He said I was in my early 40's,
With a lot of life before me,
And a moment came that stopped me on a dime.
I spent most of the next days, lookin' at the x-rays,
Talkin' 'bout the options and talkin' 'bout sweet time.
Asked him when it sank in, that this might really be the real end.
How's it hit ya, when you get that kind of news.
Man what ya do.
--Tim McGraw, Live Like You Were Dyin'
"Ninety percent I'll spend on good times, women and Irish Whiskey. The other ten percent I'll probably waste."
--Tug McGraw (Tim's father), after signing a $400,000.00 free agency contract, circa 1976.
Well the years start coming and they don't stop coming
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running
Didn't make sense not to live for fun
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb
So much to do so much to see
So what's wrong with taking the back streets
You'll never know if you don't go
You'll never shine if you don't glow
Hey now you're an All Star get your game on, go play
Hey now you're a Rock Star get the show on get paid
And all that glitters is gold
Only shooting stars break the mold
--Smash Mouth, "All Star"
365 days under my belt. Since what? Since the diagnoses of lung cancer on May 10, 2006.
To refresh a few of you who have been around since the beginning (and to inform many of those who have not), I was first diagnosed with oligodendroglioma (brain cancer) in late 2002. It is technically not cancer, because it doesn't spread, the problem is that the skull is of limited size, and the "benign" tumor begins pushing the brain into the hard skull, and that causes all sorts of mean and nasty problems. So I had surgery, and my surgeon was able to remove about half of the baseball (6cm *5cm *4cm) sized tumor. The rest had to stay because of its location along the motor strip, which controls the body's ability to speak, and move, etc.
I was encouraged by the radiation oncologists to have the remainder radiated. My surgeon was non-committal. After much research and soul searching, I decided to defer radiation. This is because there is a problem that they have given the rather innocuous sounding name "delayed radiation necrosis" . This essentially means that the radiation itself as opposed to the cancer, rots your brain and kills you. These problems don't show up until 7-10 years down the road, which didn't used to be a problem, because they really weren't able to identify cancer soon enough (i.e. before stage IV) to do much good. Find the cancer radiate, and 9 months later you were dead. Thanks to advances in knowledge, imaging equipment, etc., this is no longer the case. They discovered mine at Stage II(C) maybe early stage III, so I had a decision to make. The radiation oncologists all say, well, we're targeting radiation now, but when you ask them to point you to a study (from any country), and they can't. So I deferred, and we monitored the brain with MRI's and the occasional CAT scan for the next 3 years or so. In late 2005, we were informed that the tumor was growing and it was time to radiate.
I underwent 37 (38?) fractions between January and March 2006, and then started on an oral chemotherapy pill (Temodar) after that. I wasn't doing too bad at this point. Hell, my life expectancy was still between 2013 and 2016, and who knew what scientists might be able to come up with by then?
I had this cough I couldn't shake throughout April, and Melissa insisted that we get it checked out. She thought I had walking pneumonia or something. Isn't that just like women??!! Well, as she was right as it turned out . Lung Cancer. Stage IIIB, maybe stage IV. The hits kept coming. Inoperable. Life expectancy of 12 -18 months. 31 more fractions of radiation. Chemotherapy. when you get down to being a short timer, like I am now, I didn't hear the 12 months part, only the 18 months. I figured, well , so be it, November, 2007. So in June 2006, I took a leave for disability from my job.
Still, after 69 fractions of radiation, and a couple of rounds of chemotherapy, the hits just kept on coming. January 8, 2007, learned of brain cancer metastases. Stereotactic radiation surgery. New drop dead date of July 9, 2007.
And the hits are still coming. May 4, 2007. New metastases. May 8, 2007. Another stereotactic radiosurgery. And here I am. I've still have my friends, my family, my boys, and best of all, Melissa. 60 days. Bet the over. I am alive and kicking.
What you gonna do when things go wrong?
What you gonna do when it all cracks up?
What you gonna do when the Love burns down?
What you gonna do when the flames go up?
Who is gonna come and turn the tide?
What's it gonna take to make a dream survive?
Who's got the touch to calm the storm inside?
Don't say goodbye
Don't say goodbye
In the final seconds who's gonna save you?
Oh, Alive and Kicking
Stay until your love is, love is, Alive and Kicking
Oh, Alive and Kicking
Stay until your love is, love is, Alive and Kicking
--Simple Minds, "Alive and Kicking" (1985)
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Monday, May 07, 2007
Misc. Thoughts on Ireland
I'm going in tomorrow for radiation to zap the brain mets. Here's the last post on Ireland, at least until I get something from Ben and Wendy on the "International Jam Incident."
I think the problem with Ireland is that they're just not quite used to the hospitality industry. The owners of the B&B's place too much emphasis on the breakfast part of the deal, and not enough on the room.
First off, I understand it's the off season and maybe some places need a fresh coat of paint, or holes in the wall need filling, or the towels are raggedy or whatever. We don't care about any of that. I could care less about t.v., too, though one seemed to be included in every room we stayed in. But really, there's no excuse for light bulbs that are burned out and not replaced, door handles that don't work (Melissa almost was trapped in a bathroom because the door handle literally came off in her hand), mirrors falling off walls, and "complimentary" coffee (that instant Nescafe crap) where only the decaf got refilled.
Speaking of coffee, what is with the three foot cords to the little pots to boil water in? There's no where to plug them in? We literally ended up holding the pot while the water boiled because there was no where to set it (The plug outlet was too high on the wall to set it on the floor). Spend 20 Euro's on a Mr. Coffee, provide real coffee, and charge me 5 Euros more for the room.
Those torture devices they call water saving devices in the showers ought to be used against suspected terrorists at Abu Garhib. They have these nasty little boxes that spout out freezing cold water to start with. You can't really wait outside the shower for it to get better, because most of these "bathrooms" with 3/4 baths were literally built in the closets of the homes. Because of the way the shower door opens you are forced to stay inside or you will flood the floor. Inevitably, you overcorrect and it immediately goes to scalding hot. Then you end up punching the control buttons to turn down the heat on on this evil little control box and the water immediately goes to freezing. And so it goes back and forth. What we eventually discovered was the if you touch the box even once, it starts back over at freezing cold. The guy that invented this "water saving device" ought to have his ass kicked. On the other hand, you always could tell who was awake and getting ready for breakfast from the screams of "Shit! Fuck! and Goddammit!" coming from the rooms.
Finally, what's with the hide the hairdryer game? All of the people at the B&B's and hotels acted either annoyed and or surprised that we couldn't find the hairdryer in the room. No, we didn't expect to find the hairdryer in whatever dresser drawer you hid the hairdryer in. We expected to find it near a mirror, or at least near an outlet.
The following comments apply both to the hotels and to B&B's.
1. Breakfast. We can accept that things are out of season. Do not ever, ever, feed me canned fruit on your "fresh fruit" buffet.
2. Can't anyone make eggs over easy? If you don't know how, or refuse to serve them that way for some reason, let me know and I'll get something else. Only three places (out of 8) could make an egg over easy (the rest were over hard).
3. Ditto coffee, with the hotels, oddly enough, being the worst offenders.
4. What's with trying to pass off two super single mattresses as a king size??!! It's the hotels, too! There's a real opportunity here for a mattress company to move in and make a pile of money.
Good things.
1. The people. You will not meet nicer people in you lifetime.
2. The scenery. It's not as good as you've heard. It's better.
3.The pubs. I didn't really identify what it was (besides the fresh Guinness) that made Irish pubs better than American bars. It's not the music. Frankly, although it's something different, the novelty wears off rather quickly for me. After about my sixth Guinness one night, I discovered what it was. No television. Oh they all have one, but the only time it's on is for a national rugby or soccer match, and for the national news for half an hour in the early evening. What a novel idea! When the Irish talk about going to the pub for the craic (conversation), it's because they can. We need some places like that here in the States. By the way, don't miss:
a. Morrissey's
b. Davey Byrne's
c.The South Pole Inn
d.Foxy John's
e. Jack C's
f. The Brazen Head
4. The food. No, I'm not joking. Along the southwest and western borders, the seafood is especially good. The beef isn't bad and people on the east coast in the U.S. would consider it to be very good. The problem is that we're from Iowa, and all of our cattle is corn fed. It is the best in the world.
5. Bed and Breakfasts. Don't Miss:
(1) The Marless House, Galway, Co. Galway. The nicest hosts you could ever have, American controls on the shower, good breakfast, a hop, skip and a jump from the downtown action. Best of the lot.
(2) Walsh's Townhouse B&B, Dingle, Co. Kerry. Very friendly hosts, knew how to cook an egg over easy, good coffee (which made up for the canned pineapple), Americanized controls on the shower, right in the heart of Downtown, conveniently across the street from a fine pub.
(3) Palm Lodge, Mitchelstown, Co. Cork. Friendly service, the best coffee of any of the places we stayed in Ireland (fancy hotels included), wool blankets on the beds, and delivery service to church. Made up for the unspeakable watersaving box on the shower, which was the first (but unfortunately not the last) we encountered on our journey.
Bad things.
1. Tourist towns. Overpriced, bad service, and many shops, restaurants and pubs closed down during offseason, presumably because they make so much money during the high season. These towns were really the only places where we encountered rude people in Ireland.
2. Skip the following B&B's:
(1)Rockcrest House. Kenmare, Co. Kerry.
(2)Ashgrove, Kinsale, Co. Cork.
All in all, one of the best vacations I've ever taken. See the April 24, 2007 blog entry for my advice on travel agents and transportation.
