John has been sick with a cold for about a week, just started recovering enough to muster for Belfast, but now Mike seems to be getting the cold. I can see this dinner will be wanky, so we send them on their merry way to fend for themselves, and Dana and I go car-touring out the Sky road that hugs the coast here.

We come upon an area where kids are playing in the road, lots of kids, and maybe 20 campers with some rough-looking people milling about. They ignore us driving through, and I am very cautious as the kids do not make any action to avoid us. These are the Irish itinerants, or gypsies, and they are here because there is a fun fair or carnival happening in town this week and they will staff it. That is all conjecture on my part. We go on, and at a high point in the road get out and find the wind now blowing at about 60kph or 40 mph, a good four-club wind. Sheesh. The views of the bay and islands and ocean are awesome, but it hurts to look into the wind to see it all.

Dana nearly blowing away

Last night there were a number of choices of music in town, and we should have gotten there earlier, but we muscled into J.Mcneely's Pub and the place is jumping, with some fiddle, bazooki, mandolin and guitar, and a decidedly cowboy/bluegrass flavor with a little traditional Irish music thrown in. We got a table way in the back, and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. I was in a good mood because I had managed to take a nap after dinner. To Mike's horror and John's amusement I did some white guy old man jigging about, with some yahooing thrown in. It was mildly acceptable because we were way in the back.

Today, we are going to Roundstone and some other local spots, we'll see. The sun is out right now, but we've already had 2 showers this morning.

My place or yours

View from Drumkeerin at 5:10 am today


John and Laura attacking Dunluce Castle across the drawbridge on Monday


Dana, John and Mike at the Giant's Causeway on Monday


John, Laura and Mike cross the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede (John in black, Laura in white, Mike in brown


Mike at Torr Head, an abandoned Coast Guard station, in his favorite pose, Scotland in the distance

Let me start out this multi-day blog post by saying my health is about the same, minor mucositis in my mouth but increasing annoyance with my eyes, whcih gets worse as the day goes on. Driving after 8pm requires lots of eye lubricant.

Tuesday 8 am, been up since 5:30, second crowing. Yesterday we did visit Dunluce Castle, the Giant's Causeway, Torr Head and other scenic spots along the Antrim Coast, all too beautiful. Scotland is only 14 miles away and can easily be seen if it is clear. It rained on and off almost all day.

BIRDS

by Moira O'Neill - that was the pseudonym of Agnes Shakespeare Higginson (1864 - 1955), a popular Irish-Canadian poet who wrote ballads and other verse inspired by County Antrim, where she lived at Cushendun.

She also used the name Nesta. She published Songs of the Glens of Antrim (1900) and More Songs of the Glens of Antrim (1921).

Sure maybe ye've heard the storm-thrush
Whistlin' bould in March,
Before there's a primrose peepin' out,
Or a wee red cone on the larch;
Whistlin' the sun to come out o' the cloud,
An' the wind to come over the sea,
But for all he can whistle so clear an' loud,
He's never the bird for me.

Sure maybe ye've seen the song-thrush
After an April rain
Slip from in-undher the drippin' leaves,
Wishful to sing again;
An' low wi' love when he's near the nest,
An' loud from the top o' the tree,
But for all he can flutter the heart in your breast,
He's never the bird for me.

Sure maybe ye've heard the cushadoo
Callin' his mate in May,
When one sweet thought is the whole of his life,
An' he tells it the one sweet way.
But my heart is sore at the cushadoo
Filled wid his own soft glee,
Over an' over his "me an' you!"
He's never the bird for me.

Sure maybe ye've heard the red-breast
Singin' his lone on a thorn,
Mindin' himself o' the dear days lost,
Brave wid his heart forlorn.
The time is in dark November,
An' no spring hopes has he:
"Remember," he sings, "remember!"
Ay, thon's the wee bird for me.

Wednesday, 9 am
I got up at 6:30, I think the rooster slept in! The other rooster too! The laptop just wiped out an hours work I did on Michaela's wedding vows, &^$$%*&^^*$. Those stupid little touch pads on laptops right where your thumbs land, grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

It rained all day yesterday, cows and sheep. With family tensions running high, we were able to sit down and clear the air and try to make the second half of our trip better than the first half. Dana has worked so hard to put us where we'll have fun, but that means the kids have little control over where they are going or what they will see. My clutch is slipping a lot, so I taped my shifter into neutral, let's hope that tape holds.

