Homeward Bound

Searching Through Graveyards in Kilbehenny
Saturday, February 10, 2007

We have breakfast at the hotel, and the food at the buffet is pretty good, but the service is virtually non-existent. Apparently, the only job of the two people at the door is to check you off their list in order to ensure you don't take two breakfasts. I think about giving them Ben and Wendy's name & room number so they won't be able to get breakfast when they come down, but decide I can wait until later to see Wendy cause an international incident. In spite of the fact that Melissa and I are one of only three tables occupied in the restaurant, it takes forever to get coffee and when it arrives, I discover it's weak. Yuck. I hate weak coffee.

We check out and wait for our driver Gene O'Sullivan to arrive. He arrives right on time and we make introductions. Since we have ambitiously set out to do a different town or city every night, I'm very pleased to see he brought a very large (14 passenger) van for the six of us (or seven if you count Gene). With the "8 passenger" van from the airport, I had to carry luggage on my lap, so I was worried about room on the tour bus. I mean, I weigh 205 lbs. which is the most of anyone in our group, so it's not like we're morbidly obese. It's just the vehicles are tiny.

We stop at a convenience shop outside of Dublin where everyone gets coffee (except Melissa, who gets diet soda). It took a while to get out of Dublin because of the traffic, but at 11:00 a.m., Gene suggests stopping at a pub. Looks like this is going to be a great trip. We stop at Morrisey's in Abbeyleix, Laois (Queen's) County, a historical town founded in the 18th century as an estate town by Viscount De Vesci and is situated near a 12th century Cistercian monastery beside the River Nore. Population 1009.

There are about five guys drinking already, which is always a promising sign. I am reminded of a bar that Bruce and I went to in law school called Mumm's, and one of it's slogan's was "no women to interrupt your beer drinking." It turns out that I'm right. Morrisey's was established in 1733, and as you might imagine, times were a little different back then. In, fact, Gene points out a special wooden box with two benches facing each other, but with the sides built up. Apparently, the women had to sit in this box if they were in the pub, and they were visible only to the passerby in the streets through the window, and the bartender. Ben, Bruce and I think this is a great idea. The women roll their eyes. :-)

Melissa surprises me again by ordering a Smithwick's (a.k.a. "Smitic's"). There is a fire in the stove burning peat moss and wood for heat. Very cool. A older gentleman sings to Wendy an old Irish tune a capella with a voice that is breathtaking. He promises to send her a cassette tape in a few weeks. This is the kind of thing we came to Ireland for. This is going to be a great trip! We also stop at Doyle's Pub in Urlingford, County Kilkenny, for another drink. We are the only inhabitants of the place besides the bartender and she's pretty wrapped up in a local hurling match, so it's not as cool as Morrisey's. Melissa and I try to use the T-Mobile cell phone that we purchased specifically for this trip because of their alleged Ireland coverage switching from Verizon which I had had for about ten years and was perfectly happy with (but which had no coverage in Ireland). Of course it doesn't work, and we have to use a pay phone and credit card to reach the boys.

We reach Kilbehenny (population 440) and try to stop a one the three pubs to get some info on the Condon's (my paternal grandmother's maiden name). Unfortunately, all of the pubs are closed. However, Gene spies someone in back of the 3 Counties Inn (so named because the counties of Limerick, Cork, and Tipperary meet there) and asks her to open it. Amazingly, she complies with his request. We have a drink, but the bartendress doesn't know anything about the Condons or the tiny town for that matter. Gene, Megan and I, set out for the old cemetery just southeast (behind) of the pub ,which also has the ruins of the old church. On the way, Gene stops a lady who knows where some Condons live or used to live, and gives him directions there. It appears the place is given minimal care because the ground is terribly uneven, and it looks like the graves were dug fairly shallow, or perhaps they have just become that way over time. I feel like a hand might reach out of the grave at any time. You have to really watch where you step or you'll break an ankle.

We find a grave marked "W. Condon Born 1732, Died 1799, age 67." It is located on the inside of the old church, against the North wall. Apparently, this was considered an honor. Gene tells us that the graves in the Catholic cemeteries always face east, unless you were a priest, in which case they face west. Good to know in case you ever find yourself in a graveyard in Ireland at night without a compass.