I think the problem with Ireland is that they're just not quite used to the hospitality industry. The owners of the B&B's place too much emphasis on the breakfast part of the deal, and not enough on the room.
First off, I understand it's the off season and maybe some places need a fresh coat of paint, or holes in the wall need filling, or the towels are raggedy or whatever. We don't care about any of that. I could care less about t.v., too, though one seemed to be included in every room we stayed in. But really, there's no excuse for light bulbs that are burned out and not replaced, door handles that don't work (Melissa almost was trapped in a bathroom because the door handle literally came off in her hand), mirrors falling off walls, and "complimentary" coffee (that instant Nescafe crap) where only the decaf got refilled.
Speaking of coffee, what is with the three foot cords to the little pots to boil water in? There's no where to plug them in? We literally ended up holding the pot while the water boiled because there was no where to set it (The plug outlet was too high on the wall to set it on the floor). Spend 20 Euro's on a Mr. Coffee, provide real coffee, and charge me 5 Euros more for the room.
Those torture devices they call water saving devices in the showers ought to be used against suspected terrorists at Abu Garhib. They have these nasty little boxes that spout out freezing cold water to start with. You can't really wait outside the shower for it to get better, because most of these "bathrooms" with 3/4 baths were literally built in the closets of the homes. Because of the way the shower door opens you are forced to stay inside or you will flood the floor. Inevitably, you overcorrect and it immediately goes to scalding hot. Then you end up punching the control buttons to turn down the heat on on this evil little control box and the water immediately goes to freezing. And so it goes back and forth. What we eventually discovered was the if you touch the box even once, it starts back over at freezing cold. The guy that invented this "water saving device" ought to have his ass kicked. On the other hand, you always could tell who was awake and getting ready for breakfast from the screams of "Shit! Fuck! and Goddammit!" coming from the rooms.
Finally, what's with the hide the hairdryer game? All of the people at the B&B's and hotels acted either annoyed and or surprised that we couldn't find the hairdryer in the room. No, we didn't expect to find the hairdryer in whatever dresser drawer you hid the hairdryer in. We expected to find it near a mirror, or at least near an outlet.
The following comments apply both to the hotels and to B&B's.
1. Breakfast. We can accept that things are out of season. Do not ever, ever, feed me canned fruit on your "fresh fruit" buffet.
2. Can't anyone make eggs over easy? If you don't know how, or refuse to serve them that way for some reason, let me know and I'll get something else. Only three places (out of 8) could make an egg over easy (the rest were over hard).
3. Ditto coffee, with the hotels, oddly enough, being the worst offenders.
4. What's with trying to pass off two super single mattresses as a king size??!! It's the hotels, too! There's a real opportunity here for a mattress company to move in and make a pile of money.
Good things.
1. The people. You will not meet nicer people in you lifetime.
2. The scenery. It's not as good as you've heard. It's better.
3.The pubs. I didn't really identify what it was (besides the fresh Guinness) that made Irish pubs better than American bars. It's not the music. Frankly, although it's something different, the novelty wears off rather quickly for me. After about my sixth Guinness one night, I discovered what it was. No television. Oh they all have one, but the only time it's on is for a national rugby or soccer match, and for the national news for half an hour in the early evening. What a novel idea! When the Irish talk about going to the pub for the craic (conversation), it's because they can. We need some places like that here in the States. By the way, don't miss:
a. Morrissey's
b. Davey Byrne's
c.The South Pole Inn
d.Foxy John's
e. Jack C's
f. The Brazen Head
4. The food. No, I'm not joking. Along the southwest and western borders, the seafood is especially good. The beef isn't bad and people on the east coast in the U.S. would consider it to be very good. The problem is that we're from Iowa, and all of our cattle is corn fed. It is the best in the world.
5. Bed and Breakfasts. Don't Miss:
(1) The Marless House, Galway, Co. Galway. The nicest hosts you could ever have, American controls on the shower, good breakfast, a hop, skip and a jump from the downtown action. Best of the lot.
(2) Walsh's Townhouse B&B, Dingle, Co. Kerry. Very friendly hosts, knew how to cook an egg over easy, good coffee (which made up for the canned pineapple), Americanized controls on the shower, right in the heart of Downtown, conveniently across the street from a fine pub.
(3) Palm Lodge, Mitchelstown, Co. Cork. Friendly service, the best coffee of any of the places we stayed in Ireland (fancy hotels included), wool blankets on the beds, and delivery service to church. Made up for the unspeakable watersaving box on the shower, which was the first (but unfortunately not the last) we encountered on our journey.
Bad things.
1. Tourist towns. Overpriced, bad service, and many shops, restaurants and pubs closed down during offseason, presumably because they make so much money during the high season. These towns were really the only places where we encountered rude people in Ireland.
2. Skip the following B&B's:
(1)Rockcrest House. Kenmare, Co. Kerry.
(2)Ashgrove, Kinsale, Co. Cork.
All in all, one of the best vacations I've ever taken. See the April 24, 2007 blog entry for my advice on travel agents and transportation.
Friday, May 04, 2007
"He's got high hopes. . ."
. . .He's got high hopes,
1960 is the year for his high hopes.
So go on and vote for Kennedy,
vote for Kennedy,
vote for Kennedy, Jack;
'cause Jack is on the right track.
--1960 Kennedy Campaign Song, sung to the tune of "High Hopes"
Rusty Dennis: First you told me he was gonna be retarded, then you told me he was gonna be blind AND deaf. If I'd dug his grave every time one of you geniuses told me he was gonna die, I'd be eating fuckin' chop suey in China by now!
--The Mask (starring Cher, not Jim Carrey), 1985
Rocky Dennis: What's his problem, Ma?
Rusty Dennis: Nothing. He's just another asshole. You let that negative dreck in and it'll put ya away. You can be a chicken shit and die or be a mensch and keep makin' yourself well.
--The Mask, 1985
I think Nixon's Campaign song was "Crazy Train", by Ozzy Osbourne. No wait; 1960 was be before he started howling at the moon in public--It must have been "Mack The Knife."
Anyway, that's a conversation for another time. I'm getting fitted for the mask today, and we're scheduled for stereotactic brain surgery (again) next Tuesday. This is the same semi-humane procedure I did back in mid- January. Obviously, the MRI last Friday did not bring good news. A pile of new tumors showed up on the MRI--we're going to try to zap the biggest six. I think Melissa was crushed by the bad news; I was saddened, but pretty much expected the bad news. At this point, we (the cancer-ridden people) pretty much know what our bodies are telling us better than anyone else including the doctors, and mine hasn't been whispering sweet nothings to me.
I have high hopes about the surgery. Not as high as Kennedy, mind you; he was hoping for 4-8 years; I'm hoping for another 4-8 months. See my little sister get married, see both boys play a little football this fall, celebrate one more anniversary with my wife, and watch the Hawks kick the shit out of the Cyclones one last time---maybe then I'll be "ready" (or as ready as I'm going to be) to move onward and upward.
For my birthday, Melissa got tickets to see Jerry Seinfeld for tonight, and I'm really looking forward to it.
1960 is the year for his high hopes.
So go on and vote for Kennedy,
vote for Kennedy,
vote for Kennedy, Jack;
'cause Jack is on the right track.
--1960 Kennedy Campaign Song, sung to the tune of "High Hopes"
Rusty Dennis: First you told me he was gonna be retarded, then you told me he was gonna be blind AND deaf. If I'd dug his grave every time one of you geniuses told me he was gonna die, I'd be eating fuckin' chop suey in China by now!
--The Mask (starring Cher, not Jim Carrey), 1985
Rocky Dennis: What's his problem, Ma?
Rusty Dennis: Nothing. He's just another asshole. You let that negative dreck in and it'll put ya away. You can be a chicken shit and die or be a mensch and keep makin' yourself well.
--The Mask, 1985
I think Nixon's Campaign song was "Crazy Train", by Ozzy Osbourne. No wait; 1960 was be before he started howling at the moon in public--It must have been "Mack The Knife."
Anyway, that's a conversation for another time. I'm getting fitted for the mask today, and we're scheduled for stereotactic brain surgery (again) next Tuesday. This is the same semi-humane procedure I did back in mid- January. Obviously, the MRI last Friday did not bring good news. A pile of new tumors showed up on the MRI--we're going to try to zap the biggest six. I think Melissa was crushed by the bad news; I was saddened, but pretty much expected the bad news. At this point, we (the cancer-ridden people) pretty much know what our bodies are telling us better than anyone else including the doctors, and mine hasn't been whispering sweet nothings to me.
I have high hopes about the surgery. Not as high as Kennedy, mind you; he was hoping for 4-8 years; I'm hoping for another 4-8 months. See my little sister get married, see both boys play a little football this fall, celebrate one more anniversary with my wife, and watch the Hawks kick the shit out of the Cyclones one last time---maybe then I'll be "ready" (or as ready as I'm going to be) to move onward and upward.
For my birthday, Melissa got tickets to see Jerry Seinfeld for tonight, and I'm really looking forward to it.
Monday, April 30, 2007
IT’S OUR BLOG NOW (written by Bruce and Megan)
A special guest author appearance from two of this blogs most esteemed (and only) readers:
Because mutiny on the bounty's what we're all about,
I'm gonna board your ship and turn it on out.
No soft sucker with a parrot on his shoulder,
'Cause I'm bad gettin' bolder - cold getting colder.
Terrorizing suckers on the seven seas,
And if you've got beef - you'll get capped in the knees.