As I said, it rained cows and sheep, but at 5pm or so it stopped, with puddles of lamb chops and steaks everywhere. I decided to chance it and hike down into town for milk and sausage for dinner, even though the sky was grey and it was very windy. Everyone else was locked into lounging. On Tuesday I forgot the ponchos, which were needed. This time I would be prepared, I put on my thermal silks, long-sleeve shirt, microfiber jacket, and jacket, packed the poncho and rain pants, and stepped outside. The sun was shining, so down the hill I went. I was plenty warm within about 300 yards. I walked along the beach and to the store, the wind stopped, and by the time I had hiked back up the hill I was sweating peat bogs, and had shed a few layers, making the pack weigh even more.

Today we are planning to go into Londonderry, see the sights, and try to switch the car for something bigger like the Galaxy we had, for space and so I don't have to convert KPH to MPH. I went out last night to a bigger grocery in the next town, and was befuddled when what I thought was the police were following me, trying to figure out if I was speeding or going slow. It wasn''t the cops. In this whole trip I have seen maybe five police on the roads. They do have cameras all over the place taking your picture if you speed, so we're not home free yet.

Thursday, 8 am, been up since 5am, pre-crow
I notice that the roosters crow is muted if the sky is grey, barely audible. I went to bed last night after 11, thinking I would sleep in and then be able to make it to ceilidh night at the pub, which starts at around 9 and goes to the wee hours. Hah! The Cushendall pub is famous for their ceilidh sessions, so I will tough through it.

We did go into Derry yesterday, but John stayed home with a cold, which I hope we don't all get. Derry/Londonderry is at the center of Loyalist/Unionist tensions, and that remains although tamped down. It is all reminiscent of what happened to the Native American Indians in North America, and other native peoples worldwide, the ones with lesser weapons and immunities. We have to stay above it while we are here. It was supposed to start raining at 1, and pouring at 4, but the weather holds out with a few sprinkles and that's all.

When we were on our way out to visit Londonderry, our landlord Joe was outside working. We stopped to see if he had any advice about things to see in Londonderry, and he said ‘You are not going to Londonderry.’ We are befuddled, but he adds ‘You are going to Derry.’ Turns out he was born and lived in Derry for many years, and knew of what he spoke. He is still irritated that the English came over in the early 1600s and uprooted the Irish, taking their lands and giving them to Scottish and English ‘planters’ or settlers. To honor the London livery merchants that funded the final taking and settling of Derry, the English renamed the place Londonderry.

We began our visit to Derry with a guided walk of the old city walls led by John M., who states at the beginning of the tour that he will present both sides of the Nationalist/Unionist conflict, but it is clear, after the first few minutes, that he sides with the Nationalists as he recounts the Bloody Sunday killings of 14 unarmed civilians during a peaceful protest and the Internment (imprisonment without trial, can you say Guantanomo) laws that fueled "The Troubles" in Northern Ireland in the 70's, 80's and early 90's.

Laura on the Walls of Derry


View of the Protestant neighborhood just outside the walls, to the east


One of the murals, this one depicting the schoolgirl killed in the crossfire. From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bogside_Artists

After the tour we stop in a pub for tea and Guinness in the old town center, the unionist/protestant part of Derry. All the tables are taken, but there is one table that has a beer but no person, so I ask an older man sitting alone at the next table if this unoccupied table is taken. He tells me it is, but says we can sit with him if we’d like. We take him up on the offer.

Our new friend’s name is Mervin, and I order him another pint to loosen the tongue. He didn’t need it. He is a friendly but sort of sad man, drinking alone. He is maybe in his mid-sixties, retired from the military and civil service. He has a ruddy face and tousled hair, and is slightly drunk. He asks where we are from, and then laments how the British "lost" America and talks about how we Americans honor our flag in the US. We ask if he is Irish, and he says we could call him that, but he is ‘British Irish.’ Now this is tricky ground, and we want to remain impartial observers, so we tread lightly. This is a man that may have been part of the military force that kept Derry/Londonderry in the rule of the U.K.

We get to the Tower Museum just as it closes, a crying shame. Dana and Laura go off for some shopping, and Mike and I go to explore the Guild Hall, the building where the Honorable Irish Society (London merchants that funded the settling of Derry) meets. This building has some spectacular stained glass windows, ornate meeting rooms, and a huge pipe organ. We have so many pictures I need to get something on Picasa or somewhere.