We stop by the priest's residence a couple blocks north of the 3 Counties Inn. No luck. We go to the "new" church, which was built in the 1870's. It is beautiful. Apparently, it has a real problem with votive candle expense, because a) you have to put your money in first (one Euro if memory serves) ; and b) you don't get to light a candle at all, but rather have a light in a red votive shaped plastic thingy with a light inside. The church has a plaque in it dedicated "in memory of John Condon, who died on the 8th of June, 1899, in the 67th year of his age, the 36th year of his priesthood and the 11th year of his pastorship of Kilbehenny and Anglesborough, a man simple, upright, and fearing God, a good priest, and devoted pastor and a true friend. May he rest in peace. Amen." He apparently was the second pastor of the "new" church.

Megan, Gene and I then head to the Condon house, where the son probably in his 40's, reluctantly lets us in. The old lady, probably in her 80's, was apparently married to a Condon during her first marriage and was left the homestead which also appears to have a few acres suitable for farming. His name was James Condon and her name is Nora Condon, despite having been remarried. It doesn't appear to fit any of the info I have, so I don't think we found a relative. The old lady, has a lazy eye but is certainly genial . Megan notices that the son has a lazy eye too (I hadn't noticed his) and of course immediately proceeds to tell Bruce about it. Big mistake. My grandmother's family is instantly renamed "The Cross Eyed Condons" and every person with a lazy eye for the remainder of the trip is a Condon.

We move on to Mitchelstown where we check into the Palm Lodge B&B run by Mary O'Connell. I guess she is pretty nervous about having 3 lawyers at her place according to Gene, but by and large it doesn't take much to please us. The bed, however is lumpy, and gives us a backache. The bed at Clontarf was bad as well. In fact, nearly every place we stay has old beds. This apparently is a problem throughout Europe. It's about 55 degrees Fahrenheit in the room. It's even colder in the bathroom. Apparently, no one in Ireland heats bathrooms, whether its in pubs or in homes. This would have been perfect for the Seinfeld episode on "shrinkage."

We have Gene join us in town for dinner at "The Hunter's Rest." The food is good, the portions are huge, and the service is pretty good. I have to ask Melissa several times before she will try my baked potato. She looks at me as if to say "moron." But guess what? They are better than any potato I have ever had anywhere in the States, including some very expensive places in Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco. It's hard to describe, but they are lighter, fluffier, and better tasting in Ireland. By comparison, Idaho potatoes taste like dirt (no pun intended).

We adjourn to a pub named Spratt's . As we are walking in, Gene asks somebody passing by if the place is popular. "Naw, noboby goes there," says the young guy. He wasn't kidding. We are the only people in the place besides the twenty-something female bartender. The place is huge for a town of this size, but instead of being happy to see someone, we are apparently interrupting the bartender's television viewing time. We go to the back, to play billiards where I lose to Bruce for the first time in my life. Damn, this cancer is really throwing off my balance. There is an excellent jukebox but again we have to ask the bartender to turn up the sound. Nobody else ever did come into the bar that night. Special note to bartender: If you ever read this, I want you to know that you left about 40 Euro (about $55 American) sitting on the table that night because you were too lazy to get off your ass and come serve us drinks.

In spite of this, we are having a great time. We finally go home about 10:00 p.m. Gene truly went above and beyond today. I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

Touchdown--Dublin

Friday, February 9, 2007
Dublin

We retrieve our luggage and we manage to get a very small van taxi that all six of us cram into whereupon I immediately direct the driver to the wrong hotel. Surprisingly, my travel companions give me very little crap about this. At 11:00 a.m., we arrive at the correct hotel (100 Euros later), the Clontarf Castle, and after checking in, go right to our rooms. Melissa and I take a power nap of about 45 minutes, then head to the bar. The hotel and bar are very impressive. A lot of old stone, wood and vaulted ceilings. Melissa surprises me by ordering a Smithwick's (Made by the Guinness brewery and just recently available at Cooney's in Des Moines). I order a Guinness, and it really does taste better than it does in the States.