We got sixteen men on a dead man's chest,
And I shot those suckers and I'll shoot the rest.
-- Beastie Boys, “Rhymin’ and Stealin’”
February 18, 2007: Paris and the Mutiny (that didn’t happen)
The mutiny on the HMS bounty that took place 218 years ago today was nothing compared to the mutiny that took place amongst weary travelers in Dublin, Ireland on February 17th – 18th…
After traveling and staying in a different place for almost 10 nights in a row, the aspect of traveling again was daunting…the part of Fletcher Christian was played by Bruce, who suggested to Megan that rather than traveling to (the godforsaken French city) Paris with the rest of the group, that we stay behind in Dublin…keep in mind the weather was gorgeous, no rain in sight and both us had been to Paris before…
After much deliberation (and because we love our Captain(s) Bligh), the entire group decides to go to Paris. Lucky for us, the weather after we leave Dublin becomes rainy and miserable, and the weather in Paris was beautiful for our entire stay.
The first thing we’d recommend to serious tourists when going to Paris is to purchase the museum pass at the airport. This will help you to avoid lines if you have a short period of time in which you are hoping to see many sights (as we were). Bruce had a clear interest in seeing Sainte-Chapelle and the Palais de Justice and Megan wanted to see the D’Orsay museum (both of us had been to the Louvre before).
The hotel in Paris was in the Trocadero district…it was awesome. The website is:
http://www.heart-of-paris-hotels.com/hotel-EN-18-garden_elysee_hotel.html
We had a great bartender at the hotel, named Pascal, who seemed to have his hand in everybody’s pocket. According to Bruce, Ben immediately develops a serious man-crush on Pascal. Pascal was able to give us some names of places for dinner (some good, some not-so-good)…the first of which was awesome (and not just of because of the name), La Butte…
La Butte Chaillot 110 bis av kleber 75116 PARIS tel : 01 47 27 88 88Beautiful setting, friendly service, inventive French cuisine that is very well presented.
We were able to have a great dinner to reconcile the mutiny that didn’t happen and to walk down to Trocadero and see the Eiffel Tower for the first time as a group. On the way back to the hotel, we stop at a nice café for a night cap. Wendy breaks a glass and, as we found out the next night, apparently bankrupts the place. It is closed for the rest of the trip.
February 19, 2007
I ate the last mango in Paris
Took the last plane out of Saigon,
Took the first fast boat to China
And Jimmy there's still so much to be done.
-- Jimmy Buffet, “Last Mango in Paris”
We didn’t find mangoes, but we did find a great breakfast café along Kleber…neither of us can remember the name, but the omelet, croissants, and coffee were out of this world. With sustenance on our side, we head to the metro (map in hand, of course) to go sight-seeing. After several trips back and forth between metro platforms, Bruce concedes Megan is right and we get on the correct train to Sainte Chappelle/Palais de Justice/Notre Dame.
Neither of us had been to Sainte Chappelle before and we feel it is highly worth visiting…GO UPSTAIRS. Viewing it in the sunlight is like seeing heaven. Notre Dame is beautiful, but no hunchback, and we’re both too lazy to climb stairs to see any special views…so we find a café to drink (wine).
The neat thing about Paris is you can just wander around and find things you are not looking for. We stumble upon the Pantheon, and the Sorbonne. We have more wine and a great bowl of Onion Soup at Crepes-a-go-go (Megan has crepes). We find out that the French in French Onion Soup is presumed and somewhat redundant.
On the way to finding the metro station, we find the Luxemburg Palace and Gardens. It’s a beautiful day and we enjoy the people-watching.
We meet back at the hotel with the group, and have several drinks with the group and Pascal. We dine in a restaurant with no other patrons -- the sign of either a crappy place or the most exclusive restaurant you’ve ever patronized (it was the former).
Like the old man in the Jimmy Buffet song, life is something that should be savored and enjoyed like every day is the last. Go to Paris while you are young and in love.
February 20, 2007
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
--Don McLean, “Starry, Starry Night”
Okay, so this particular painting is not at the D’Orsay, but you get our drift. This is one of the museums for which the museum pass is definitely worth it (after figuring out which entrance to go in). We skip pretty much to the 5th floor to see the impressionist artists that Megan is anxious to see. Bruce misses Manet (no, not Monet).
After seeing (almost) everything we wanted to see, we stop at a café across from the Louvre (which is closed on Tuesdays) and people-watch while sipping on red-wine. We shop in the basement of the Louvre for French rap for Megan’s friend Marit and perfume for Megan’s friend Steph. We then walk through the Palais Royale to another café (more red wine).
We take the Metro to Printemps so Bruce can buy gifts for his children. After purchasing the latest in knight and princess fashions, we stroll along the Champs Elysees.
We meet back with the gang at the hotel where Melissa has gifts for all of us….red wine for Bruce and Megan, liquor for Ben, and JAM FOR WENDY (if that is not a set-up, I don’t know what is)… Pascal helps Bruce buy wine to take back to the States and Bruce immediately develops a man crush (bigger than Ben’s) on Pascal . . . After that night, we eat at another restaurant recommended by Pascal. The appetizers include ‘snakes’ according to the English speaking (as a second language) waiter. Melissa decides to be adventurous and tries the (as it turns out) snails. This goes down as Megan’s favorite night when Bruce makes a huge blunder and is forced by the group to eat a snail.
Because mutiny on the bounty's what we're all about,
I'm gonna board your ship and turn it on out.
No soft sucker with a parrot on his shoulder,
'Cause I'm bad gettin' bolder - cold getting colder.
Terrorizing suckers on the seven seas,
And if you've got beef - you'll get capped in the knees.
We got sixteen men on a dead man's chest,
And I shot those suckers and I'll shoot the rest.
-- Beastie Boys, “Rhymin’ and Stealin’”
February 18, 2007: Paris and the Mutiny (that didn’t happen)
The mutiny on the HMS bounty that took place 218 years ago today was nothing compared to the mutiny that took place amongst weary travelers in Dublin, Ireland on February 17th – 18th…
After traveling and staying in a different place for almost 10 nights in a row, the aspect of traveling again was daunting…the part of Fletcher Christian was played by Bruce, who suggested to Megan that rather than traveling to (the godforsaken French city) Paris with the rest of the group, that we stay behind in Dublin…keep in mind the weather was gorgeous, no rain in sight and both us had been to Paris before…
After much deliberation (and because we love our Captain(s) Bligh), the entire group decides to go to Paris. Lucky for us, the weather after we leave Dublin becomes rainy and miserable, and the weather in Paris was beautiful for our entire stay.
The first thing we’d recommend to serious tourists when going to Paris is to purchase the museum pass at the airport. This will help you to avoid lines if you have a short period of time in which you are hoping to see many sights (as we were). Bruce had a clear interest in seeing Sainte-Chapelle and the Palais de Justice and Megan wanted to see the D’Orsay museum (both of us had been to the Louvre before).
The hotel in Paris was in the Trocadero district…it was awesome. The website is:
http://www.heart-of-paris-hotels.com/hotel-EN-18-garden_elysee_hotel.html
We had a great bartender at the hotel, named Pascal, who seemed to have his hand in everybody’s pocket. According to Bruce, Ben immediately develops a serious man-crush on Pascal. Pascal was able to give us some names of places for dinner (some good, some not-so-good)…the first of which was awesome (and not just of because of the name), La Butte…
La Butte Chaillot 110 bis av kleber 75116 PARIS tel : 01 47 27 88 88Beautiful setting, friendly service, inventive French cuisine that is very well presented.
We were able to have a great dinner to reconcile the mutiny that didn’t happen and to walk down to Trocadero and see the Eiffel Tower for the first time as a group. On the way back to the hotel, we stop at a nice café for a night cap. Wendy breaks a glass and, as we found out the next night, apparently bankrupts the place. It is closed for the rest of the trip.
February 19, 2007
I ate the last mango in Paris
Took the last plane out of Saigon,
Took the first fast boat to China
And Jimmy there's still so much to be done.
-- Jimmy Buffet, “Last Mango in Paris”
We didn’t find mangoes, but we did find a great breakfast café along Kleber…neither of us can remember the name, but the omelet, croissants, and coffee were out of this world. With sustenance on our side, we head to the metro (map in hand, of course) to go sight-seeing. After several trips back and forth between metro platforms, Bruce concedes Megan is right and we get on the correct train to Sainte Chappelle/Palais de Justice/Notre Dame.
Neither of us had been to Sainte Chappelle before and we feel it is highly worth visiting…GO UPSTAIRS. Viewing it in the sunlight is like seeing heaven. Notre Dame is beautiful, but no hunchback, and we’re both too lazy to climb stairs to see any special views…so we find a café to drink (wine).
The neat thing about Paris is you can just wander around and find things you are not looking for. We stumble upon the Pantheon, and the Sorbonne. We have more wine and a great bowl of Onion Soup at Crepes-a-go-go (Megan has crepes). We find out that the French in French Onion Soup is presumed and somewhat redundant.
On the way to finding the metro station, we find the Luxemburg Palace and Gardens. It’s a beautiful day and we enjoy the people-watching.
We meet back at the hotel with the group, and have several drinks with the group and Pascal. We dine in a restaurant with no other patrons -- the sign of either a crappy place or the most exclusive restaurant you’ve ever patronized (it was the former).
Like the old man in the Jimmy Buffet song, life is something that should be savored and enjoyed like every day is the last. Go to Paris while you are young and in love.