Stained glass in the Guild Hall Assembly Room


The pipe organ in the Guild Hall

Today is a knock around day, and we may try to ride bikes around to save Dana's foot, but the local roads might be terrifying on a bike. Or, I may talk Mike into a walk into Cushendall through countryside, a round trip of about ten miles. Tomorrow, Belfast.

Rooster Crows and Cushy digs

Dang, I should have known that was Mac's poemerizing, Mo's is more about nature, and Mac's is about ??? Not sure what, but is always entertaining.


Cushendun


Our view from Drumkeerin, and our road up, a little tight

It is Sunday morning, about 8, and I am sitting in the Drumkeerin Bed and Breakfast Barnhouse, which has been converted from a hostel to a self-cater, and it is almost perfect for our needs. I've been up since first crow at 5:30, and the rooster is still crowing. The Barn, as it is called, has a master suite and 2 other bedrooms, each with 2 beds, so plenty of room. There are 2 other bathrooms in addition to the master suite's, a big family room, and a somewhat awkward kitchen. The hosts, Joe and Mary McFadden, are very nice, and greeted us with fresh scones, fresh eggs, butter and store-bought milk. They are accomplished artists and hikers, and offer lessons in painting. Their works are to be seen through the Barn and the community. They have given up using the main house as a B&B and the Barn as a hostel, and apparently converted the Barn into a self-cater in '08.

There has been a light mist in the far hills, and rainbows are appearing and disappearing. This place sits high up the hillside above Cushendun, and overlooks the Sea of Moyle. The views are awesome. The only knock is it looks like a good hike down into town, maybe 2 miles, and the hike back looks killer uphill, but there isn't much in Cushendun anyway, and Mary steered us away from the local pub food. We will day trip from here to many things, including the Giant's Causeway, the cities of Belfast and Londonderry, and some castles such as Dunluce. The grounds here are very nice, with a lawn bowling court, gardens, and a creek.

Yesterday we left Pitlochry, Scotland, at noon, and travelled back to Edinburgh with a short stop at the Hermitage to see Scotland's tallest tree, which by American standards was not all that tall. It is a Douglas Fir brought from the US in the early 1800s, and there is a grove of them now. They are 1/3rd the size of the largest in the US at around 130 feet. We arrived at the airport at 3:00, and I ditched the car while the entourage checked in. When I hooked back up with them, I could see that Dana had checked my carry-on with $1200 in it, so I had some anxiety until we retrieved it in Belfast.

The flight was less than an hour, no hiccups at all. We got the car from Hertz, a Saab 9-5 wagon, which is a disappointment because it is a little beat and is the only car I have ever seen that had a speedometer only in kilometers per hour. This is a real mystery, as the UK uses MPH, as does Ireland. So I have to convert in my head as I drive along and speed limits change. The saving grace is that the speed limit is generally not posted and I just do like the locals. I might switch this car in Belfast when we go back in.

The drive from Belfast to Cushendun was about an hour, and it poured pretty good most of the way, but when we got to the scenic coastal route it stopped so we could see how beautiful the area is. We stopped in Cushendall, the slightly larger town 5 miles before Cushendun, for groceries. The Bay of Cushendun is on the north side of the road, so this is a beach town. Kids were playing everywhere, and it looked like a great place to grow up. There was a funeral going at the shore, and they were using a speaker so everyone in Cushendall could pay respects. Cushendall is about the size of Los Alamos, maybe 3,000 people, a total guess. Cushendun is even smaller.

Cushendun walk, Dad, Mike and Laura

The populations in this area are falling. N. Ireland is divided into counties, then baronies, then parishes, then townlands. There are about 62,000 townlands in N. Ireland. Of the 58 townlands in the Cushendun Parish, all but a few have lost population, some are empty, and many are Harmony-sized (~20 people or less). The local students have done a study of population trends here in Cushendun Parish, and I draw on their work. Our landlord Joe did all the illustrations in the resultant booklet, 'Townlands in the Parish of Cushendun', and the students wrote stories about the history of the townlands where their families live, some for hundreds of years. This gives a sense of local history that is deeply rooted - people are still upset about the murder of Shane O'Neill in 1576!

We will probably stick around here today and hit the road tomorrow, because Dana appreciates me less on 40 mg prednisone days, every other day, and that is today. I see myself traipsing the countryside with Mike today. Dana is still limping around a little, but improving.

Monday, 5:30 am, 1st crow was 15 minutes ago, and the rooster beat me to it
Sunrise is beautiful again! Sunset is around 9:30, but it isn't dark until after 10 pm, so 16 hours of daylight, and I see them all. I went to bed at 10 last night, so I got 7.5 hours of sleep, plenty. I have a solid headache from prednisone jangle, though.