Melissa got us a couple of menus and decided to order what was listed on the menu as tortilla chips and salsa.
"Chips and salsa, please," Melissa said.
"Chips and salsa?", the bartenderess asked quizically.
"Yes, chips and salsa."
"Chips and salsa?"
"Chips and salsa."
"Are you sure you want salsa on your chips?"
"Is there a problem?, asked Melissa pointing to item on the menu she wanted.
"Oh you want tortilla chips and salsa."

As it turns out, "chips" in Ireland are french fries and potato chips are called "crisps."
We had a pretty good laugh about that one with Megan and Bruce, and Ben and Wendy who join us shortly thereafter.

We then took taxis to Davy Byrnes (the "moral pub" from James Joyce's Ulysses) for our first "authethic" pub experience. The place is located in the heart of one of the pub districts and filled up shortly after we got there. It's a neat place, with portraits of famous patrons including Joyce on the walls. Our bartender was fantastic and no one even batted an eye when I broke a glass. We went to dinner and a short time after dinner, returned to our hotel where we collapsed about 8:30 p.m. At about 9:15 p.m., our driver Gene O'Sullivan called to confirm reservations for tomorrow. We slept as soon as our heads hit the pillow.

Our Visit to Eire and Froggy Land

As many of you are aware, Melissa and I recently traveled to Ireland and France for 15 days, including travel time. This will be dominating my blogs for the probably the next month depending on how I feel, and how much I need to revise it, according to our faithful traveling companions Tonto and Silver (actually Megan, Bruce, Ben and Wendy). If any of you wish to comment on something else or have cancer related questions, feel free to ask them (the questions, not Megan, et al. :-)) .

Thursday, February 8, 2007
Travel Day

We arrive at Des Moines "International" Airport (I think they have one flight a week to Canada), at 10:15 a.m. We print out our boarding passes, check our luggage, and clear security by 11:00 a.m. Our flight doesn't leave until 12:15 p.m., so we adjourn to the bar for a drink. We board plane the plane and depart for Atlanta where we arrive at about 3:00 p.m. EST. The Atlanta airport is modern , but still cramped because of the incredibly narrow hallways and the volume of traffic. My head is throbbing and I'm already wondering how I'm going to make it through this trip. I've kind of worked out this unspoken deal with Melissa, that I don't "play the cancer card" unless it's fairly desperate circumstances. I tell Melissa to go ahead and do what she needs to in order to get us in to the private club. As it turns out, we don't need cancer at all, just $25 per person. All six of us gladly pay for it. Drinks with top shelf liquor are complimentary, conversation is subdued, and best of all, no cell phones. Worth every penny.

Rejuvenated, we board the plane for our 7:00 p.m. flight, then proceed to sit on the tarmac for nearly an hour. Bruce has the best line of the trip so far: "I've got the kind of baggage you can't check." Every time I'm ready to drift off, I'm awakened by Megan's cackles of laughter. 7 .5 mostly sleepless hours later (not necessarily all due to Megan), we touch down in Dublin, where it is 8:30 a.m. Friday local time.

"Oh well ,oh well, I feel so good today...

We just touched ground on an international runway
Jet-propelled back home from overseas to the USA
. . .
Looking hard for a drive-in
Searching for a corner cafe
Where hamburgers sizzle on an open grill night and day
Yeah, and the jukebox jumping with records back in the USA

I'm so glad I'm living in the USA
Yes I'm so glad I'm living in the USA
Anything you want we got it right here in the USA. "
--Chuck Berry

Like hot water for example. 18 hours of travel time yesterday. I'll start on the adventures of our travels and travails tomorrow.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

..."don't know when I'll be back again."
--Peter, Paul, and Mary

Actually in about two weeks. I'm headed to Ireland with Melissa & a couple of other couples. I'll try to blog overseas but I'm not sure if it will work.

We'll see if I activate the dirty bomb detectors with all the radiation I've had. Appartently, this is a real problem according to some of the cancer "help sites." I'll kiss the "old sod" for all of you.