February 20, 2007
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
--Don McLean, “Starry, Starry Night”
Okay, so this particular painting is not at the D’Orsay, but you get our drift. This is one of the museums for which the museum pass is definitely worth it (after figuring out which entrance to go in). We skip pretty much to the 5th floor to see the impressionist artists that Megan is anxious to see. Bruce misses Manet (no, not Monet).
After seeing (almost) everything we wanted to see, we stop at a café across from the Louvre (which is closed on Tuesdays) and people-watch while sipping on red-wine. We shop in the basement of the Louvre for French rap for Megan’s friend Marit and perfume for Megan’s friend Steph. We then walk through the Palais Royale to another café (more red wine).
We take the Metro to Printemps so Bruce can buy gifts for his children. After purchasing the latest in knight and princess fashions, we stroll along the Champs Elysees.
We meet back with the gang at the hotel where Melissa has gifts for all of us….red wine for Bruce and Megan, liquor for Ben, and JAM FOR WENDY (if that is not a set-up, I don’t know what is)… Pascal helps Bruce buy wine to take back to the States and Bruce immediately develops a man crush (bigger than Ben’s) on Pascal . . . After that night, we eat at another restaurant recommended by Pascal. The appetizers include ‘snakes’ according to the English speaking (as a second language) waiter. Melissa decides to be adventurous and tries the (as it turns out) snails. This goes down as Megan’s favorite night when Bruce makes a huge blunder and is forced by the group to eat a snail.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Back to Dublin
And now for something completely different."
--Monty Python's Flying Circus Episode 2 (1969)
Actually, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
February 17 and 21, 2007
Back to Dublin
What we actually did was head to Dublin from Galway, spend the night of the 17th in Dublin, head to Paris later on the 18th, and then went back to Dublin on the 21st and went home the 22nd. I'm going to talk about our experiences both times in Dublin in this blog and then let Ben, Wendy, Bruce and Megan do most of the writing on Paris since Melissa and I didn't do much there (I was running down).
I think we should handle "Wendy and the International Jam Incident" separately, since there doubtless will be much to write on that. I 'll write the outsiders' perspective, but we need the inside scoop from Ben and Wendy for that one. I'm going to have an MRI and see the radiation oncologist on Friday, so if you guys (all four of you) can have something to me on Paris by Monday, that would be great. Just e-mail me.
--Monty Python's Flying Circus Episode 2 (1969)
Actually, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
February 17 and 21, 2007
Back to Dublin
What we actually did was head to Dublin from Galway, spend the night of the 17th in Dublin, head to Paris later on the 18th, and then went back to Dublin on the 21st and went home the 22nd. I'm going to talk about our experiences both times in Dublin in this blog and then let Ben, Wendy, Bruce and Megan do most of the writing on Paris since Melissa and I didn't do much there (I was running down).
I think we should handle "Wendy and the International Jam Incident" separately, since there doubtless will be much to write on that. I 'll write the outsiders' perspective, but we need the inside scoop from Ben and Wendy for that one. I'm going to have an MRI and see the radiation oncologist on Friday, so if you guys (all four of you) can have something to me on Paris by Monday, that would be great. Just e-mail me.
We head to Dublin with Gene at the helm. This is our last time we'll see him (at least for the immediate future) and I think we are all a bit saddened by the prospect. We get a goodbye picture of Gene (above). Goodbye Gene, we hardly knew ye. Some free advertising for Gene and our travel agent Chris Woolson:
The boys head off to the Vesey Arms pub, which at one time belonged to some of Bruce's relatives. It's a nice place, former home to the Italian Embassy, and recently remodeled so the decor is quite a bit different than the pubs which we have frequented other than the ceiling and a couple of chandeliers. The bartenders and waitresses are all drop dead dead gorgeous. Most of them appear to be from former Soviet bloc countries such as Romania, and a couple of Asian women are thrown in for good measure. Ben says to Bruce, "looks like your relatives did okay for themselves," in the wry way that only Ben can.
We then head off to the Guinness Brewery for a tour, but after an hour or so in line, it becomes apparent that we not going to get in, get through the tour and get back to Davy Byrnes' Pub by the agreed upon meeting time. So we split and meet up with the girls at Byrnes' . By this time, we are powerful thirsty from standing in line so we knock back a couple of drinks before going in search of "traditional" Irish music. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to find something other than American rock and roll in Ireland. (Still the Irish do a pretty good job of that: Van Morrison and U2 is pretty damn good for a nation of 4million people.) We head to a place named the Dublin Porterhouse that brews their own beer, which is the only thing available on tap or in bottles, besides "imports" like Bud Light.
Melissa hates brew pubs where basically you have to drink the house stuff or pay a fortune for an import bottle. We have several of these type of places in Des Moines, but she's right: you either have to drink their crap or imports in bottles. I drink their stuff which isn't half bad, and Melissa tries a sip or two of their stuff and orders a gin and tonic. We go to the Dublin Chop House for dinner, and it is unmemorable (or at least I don't remember it ). We then seek out some Irish music.
We eventually find some in the strangest pub I've ever seen. On the first floor it is basically a 20's pickup joint with fairly decent American rock n' roll playing. We decide to go upstairs where the bartender says the traditional Irish music is playing. We all get a drink and start toward the stairs. As we near the stairs, we encounter a couple a guys dressed as chicks. I think it's a little strange and wonder if there 's some fraternity prank or some weird Irish holiday going on. We make it up to the second floor, and I'll be damned if it isn't full of transvestites dancing to that techno music crap. Who would have thought??!! We head up to the third floor, and find Traditional Irish music and a ton of people in their 50's. It is absolutely packed. Apparently, the art of traditional Irish music is hard to come by in the off season. The locals have to play it during the busy season, and so they are reluctant to play or listen to it in the off season which I can certainly understand. "Danny Boy" is nice once in a while, but I imagine it gets pretty old ten times a night every night of the week.
We listen for about two more drinks worth and then head back to the hotel for tomorrow's trip to France. (I (We, hopefully) will be writing about France in another Chapter of this blog. So for now, we are skipping ahead to our return from France on the 21st wherein we spent about 1/2 day and the night in Dublin).
After returning from that godforsaken country, we discuss what else we want to see. We go see the Book of Kells, one of the world's oldest and most Beautiful Bible at Trinity College. Definitely worth seeing. We buy some trinkets and trash at the bookstore and then head to the Guinness Brewery again. Again, we are shafted in the long line but do take the opportunity to look for trinkets and trash in their gift shop. We meet up with everyone for an appetizer dinner at Kennedy's (about three blocks from the Mont Clare Hotel where we are staying). For our last stop, we go the the Brazen Head, which is just your ordinary 800 year old tavern. (Established in 1198). Here's a picture which is one of my favorites:
Here's a couple More:
Feck the French. Kinda sums it all up doesn't it? We posted this in the Brazen Head (the small room off the Main bar by the fireplace).Wednesday, April 18, 2007
"I'm a man with a mission. . .
. . . in two or three editions,
And I'm giving you a longing look,
Everyday, everyday, everyday I write the book."
"Everyday I Write the Book", from the album Punch the Clock (1983)
--Elvis Costello
[Socrates speaking] "Life without this sort of examination is not worth living."
Apology, 38a.
--Plato, Greek Philosopher, 429 B.C. - 347 B.C.
"For when the One Great Scorer comes to write
against your name,
He marks--not that you won or lost--but how
you played the Game."
Alumnus Football, l. 63(1908)
--Grantland Rice
Most of them never had a chance. I'm speaking of course about the Virginia Tech University murders. Three things need to be done to cut down on the probability of carnage on such a massive scale occurring again:
1. Ban certain styles of handguns. I did some quick research on mass murders involving guns in the United States since 1990. There have 16 such items that type crimes since 1990. Of those, I was able to find what weapons were used in 10 of crimes. 7 involved 9mm weapons. Easily available at any gun store, the clips and semi automatic firing capabilities of these weapons need to be banned. You NRA types can save it. Don't even bother writing. We'll allow you to trade in your weapons that have clips and semi-auto firing capability for weapons that don't have those capabilities. You want sporting? Shoot shotguns and bolt action or hand cocked rifles to your hearts content. That's giving a sporting chance, not just slaughtering an animal because you can. You want man-stopping power for personal protection? Well, hell yeah, you can trade in your 9mms for .357 Magnums. Is it going to completely stop these type of murders? No, but will cut down on the amount of carnage when they do occur.
2. Institute a massive tax on ammo for 9mm and other semi-auto guns. I didn't come up with this idea (I think comedian Chris Rock did), but instead of banning the weapons he suggested putting a $5,000.00 per bullet tax on 9mm ammo. I suppose that could work, too.
3. Why, during this day and age (i.e. post 9/11) are we allowing someone who is less than a full citizen to purchase firearms? Any politician with half a lick of sense should strike while the iron is hot on this one.
But in the end, does it really matter how they died? They died far too young with lots of accomplishments , hopes and and dreams in front of them. But far more young people (for the sake of argument, let's just call them people between 18-22 years old) die senseless deaths every day in car accidents and from cancer, for example, than died from the horrific mass murders that took place the other day. We need to take the time on a daily weekly and monthly basis to examine how we are writing the book of our own lives. Are we playing this little game we call life only for own benefit or for the benefit of others, as well?
P.S. I woke up about 4:00 a.m. and I see that NBC is parading around a bunch of crap that the Va. Tech. killer mailed them. Do me a favor and don't dignify it by watching it. Or e-mailing that stuff. Or calling him by name.
And I'm giving you a longing look,
Everyday, everyday, everyday I write the book."