More beach at Cushendun

Yesterday we mucked about here all morning, but I made a big picnic lunch for us. By the time everyone was ready to hike around, it was after 1, so we just sat down and ate the lunch, then hiked around looking for some ruins that are in some field nearby, never found, and then on into Cushendun and the beach. It is only a mile, maybe less, easy hike. We knocked around the beach, and sat and drank the hot cocoa and mocha I made. I forgot the thermos cups, so we had shot-sized nips from the screw tops, which were designed for knuckleheads like me. John couldn't muster, so it was Dana, Mike, Laura and me, and we went into the Cushendun Pub for Mike's first pint of Guinness.

The pub had an outside seating area covered by a plexiglass roof, which it turns out is common in this area, and necessary with the on and off rains, so we sat out there. We said 'Cheers', and Mike fell in love with Guinness. We have been making tuppence (2 penny) bets to settle disputes; the first bet was whether there is a tuppence coin - I won that one. I said the Irish say 'Slainte' for a formal toast, and Mike disputed that. Of course I didn't pronounce it right. If you pronounce anything here the way it looks, that's usually wrong. We asked one of the locals what they say for a toast, and they said 'Shlantcha', and I asked how they spelled it. I had the spelling right, but Mike wouldn't pay up on the technicality of mispronunciation. Piker. So we went to the Post Office and got some groceries, and hiked back up the hill to home.

Mike has his first sip of Guinness, the most natural thing in the world - water, yeast, hops and barley

Dana, Mike and I went into Cushendall for dinner at a restaurant Joe recommended, and it was very good seafood and a great warmed goat's cheese and walnut starter. Today I think we will drive west to the Giant's Causeway and to find Dunluce Castle. Dana is already up and plotting our adventures in the kitchen. The rooster is turning out the troops a bit earlier, except John, who slept until 1 pm yesterday, or 8 hours of rooster crowing every 2 minutes, maybe 3300 crows or so. Eight years ago when we were in Ireland, driving through some scenic country south of Dublin, I got so fed up with the stupid Gameboys that I tossed John's into the hedge, and I am at about that point now. In Pitlochry, he took his last bit of money and bought a step-down transformer so he could charge his gaming unit, and is now spending all his time with that. Brilliant.

Family tensions remain high. This pimple on the ass of our trip needs to be popped and drained, but my clutch has been glued down and I am not saying anything. Or did I just say something?

Lovely Jams

A stone circle in a field near Aberfeldy

The Vale of Atholl Pipes and Drums, at Pitlochry Highland Festival on Monday

It is 7:00 am Thursday as I write this. We are in Pitlochry, Scotland, a small town of maybe a thousand residents and 500 tourists, centrally located in the Perthshire Highlands. We are staying in a 2-bedroom cottage, what is called a ‘self-catered’, and it is perfect for our needs, $800 for the week but we will only stay 5 nights. Tuesday we toured the countryside to the south, down to Aberfeldy and Loch Tay, and visited Castle Menzies. It was good to be a Menzies.

Around Loch Tay lived the Menzies, MacDougalls, the MacDonalds, the MacGregors, the Clunies, the Robertsons, the Stewarts and the Camerons, and they worked out their differences with swords, dirks, shields, ambushes and thievery. The Robertsons were greatly feared after they invented the Claymore, a 2-handed sword over 5’ long, but the Menzies had the best cattle and some good-looking women, so they held their own. Bonnie Prince Charlie lost his bid for the throne in this area, but the Jacobites defeated the government troops at the battle of Killiecrankie, a revered site for the locals which we will visit today.

The Scots we meet are very nice, friendly people, but you can see their history of warring, their dander in the young men, a lot of Bravehearts walking around, ready for a scrap should the need arise. I see Mac here, the light hair, blue eyes, ruddy face. Are you from here, Mac? I see Bill M. here too, or his dad, especially the curly hair. I know there is a big mix of Irish and English in many of these people, and it shows in many ways.

Yesterday Dana did laundry in the morning early, and we set it on the line to dry. The sun was beaming, but it seems there are always big clouds of varying shades of gray lurking about, and sprinkles constantly remind you that you are not in California. After helping hang the clothes, I made a lunch and Mike and I set out on one of the walks nearby, Craigower walk, a 5.5 miles jaunt to Craigower peak, with Laura and John some 20 minutes behind. Dana is on a cane with a plantar fasciitis injury. She needs to heal up fast. I was wearing my plaid shorts and a Live Oak ‘Peace, Love, Dirt’ shirt, black socks and Ecco hikers, and a brown felt cowboy hat I got in Sevilla. I looked like a tourist. Dana loves how I dress, and the kids stay 20’ behind me when we go through town.