Friendship

"Friends come in and out of your life like busboys in a restaurant, ever notice that?"
--Stephen King, The Body, a novella within Different Seasons

"If you threw a party, invited everyone you knew,
You would see . . .
that the biggest gift would be from me,
and card attached would say
'Thank you for being a friend.' "
--"Thank You for Being a Friend" Andrew Gold

"Le sort fait les parents, le choix fait les amis."
("Fate chooses our relatives, we choose our friends.")
--Jacques Delille, French Poet, 1803


I received an e-mail the other day from an old friend, parts of which are reprinted below with permission:

Dear Tom,

When I think about ways that you influenced me and my life. . . well, if it wasn't for you I would have never drunk a Long Island Ice Tea!

Although consumption of alcohol was a frequent activity, it was the conversation that went along that was the most worthwhile. I always felt that you had interesting perspectives and thought provoking ideas. I just remember reflective conversations we had, like the line about how people come in and out of your life like a waiter at a restaurant. Where was that one from? A song I bet.

As a sometimes hyper, enthusiastic teenager you helped keep me grounded. You made me think, reflect, and probably saved me from being ditzy (or at least less ditzy than I was). I could always count on you to be real and even painfully honest. My husband is the same way, will always tell you how it is, which I appreciate.

Will I ever forget when we went to an Iowa Hawkeyes game with your folks?
Reflecting back on that, it probably prepared me for traveling in China, comfort in crowds --- I still remember the masses of people.
But now it is second nature to me as we bop back and forth between China and the US.

Tom, I remember going out drinking with you after working at my day camp job. I would come home tired and you would cajole me into coming out for a drink on the other side of town. Thank God, I always got home safe. But I think you influenced me in learning that your work can't be everything, you need balance and you need to enjoy life when you got it and in the end connecting with people is what counts. That is something you have done well, you have so many passions and are true to yourself, your family, you friends and what you believe. Of course you work hard too, that has also been a passion for you, but you haven't let it overrun you or define who you are. I know that family has always been at the core for you. From my heart, I wish that you find peace in all this turmoil and struggle. I will remember you always.
Love, Cathy

Well- thanks Cathy. That was very nice of you to say. Well, friends do come in out of my life like busboys in a restaurant. But not in a bad way, like I think that Stephen King meant it. Actually, I've been very lucky to have a number of friends who I can not see for months or even years, and we are able to pick up right where we left off.

And in the end, perhaps that's what it all comes down to. Not work or personal accomplishment, but our family, the friends we've had, and the experiences we've shared.

Surprise!

Yes, we're going to a party, party. --The Beatles

Who in the hell throws a surprise 39th Birthday party? Me, that's who. I had originally planned to do this for Melissa's 40th birthday, but since I probably won't be around, I decided to do it this year. I hired a band that we used to go see in college, the Rich Webster Band, invited some old friends from college who came from as far away as Raleigh, North Carolina, and put out a pretty good spread, complete with 15 lbs. of shrimp and lots of good liquor (there's no excuse for cheap booze :-) ).

The hardest part of this was getting Melissa out of the house for two hours so we could "turn" the room. We had to move a recliner couch, a regulation foosball table (about 400 lbs.), get the food and booze set up, get the band set up, get the guests here and in the basement all while Melissa was gone. Special thanks to the movers, roadies, my sisters and everyone who helped.

The band was fantastic, and everyone danced the whole evening. It was so fun to see people we hadn't seen in years, and I think we truly surprised Melissa. My oldest son Joe kept the secret for about one week before the party. He even helped be a roadie for the band, but was smart enough not to get stuck carrying the amps. :-)

The drummer, who strangely enough is my next door neighbor's brother, was kind enough to let Joe (an up and coming drummer) tap out a few things on his set during the band breaks.

All in all, a perfect evening.

P.S. Free publicity. Many of you inquired into hiring Rich Webster sometime. His e-mail is websterlaw@gmail.com. Telephone (319)358-9899. Address: 212 S. Johnson, Iowa City, IA 52240.