"Everyday I Write the Book", from the album Punch the Clock (1983)
--Elvis Costello
[Socrates speaking] "Life without this sort of examination is not worth living."
Apology, 38a.
--Plato, Greek Philosopher, 429 B.C. - 347 B.C.
"For when the One Great Scorer comes to write
against your name,
He marks--not that you won or lost--but how
you played the Game."
Alumnus Football, l. 63(1908)
--Grantland Rice
Most of them never had a chance. I'm speaking of course about the Virginia Tech University murders. Three things need to be done to cut down on the probability of carnage on such a massive scale occurring again:
1. Ban certain styles of handguns. I did some quick research on mass murders involving guns in the United States since 1990. There have 16 such items that type crimes since 1990. Of those, I was able to find what weapons were used in 10 of crimes. 7 involved 9mm weapons. Easily available at any gun store, the clips and semi automatic firing capabilities of these weapons need to be banned. You NRA types can save it. Don't even bother writing. We'll allow you to trade in your weapons that have clips and semi-auto firing capability for weapons that don't have those capabilities. You want sporting? Shoot shotguns and bolt action or hand cocked rifles to your hearts content. That's giving a sporting chance, not just slaughtering an animal because you can. You want man-stopping power for personal protection? Well, hell yeah, you can trade in your 9mms for .357 Magnums. Is it going to completely stop these type of murders? No, but will cut down on the amount of carnage when they do occur.
2. Institute a massive tax on ammo for 9mm and other semi-auto guns. I didn't come up with this idea (I think comedian Chris Rock did), but instead of banning the weapons he suggested putting a $5,000.00 per bullet tax on 9mm ammo. I suppose that could work, too.
3. Why, during this day and age (i.e. post 9/11) are we allowing someone who is less than a full citizen to purchase firearms? Any politician with half a lick of sense should strike while the iron is hot on this one.
But in the end, does it really matter how they died? They died far too young with lots of accomplishments , hopes and and dreams in front of them. But far more young people (for the sake of argument, let's just call them people between 18-22 years old) die senseless deaths every day in car accidents and from cancer, for example, than died from the horrific mass murders that took place the other day. We need to take the time on a daily weekly and monthly basis to examine how we are writing the book of our own lives. Are we playing this little game we call life only for own benefit or for the benefit of others, as well?
P.S. I woke up about 4:00 a.m. and I see that NBC is parading around a bunch of crap that the Va. Tech. killer mailed them. Do me a favor and don't dignify it by watching it. Or e-mailing that stuff. Or calling him by name.
Friday, April 13, 2007
'Tis the season. . .
"The Income Tax has made more Liars out the American people than Golf has. Even when you make one out on the level, you don't know when it's through if you are a Crook or a martyr."
--Will Rogers, The Illiterate Digest (1924) (capitalization retained from original)
For taxes, that is. Got my stuff together, and in enough order that the CPA should be able to make some sense of it. Will return to regular posting on Monday or Tuesday next week. We'll be back to Ireland and a weekend filled with AAU baseball (Joe has four games on Sat. and Sun.).
--Will Rogers, The Illiterate Digest (1924) (capitalization retained from original)
For taxes, that is. Got my stuff together, and in enough order that the CPA should be able to make some sense of it. Will return to regular posting on Monday or Tuesday next week. We'll be back to Ireland and a weekend filled with AAU baseball (Joe has four games on Sat. and Sun.).
Thursday, April 05, 2007
The Cliffs of Moher
February 16, 2007
"Don't believe the world owes you a living; the world owes you nothing---it was here first."
--Robert Jones Burdette, U.S. Clergyman and Humorist, quoted by Evan Esar (1949)
"The Harder They Come, The Harder They Fall, One and All."
--Jimmy Cliff , "The Harder They Come" (1975)
Hey, it's hard to find good quotes and good music about cliffs. We went the Cliffs of Moher today and spent about 3 hours there, give or take, and I was overwhelmed by their beauty. They rise out of the Atlantic are are between 700 and 1200 feet above the water. Anyone who doesn't believe in God needs to see these before making that decision. This was me and Melissa's favorite part of the trip. I'll stop blabbing and let the pictures speak for themselves:
And let me tell you, the pics don't really do it justice. We head on toward Galway, and observe the cows sunning themselves on the rocks along the Atlantic Ocean. Gene, who had obviously been keeping an eye out for this, finds a pub named O'Brien's (my mother's maiden name). It is beautiful inside and very large. The service is the absolute worst we've had in Ireland. We ask the bartender about a well a mile up the road that we had stopped at. It is now a wishing well. You can guess what I was wishing for as I tossed in my coins. She has no idea what we're talking about. The well is right on the main highway and there isn't a lot either leading into town or the town itself. We ask the bartender (who is allegedly married to the owner of the place) what the best Irish whiskey she has is. "I don't know. This one is the most popular." I try another tact. "What is your most expensive Irish whiskey?" "I don't know", she responds. At this point, I'm incredulous. Ben and I finally convince her to take down a couple of bottles from the top shelf and we choose one for her to pour. The service is so slow and bad that even Gene makes fun of her after we leave. I guess the O'Brien's were meant to be served, not to serve others. :-) Here's one of Meg and I:
We head on to Galway, where we go to the Marless House operated by Mrs. Mary Geraghty. I think Gene is tired about us bitching about the B&B's, because he makes a point of mentioning that Chris (our travel agent) really likes this place and stays here all the time. Hey Gene, I just call them as I see them.
Turns out Chris is right. Mary greets us warmly. Both Mary and her husband are very engaging and have what James Joyce called the "gift of gab". We talk for nearly an hour with them in their kitchen before going out of the evening. The showers have both Americanized controls and most importantly, great water pressure. The breakfast is very good. Highly Recommended.
We head out to dinner after a couple of drinks at Sonny's which is a crowded but neat pub. None of us can decide where to go so we end going for pizza at a place called Finnegan's. Rule of Travel #183: Never eat pizza at a place in Ireland that advertises on trash cans. We didn't notice that last little part until we left the place. The best part of the meal was water. We head back to the B&B a short time later.
P.S. You know they always talk about the local color when you visit a place? This picture was taken from the front seat of our vehicle:
Friday, March 30, 2007
There once was a driver named Gene. . .
who kept his bus very clean.
At a very low cost,
we never got lost;
even while looking for Kilbeheen.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Even with that pathetic bit of doggerel, you can guess where we passed through today. It's a dumpy little industrial town, the only place we saw in Ireland that wasn't really pretty. Think Gary, Indiana, or maybe a small version of Philadelphia. The Clarkes originated near Limerick and I was hoping to at least have a drink in a pub named Clarke's but no such luck. The owner of the place we do stop in at says he hasn't even heard of any pubs called Clarke's so we give up after a couple drinks and meet Gene back at the bus.
Even so, getting to Limerick, we passed through several mountain passes and although the fog is in and out, it is still breathtaking. See example below:
On our way into Limerick, Gene stops and we all take a drink from a cold mountain stream.
After Limerick, we head toward the Dromoland Castle where we will "demand the exemplary service demanded by the O'Brien's." But first we stop at the Bunnratty castle just outside Shannon. The castle is closed for tours, but Ben and Wendy track down someone who agrees to give them an abbreviated tour. Luckily, for the rest of us there a pub next door. Even better, it is one we are (sort of) familiar with. Durty Nellie's, has some history with us because Melissa, myself, Bruce and Megan went to a knockoff called Dirty Nellie's located on the Riverwalk in San Antonio, Texas about 5 years ago when Iowa went to the Alamo Bowl. It was a piano bar, and we had a great time. The original is very cool. Not your ordinary 150 year old pub, this place was established in 1620. Yep, Same as when the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. I'll bet the folks at Durty Nellie's had a better time. I know we did. Yours truly:
At a very low cost,
we never got lost;
even while looking for Kilbeheen.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Even with that pathetic bit of doggerel, you can guess where we passed through today. It's a dumpy little industrial town, the only place we saw in Ireland that wasn't really pretty. Think Gary, Indiana, or maybe a small version of Philadelphia. The Clarkes originated near Limerick and I was hoping to at least have a drink in a pub named Clarke's but no such luck. The owner of the place we do stop in at says he hasn't even heard of any pubs called Clarke's so we give up after a couple drinks and meet Gene back at the bus.