What they don’t mention in the hike descriptions is elevation gain. Our walk started with 2.5 miles up, and up, and up. We wound around the Pitlochry Golf Course, which you’d better be in good shape to play as the outbound nine go up and up, and there are no carts. Every golf course I have seen, and there are many, is so green and pristine it hurts the eyes. They do not need to irrigate, just mow like crazy.

Up we went to Craigower Peak, 1000’ of gain, and I had to stop for a breath many times, and busted a good sweat in 75 degree humid weather, but we made it. The finish to the peak is a series of punishing stairs, just for good measure. John and Laura arrived at the peak just behind us, and we set ponchos on the ground to make a picnic. We took some great photos, and watched the rain start to come down on the hills in the distance, and wondered which way it was moving. Just as we were finishing our picnic we got our answer – toward us.

Mike at Craigower Peak

A light sprinkle started, so we put on the 3 ponchos we had, and I gave leather-coated poncholess John my hat. We packed up quickly and headed out, and within a few hundred yards we came to a spot where we could see the sun beaming to the southeast, and a line of rain advancing on us from the west. John stopped to take some video, but he should have been pulling on the rain pants I had in my pack, as within 30 seconds it was pouring on us. The walk so far had been on well marked trail and roads, and now was on logging roads, so we bombed down the crag, laughing and singing. When we were put back on the trail, it had turned into a creek, and without options we slogged on. My waterproof shoes, it turns out, are only waterproof from the bottom up.

View from Craigower Peak

We were soaked by the time we made it back to the cottage, but happy. It had barely sprinkled here in town, just enough to mess with the laundry. We changed up, and later John and I made toasties and soup for dinner. The McCray pub had a ceilidh (jam session) that night, and the boys had their ukuleles, so off we went to jam. In the pub were a bagpiper, a fiddler, a guitarist and a mandolin player, and later an accordionist. Mike wouldn’t bring his ukulele in until he’d scouted it out, but John brought his. We sat at a table next to the musicians, and John tried to hide the uke. He explained that he couldn’t hang with these guys, and didn’t want to bring them down. Mike glued his eyes to the telly and made believe he was elsewhere.

This is a situation that demands tender mercies. I asked the players if they would mind if I sat with them to shoot some video, and they said only if I got the ‘good bits and posted them on YouTube.’ I said I wouldn’t know a good bit from a bad bit, but the boys are musical so I will have them shoot the video, and they will be on YouTube. The boys’ musicianship was outed. We got some drinks, beers for John and Laura, hard cider (Strongbow) for Mom, lemonade for me, and Mike had nothing. Dana had been worrying Mike for liking beer too much, and he would not budge at the moment we wanted him to have a beer and loosen up.

John is a master at getting people to do what needs to be done, so after Mike had loosened up a bit and we had dropped the issue, he suggested that it was time for Mike’s first whiskey. He got 2 whiskeys, and Mike took his first sip of the demon. After a few sips he was about to chug the rest, but I stopped him and ordered chasers of a porter’s ale. The guitarist asked John if he wanted to join in, and deferred to his brother’s skills, and Mike took out the uke and sat in. It was a glorious moment. Mike could hang, making the chord changes by following the guitar, and he jammed with these accomplished players for an hour, until they had to stop at ten pm. The players were smiling at Mike, enjoying his playing and earnestness, and I bought a round for the table of musicians. We beamed in our glory for a while.

It was a great day, I hope the rest are nearly as good. There are so many pictures and videos that I will try to post links to them on Vimeo and Picasa, or here if need be. Today we will road trip to Balmoral Castle, the summer home of the queen. Again, check John's blog here. Amazing how we chose the same pics.

This is Mo's poem, I mean Anonymous'

I see you snagged a crag
Despite jetlag

Mo prednisone
For the no doze zone

With mouth clutch popped
And wrong way traffic
In a bird flipping populace
Now there’s a graphic

Is it the cow or the sheep
Through long lashes do peep

Mrs Garmin is charmin
But that won’t help
With the Bobbies alarmin

Though you mention
The family tension
It could be the metamucil stroll
That takes the toll
Not just on knickers
That are in a twist
But family blogs that report the tryst