Even so, getting to Limerick, we passed through several mountain passes and although the fog is in and out, it is still breathtaking. See example below:
On our way into Limerick, Gene stops and we all take a drink from a cold mountain stream.After Limerick, we head toward the Dromoland Castle where we will "demand the exemplary service demanded by the O'Brien's." But first we stop at the Bunnratty castle just outside Shannon. The castle is closed for tours, but Ben and Wendy track down someone who agrees to give them an abbreviated tour. Luckily, for the rest of us there a pub next door. Even better, it is one we are (sort of) familiar with. Durty Nellie's, has some history with us because Melissa, myself, Bruce and Megan went to a knockoff called Dirty Nellie's located on the Riverwalk in San Antonio, Texas about 5 years ago when Iowa went to the Alamo Bowl. It was a piano bar, and we had a great time. The original is very cool. Not your ordinary 150 year old pub, this place was established in 1620. Yep, Same as when the pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock. I'll bet the folks at Durty Nellie's had a better time. I know we did. Yours truly:
Ben, Corky (I mean Bruce), and I:
After a good time was had by all, and we had purchased numerous trinkets and trash, we headed to the Dromoland castle located in Newmarket-on-Fergus. Here's what you see as you pull in (note our bus on the right):
Dromoland was built in 1543 by the O'Briens (my mother's maiden name) who were barons of Inchiquin, and direct descendants of the High King Brian Boru the "valiant leader of a victory over the Danes in 1014. Today, the eighteenth baron of Inchiquin still lives on the grounds" (which consist of over 370 acres, including an 18 hole golf course, horseback riding and shooting). Who would have guessed we descended from the landed gentry? Even more impressive than the outside is the inside:
The doors in the place ranged from 10 feet to 12 feet high. We showered before dinner, not necessarily because we needed to, but because they were hot showers with blasting water and normal controls. Robes and slippers were provided and so were complimentary aperitifs in the room. We were supposed to have jackets for dinner, but luckily they provide one for me. It is nice to see everyone dressed up, and we have a cocktail in the "lounge" before dinner. The lounge is an area with very old and expensive looking furniture, huge portraits 10' x 6' (maybe?) and ceilings that are probably 20' high. We are seated for dinner, and we are usual selves which the staff seems to enjoy since their other customers are there for a particularly stuffy wedding rehearsal dinner. We have a great meal, very good desserts and the company is even better. Don't miss this place if you ever go to Ireland. After dinner, we all retire to our bedrooms and Melissa and I almost immediately fall asleep.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Doing Nothing
"Let me say to you now that to do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual." Gilbert, Intentions, Part II by Oscar Wilde
"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone. . .but they've always worked for me." Hunter S. Thompson, quoted in Life, Jan. 1981
I went to the Stoddard Cancer Center yesterday. Got a CT taken, as well as blood counts, and went to see my oncologist. The tentative plan was to do another round of chemo unless the cancer had spread so far in the lung as to make chemo irrelevant.
I had been antibiotics for the previous 10 days ending Sunday and the cough and hacking I had was gone. After I stopped the antibiotics, the cough has come back some, but I'm no longer coughing up the white crap.
So we go in to see Dr. Heddinger, and he said that after reading the CT I have a partially collapsed right upper lung lobe and I could do one of three things: have chemo again, do a bronchoscopy (the procedure where they stab you in the back with a humongous needle), or do nothing. The CT showed stable tumor (at least in the lung), so he wasn't going to recommend chemo. The bronchoscopy is highly invasive, hit or miss on results, and in all likelihood would only reveal the partially collapsed lung which we can't do anything about. That left option three: Do nothing.
As an attorney, this was often my advice especially in criminal cases. It's hard for the attorney to give, because he or she isn't making any money doing nothing. It's hard for the client, because they want to feel like they (or their attorney) was hard at work on their case. So usually, they were too dumb to follow the advice and would either open their mouths as soon a cop asked them a question, or often, would actively seek out the police to "tell their side of the story." They ended up screwing themselves, of course, whereas the people who followed the advice often ended up with their cases dropped by the county attorney, or sometimes (if they came to me early enough) not even being charged.
Similarly, doctors don't make much if they are not performing procedures or surgeries and only running diagnostic tests. It's hard advice to give and to take. So I admire Dr. Heddinger even more for giving this advice.
This doesn't solve the brain mets problem upon which I'll probably have stereotactic surgery (again) in mid-May. But for now, it's morphine, Crown Royal and Smithwick's. Breakfast of Champions (with apologies to Kurt Vonnegut).
"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone. . .but they've always worked for me." Hunter S. Thompson, quoted in Life, Jan. 1981
I went to the Stoddard Cancer Center yesterday. Got a CT taken, as well as blood counts, and went to see my oncologist. The tentative plan was to do another round of chemo unless the cancer had spread so far in the lung as to make chemo irrelevant.
I had been antibiotics for the previous 10 days ending Sunday and the cough and hacking I had was gone. After I stopped the antibiotics, the cough has come back some, but I'm no longer coughing up the white crap.
So we go in to see Dr. Heddinger, and he said that after reading the CT I have a partially collapsed right upper lung lobe and I could do one of three things: have chemo again, do a bronchoscopy (the procedure where they stab you in the back with a humongous needle), or do nothing. The CT showed stable tumor (at least in the lung), so he wasn't going to recommend chemo. The bronchoscopy is highly invasive, hit or miss on results, and in all likelihood would only reveal the partially collapsed lung which we can't do anything about. That left option three: Do nothing.
As an attorney, this was often my advice especially in criminal cases. It's hard for the attorney to give, because he or she isn't making any money doing nothing. It's hard for the client, because they want to feel like they (or their attorney) was hard at work on their case. So usually, they were too dumb to follow the advice and would either open their mouths as soon a cop asked them a question, or often, would actively seek out the police to "tell their side of the story." They ended up screwing themselves, of course, whereas the people who followed the advice often ended up with their cases dropped by the county attorney, or sometimes (if they came to me early enough) not even being charged.
Similarly, doctors don't make much if they are not performing procedures or surgeries and only running diagnostic tests. It's hard advice to give and to take. So I admire Dr. Heddinger even more for giving this advice.
This doesn't solve the brain mets problem upon which I'll probably have stereotactic surgery (again) in mid-May. But for now, it's morphine, Crown Royal and Smithwick's. Breakfast of Champions (with apologies to Kurt Vonnegut).
Friday, March 23, 2007
St. Valentine's Day
February 14, 2007
[You can't ] "wallow with the eagles at night and then soar with the pigs in the morning." --Hunter S. Thompson, The Great Shark Hunt
We wake up having got our best night's sleep in God knows how long. The shower is hot and there is plenty of water. We call room service and have them bring us coffee and a soda while we are getting ready. It is a rested casual morning. We go down to breakfast. We get a great window seat in the restaurant. Service is marginally better than we've had. They at least fill our coffee and other drinks and bring us soda bread. The buffet itself is very good, but frankly, after seven days, I'm ready for a chocolate doughnut. We have to track down the waitress to get her to bring more juice and coffee. Ben is not feeling well this morning. Apparently, too much booze and rich seafood has done in he and his stomach. Wendy tells us this. My wife and Megan immediately volunteer to stay another night in this beautiful hotel, but I'm non-plussed. If we weren't on such a tight schedule, I'd go along with staying another night, but if I miss stuff now, it's not like I can come back next year or some other time. I indicate to Wendy that we are pressing on. Wendy says that if we give Ben until 11:30 a.m. he can move on. We're not on that tight of a schedule, so we give Ben an opportunity to man up.
My wife bought me underwear and t-shirts at a Target type store yesterday, so I use the additional time to return my 60 Euro underwear. The dollar is falling so fast against the Euro that I actually make $0.24 on the exchange. Ben, does in fact, man up, and we move on shortly after the noon hour. It is not a long drive to Dingle, but it is beautiful. Cattle laying down right by the shoreline. Damnedest thing I've ever seen, except maybe the cattle on the mountains on our right. The cattle are negotiating the mountains!!
We stop at Tom Crean's South Pole Inn in Annascaul or "Áth na Scal" (Ford of the Heroes). Most people in the pub speak Gaelic. It helps that Gene does too. Crean went the South Pole twice, once each with the well known explorers Robert Scott and Earnest Shackleton. He also single handedly saved a member of the expedition when most people would have left him for dead. If you're really interested, a link is here:
We then head into Dingle, where we check in at Walsh's Townhouse B&B. We are actually warmly greeted by the owner, and she doesn't complain about the fact that we are early. Good first impressions are usually correct, and in this case they turn out to be. The Rooms are small, but clean. The shower has American type controls on it. The breakfast room has been recently redone, and the lights work. We meet across the street at the an drocied beag (Gaelic for "the small bridge"). Ben, Wendy, Bruce and Megan decide to take Gene up on his offer to show them the "beehive" huts. Melissa and I decide to stay back at the pub where we are seated by our usual spot near the fireplace because neither of us have much interest in the beehive huts and it is getting cold and windy out. After awhile, Melissa and I walk up and down Main Street during which we discover that Doyle's, the place where I was planning on taking everyone to dinner, is closed. We stop at another Pub (Sheey's) and ask for a recommendation from the owner for dinner and she mentions Ashes, down Main Street.
We then head down Main, window shopping, until I spy a place called Foxy John's Bar and Hardware. I insist on stopping in, and damned if it isn't a bar on one side and hardware shop on the other. While I'm drinking a pint, two people actually make hardware purchases. You can see Foxy John and I in the photo above. I'm the ugly one on the right. Note the girl's bicycle in the left window in the lower photo on the left.
We meet back up with gang at "the small bridge" and are also told by the people there to go dinner at Ashes.' Dinner is very good, one our best in Ireland. We finish the night at the Small Bridge where they have live Irish music every night. You'd be surprised how many places have only American rock'n'roll. I'm pretty tired, so Melissa and I call it an early night.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
My Greatest Albums (CDs) of All Time
Okay. I admit it. This is a cheap easy column to substitute for actual thoughtful reporting that I usually (try to) do. Yet it is sure to engender a lot of discussion. Please feel free to add your top 25 (or top ten or five) of all time, too. I assume that most people noticed I included a couple of bootlegs you probably haven't heard. If you want copies let me know.
Only two rules: (1) No anonymous lists or anonymous criticism of mine; and (2) no greatest hits or boxed set compilations. Without further ado:
My 25 Favorite Albums of All Time as of March 18, 2007 (In no particular order)
1. Van Morrison Street Choir
2. Alanis Morrisette Jagged Little Pill
3. The Who Who Are You?
4. Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon
5. Bruce Springsteen The Saint, the Incident and the Main Point Shuffle (Bootleg 2/2/75)
6. John Cougar Mellencamp Pink Houses
7. The Band The Band
8. Van Morrison Into the Music
9. Delbert McClinton One of the Fortunate Few
10. Warren Zevon The Wind
11. Run DMC Raisin’ Hell
12. The Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill
13. Little Feat Waiting for Columbus
14. Shelby Lynne I Am Shelby Lynne
15. John Lee Hooker Live in Montreaux (Bootleg 7/15/83)
16. AC/DC Back In Black
17. Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti
18. Indigo Girls The Indigo Girls
19. Norah Jones Feels Like Home
20. Jackson Browne Running on Empty
21. The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
22. R.E.M. Document
23. Matchbox 20 Yourself or Someone Like You
24. Bob Dylan Blood On the Tracks
25. The Pretenders Learning to Crawl
Hopefully back to Ireland and cancer next column.
Only two rules: (1) No anonymous lists or anonymous criticism of mine; and (2) no greatest hits or boxed set compilations. Without further ado:
My 25 Favorite Albums of All Time as of March 18, 2007 (In no particular order)
1. Van Morrison Street Choir
2. Alanis Morrisette Jagged Little Pill
3. The Who Who Are You?
4. Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon
5. Bruce Springsteen The Saint, the Incident and the Main Point Shuffle (Bootleg 2/2/75)
6. John Cougar Mellencamp Pink Houses
7. The Band The Band
8. Van Morrison Into the Music
9. Delbert McClinton One of the Fortunate Few
10. Warren Zevon The Wind
11. Run DMC Raisin’ Hell
12. The Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill
13. Little Feat Waiting for Columbus
14. Shelby Lynne I Am Shelby Lynne
15. John Lee Hooker Live in Montreaux (Bootleg 7/15/83)
16. AC/DC Back In Black
17. Led Zeppelin Physical Graffiti
18. Indigo Girls The Indigo Girls
19. Norah Jones Feels Like Home
20. Jackson Browne Running on Empty
21. The Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
22. R.E.M. Document
23. Matchbox 20 Yourself or Someone Like You
24. Bob Dylan Blood On the Tracks
25. The Pretenders Learning to Crawl
Hopefully back to Ireland and cancer next column.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
"Many Sanks"
"I want to thank everyone who made this day necessary."
---Yogi Berra, on Yogi Berra Day, 1947
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
This is what the interpreter for the French people kept saying as the proprietor was trying to get them out so could serve us breakfast. She kept handing her all these worthless brochures (I know these were worthless because I had looked at them on the way in), like those "guidebooks" full of coupons for the town they were leaving. Also featured, since, they were going to Dublin, was a three year old map of Dublin, which didn't even include the new highway (I think it's the M1) that encircles Dublin. Every time the proprietor handed the French interpreter a map or brochure, the interpreter would repeatedly say "many sanks" (i.e., many thanks). We were in the the sitting room, waiting for breakfast, just off the entry way where this "conversation" was taking place.
We were desperately waiting for coffee, (even the nasty instant coffee placed in the room was decaf), but it was so damn funny listening to this, because the harder she tried to get rid of them, the longer and and more repeated the cries of "Many Sanks" became. This became one of the catchphrases for our trip except in France where it became "une petite thanks" for snotty desk clerks, waiters, etc.
As soon as got in the breakfast room, we were told we were sitting at the wrong table. How we supposed to have figured this out, I'm not sure. However, we moved and we finally got coffee. After a pretty good breakfast, Gene had arrived, but it was still raining. Before we leave Kenmare, we visit one of the stone circles. It is known locally as the “Judge and Jury” as it consists of thirteen stones with a central bolder burial. It is the center piece of a complex astronomical calendar, which includes both solar and lunar cycles. Monuments on the horizon mark the rising and setting of the moon on significant dates.
We head on toward Killarney, and the scenery, even in the rain and fog, is beautiful. In several places, we see palm trees growing. Who knew? We stop at the Muckross House, which is a national park. Unfortunately, it is raining and the Park is closed for renovations until mid-March . We get out and take a look anyway. It's pretty impressive. It starts to pour. We run into the visitor center which is more or less closed except for the cafe and the trinkets and trash store, i.e. the gift shop. We spend an hour buying trinkets and trash and then head into the cafe. It is a beautiful cafe where you can watch the storms roll in and out through the large glass windows.
We make the rest of the short trip to Killarney, where our hotel is. After circling the hotel several times, and being unable to approach the hotel within 3 blocks our driver Gene does what we do in American cities: park illegally, and then ask the person who tells you to move for directions. Unlike Chicago, however, they are a lot more personable in Ireland. We unload most of our luggage, and the smartly dressed hotel desk clerk jumps in the van with Gene and she not only gives him directions on where to park, but a recommendation on where to go for dinner tonight. The hotel lobby is absolutely gorgeous and the service is top flight. It is easily in the top five hotels I've stayed at, including Ritz Carlton, Marriott resorts and so forth in major American cities. We are shown to our rooms by the bellman and flop onto the comfortable bed.
The guys and Wendy go to Ross Castle, which is a 14th century castle just outside of Killarney. The other two girls go shopping (or at least so we thought) in town. The castle is closed; however, they let us wander around the grounds where we run into a former tour guide who gives us the history of the place.
After rounding up everyone, we head to Hannigan's, a pub that is a James Joyce Award winner. Bruce and I split up from the girls and go in search of a laundromat. We find a laundry, but they can't guarantee the clothes will be done by the time we leave in the morning. I go to a men's store and drop 60 Euro's on new underwear and t-shirts. Bruce and I head to place named Tattler Jack's quaff a couple of Guinness's and then it occurs to us that tomorrow is Valentine's Day. We quickly purchase some flowers, a card, and a bottle of wine for the girls. Hope Ben remembered to do the same.
We meet back at the hotel and go to Lord Kenmare's, the place the desk lady recommended for dinner. It is fantastic and we have a great time. For a nightcap, we head to Jack C's, a place Melissa and Megan discovered while they were out earlier. It is a tiny place that seats a total of 14, but it's great, The owners are very personable and we stay until nearly closing. Tomorrow we are off to the Dingle Peninsula.
---Yogi Berra, on Yogi Berra Day, 1947
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
This is what the interpreter for the French people kept saying as the proprietor was trying to get them out so could serve us breakfast. She kept handing her all these worthless brochures (I know these were worthless because I had looked at them on the way in), like those "guidebooks" full of coupons for the town they were leaving. Also featured, since, they were going to Dublin, was a three year old map of Dublin, which didn't even include the new highway (I think it's the M1) that encircles Dublin. Every time the proprietor handed the French interpreter a map or brochure, the interpreter would repeatedly say "many sanks" (i.e., many thanks). We were in the the sitting room, waiting for breakfast, just off the entry way where this "conversation" was taking place.
We were desperately waiting for coffee, (even the nasty instant coffee placed in the room was decaf), but it was so damn funny listening to this, because the harder she tried to get rid of them, the longer and and more repeated the cries of "Many Sanks" became. This became one of the catchphrases for our trip except in France where it became "une petite thanks" for snotty desk clerks, waiters, etc.
As soon as got in the breakfast room, we were told we were sitting at the wrong table. How we supposed to have figured this out, I'm not sure. However, we moved and we finally got coffee. After a pretty good breakfast, Gene had arrived, but it was still raining. Before we leave Kenmare, we visit one of the stone circles. It is known locally as the “Judge and Jury” as it consists of thirteen stones with a central bolder burial. It is the center piece of a complex astronomical calendar, which includes both solar and lunar cycles. Monuments on the horizon mark the rising and setting of the moon on significant dates.
We head on toward Killarney, and the scenery, even in the rain and fog, is beautiful. In several places, we see palm trees growing. Who knew? We stop at the Muckross House, which is a national park. Unfortunately, it is raining and the Park is closed for renovations until mid-March . We get out and take a look anyway. It's pretty impressive. It starts to pour. We run into the visitor center which is more or less closed except for the cafe and the trinkets and trash store, i.e. the gift shop. We spend an hour buying trinkets and trash and then head into the cafe. It is a beautiful cafe where you can watch the storms roll in and out through the large glass windows.
We make the rest of the short trip to Killarney, where our hotel is. After circling the hotel several times, and being unable to approach the hotel within 3 blocks our driver Gene does what we do in American cities: park illegally, and then ask the person who tells you to move for directions. Unlike Chicago, however, they are a lot more personable in Ireland. We unload most of our luggage, and the smartly dressed hotel desk clerk jumps in the van with Gene and she not only gives him directions on where to park, but a recommendation on where to go for dinner tonight. The hotel lobby is absolutely gorgeous and the service is top flight. It is easily in the top five hotels I've stayed at, including Ritz Carlton, Marriott resorts and so forth in major American cities. We are shown to our rooms by the bellman and flop onto the comfortable bed.
The guys and Wendy go to Ross Castle, which is a 14th century castle just outside of Killarney. The other two girls go shopping (or at least so we thought) in town. The castle is closed; however, they let us wander around the grounds where we run into a former tour guide who gives us the history of the place.
After rounding up everyone, we head to Hannigan's, a pub that is a James Joyce Award winner. Bruce and I split up from the girls and go in search of a laundromat. We find a laundry, but they can't guarantee the clothes will be done by the time we leave in the morning. I go to a men's store and drop 60 Euro's on new underwear and t-shirts. Bruce and I head to place named Tattler Jack's quaff a couple of Guinness's and then it occurs to us that tomorrow is Valentine's Day. We quickly purchase some flowers, a card, and a bottle of wine for the girls. Hope Ben remembered to do the same.
We meet back at the hotel and go to Lord Kenmare's, the place the desk lady recommended for dinner. It is fantastic and we have a great time. For a nightcap, we head to Jack C's, a place Melissa and Megan discovered while they were out earlier. It is a tiny place that seats a total of 14, but it's great, The owners are very personable and we stay until nearly closing. Tomorrow we are off to the Dingle Peninsula.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Good News I guess. . .
(Or at least not bad news)
"No news is good news." James Howell, Familiar Letters, June 3, 1640
Well, all of the scans determined that I don't have any cancerous growth on the spine, which is good news, I guess. It is doesn't solve the problem of what is causing the numbness in my legs and feet, though. I still have a couple of new brain mets that popped up on the follow up scan to my stereotactic radiation that I had on March 1. I'm waiting for the "RADMAN" (as his vanity plate states) to consult with the neurologist and see what's causing the numbness and headaches. No tales from Ireland today. Maybe tomorrow.
"No news is good news." James Howell, Familiar Letters, June 3, 1640
Well, all of the scans determined that I don't have any cancerous growth on the spine, which is good news, I guess. It is doesn't solve the problem of what is causing the numbness in my legs and feet, though. I still have a couple of new brain mets that popped up on the follow up scan to my stereotactic radiation that I had on March 1. I'm waiting for the "RADMAN" (as his vanity plate states) to consult with the neurologist and see what's causing the numbness and headaches. No tales from Ireland today. Maybe tomorrow.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
"Rainy Days and Mondays. . ."
. . . (and not having hot coffee when promised) always get me down."
--Karen Carpenter
Monday, February 12, 2007
Monday morning, it is raining as we wake up. Although I enjoy rain at night, I hate waking up to rain. We shower and I head out to to the breakfast room at 8:00 a.m. for the coffee that was promised to be ready. No sign of coffee. I go back to our room. At 8:20 a.m., I go back out. No coffee, no sign of coffee. Back to the room. At 8:40 a.m., I head back out. Megan warns me she just got barked at for asking about the coffee. I don't give a damn. I head to the kitchen and ask if we can have some coffee. "Fine," she snaps. Five minutes later, I have coffee.
Gene shows up on time as always. We begin our journey again, headed toward Kenmare and the Ring of Kerry. We stop at a delightful little pub in Dunmanaway called the Shamrock and an older couple offers to let us sit down with them. They are very nice and entertaining.
We continue on with the trip through the southwestern region. It is as beautiful as you've seen in any postcards. We begin heading North through Bantry and take some pictures overlooking the Bantry Bay. We head toward Glengariff and drive by Maureen O'Hara's place. She starred opposite John Wayne in The Quiet Man (and four other movies), and was the wife in Miracle on 34th Street and The Parent Trap. By the the way, for those of you that don't know, John Wayne was born in Winterset, Iowa, about 30 miles southwest of Des Moines. Gene shows us his place and is very hospitable. By the way Gene, your place is beautiful. We look around town, but don't buy anything, because it all seems kind of pricey. We eat at the Park Hotel for lunch, and it's standard pub fare, but still very good.
Currently playing on XM as I type this: Alanis Morrisette, "Ironic". Perfect. I think I'll buy a lottery ticket today. :-)
It's raining as we leave the Park Hotel in Glengariff. It alternates between rain and sunshine switching to mostly rain by the time we get to Kenmare. We do get to see some beautiful scenery during breaks in the weather. Gene drives this large bus like a master up and down the very narrow and steep road . We are now in the Caha Mountains. and we drive through Turner's Rock Tunnel, a hand made tunnel.
Shortly after that, we stop at Molly Gallivan's Cottage and Visitor Centre. Although it is not open this time of year, Gene has arranged with the owner of the place to let us check it out. It is named after Gallivan who was widowed with seven children. She supplemented her meager income by selling part of her farm produce such as butter, eggs and honey on the local market. Her home baking and hand spun woollens were ever popular with the few passing tourists but it was her illicit home brewed poitin (potato whiskey) locally known as Molly’s Mountain Dew which she sold in her sibbeen (illegal pub) that was the most profitable. "The exploits of this enterprising widow are legendary" , according to the brochure. It sounds like she had plenty of advance warning when the local authorities we coming, both due to her vantage point at the top of the mountain and probably from grateful customers. The cottage where she stayed was 500 square feet. Can you imagine? An adult, 7 children, and a couple of animals (sheep and chickens ) inside a 500 square foot cottage! We see a short movie on the site and then Wendy gets to meet a "relative" (someone with the same name as some of her relatives), and have her picture taken with him.
We stop in Kenmare, and do some shopping. I decided to splurge and get a Gaelic wool sweater. Probably paid too much , but man it's warm. Plus Melissa negotiated the price downwards, so we didn't overpay too terribly much. Apparently, you can negotiate at any of the the shops in tourist towns, we later learn from Gene. We also pick up a Gaelic Football and shirt for Joe and Melissa gets a few things for herself.
We meet at the Wander Inn for a couple of drinks, and then head to the Rockcrest house to check in. As we are still getting out of the bus and bringing in the luggage, the owner demands to know when want breakfast tomorrow morning. Can we consult with the rest of our party before deciding ?", I ask. "No. I have another group coming in tonight so I need to know now," she snaps. Melissa and I decide that everyone is eating at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. That means no coffee in the morning. I hate having no coffee in the morning.
We go to a place called Ryan's where a young guy (about 30 yrs. old maybe) who is bartending owns the place. It is a large place which has new decor, but is tastefully done. Lots of wood, brass, etc. We start talking to him , and he indicates that including improvements, he has E 2.2 million (about $3 million) into the place. I ask him where his cash came from and he states he got lucky fixing up two previous bars and flipping them. At least he doesn't think he's a genius, because he bought in the right place at the right time. Sure it takes hard work, but there's also an element of luck to owning a place and he recognizes this. I kind of like the guy. We meet a couple where the female is originally from Davenport, Iowa. We exchange stories about Iowa City.
We head to a fast food place where basically all they serve is fish and chips , but talk about fresh. The owner (at least I presume she was) actually pulls the fish out of the fridge and breads it in front of us before dropping it in the cooker. It is delicious. We head to couple of more pubs before walking home. If the weather clears up like it finally appears to be doing here, we'll be seeing the Ring of Kerry tomorrow.
--Karen Carpenter
Monday, February 12, 2007
Monday morning, it is raining as we wake up. Although I enjoy rain at night, I hate waking up to rain. We shower and I head out to to the breakfast room at 8:00 a.m. for the coffee that was promised to be ready. No sign of coffee. I go back to our room. At 8:20 a.m., I go back out. No coffee, no sign of coffee. Back to the room. At 8:40 a.m., I head back out. Megan warns me she just got barked at for asking about the coffee. I don't give a damn. I head to the kitchen and ask if we can have some coffee. "Fine," she snaps. Five minutes later, I have coffee.
Gene shows up on time as always. We begin our journey again, headed toward Kenmare and the Ring of Kerry. We stop at a delightful little pub in Dunmanaway called the Shamrock and an older couple offers to let us sit down with them. They are very nice and entertaining.
We continue on with the trip through the southwestern region. It is as beautiful as you've seen in any postcards. We begin heading North through Bantry and take some pictures overlooking the Bantry Bay. We head toward Glengariff and drive by Maureen O'Hara's place. She starred opposite John Wayne in The Quiet Man (and four other movies), and was the wife in Miracle on 34th Street and The Parent Trap. By the the way, for those of you that don't know, John Wayne was born in Winterset, Iowa, about 30 miles southwest of Des Moines. Gene shows us his place and is very hospitable. By the way Gene, your place is beautiful. We look around town, but don't buy anything, because it all seems kind of pricey. We eat at the Park Hotel for lunch, and it's standard pub fare, but still very good.
Currently playing on XM as I type this: Alanis Morrisette, "Ironic". Perfect. I think I'll buy a lottery ticket today. :-)
It's raining as we leave the Park Hotel in Glengariff. It alternates between rain and sunshine switching to mostly rain by the time we get to Kenmare. We do get to see some beautiful scenery during breaks in the weather. Gene drives this large bus like a master up and down the very narrow and steep road . We are now in the Caha Mountains. and we drive through Turner's Rock Tunnel, a hand made tunnel.
Shortly after that, we stop at Molly Gallivan's Cottage and Visitor Centre. Although it is not open this time of year, Gene has arranged with the owner of the place to let us check it out. It is named after Gallivan who was widowed with seven children. She supplemented her meager income by selling part of her farm produce such as butter, eggs and honey on the local market. Her home baking and hand spun woollens were ever popular with the few passing tourists but it was her illicit home brewed poitin (potato whiskey) locally known as Molly’s Mountain Dew which she sold in her sibbeen (illegal pub) that was the most profitable. "The exploits of this enterprising widow are legendary" , according to the brochure. It sounds like she had plenty of advance warning when the local authorities we coming, both due to her vantage point at the top of the mountain and probably from grateful customers. The cottage where she stayed was 500 square feet. Can you imagine? An adult, 7 children, and a couple of animals (sheep and chickens ) inside a 500 square foot cottage! We see a short movie on the site and then Wendy gets to meet a "relative" (someone with the same name as some of her relatives), and have her picture taken with him.
We stop in Kenmare, and do some shopping. I decided to splurge and get a Gaelic wool sweater. Probably paid too much , but man it's warm. Plus Melissa negotiated the price downwards, so we didn't overpay too terribly much. Apparently, you can negotiate at any of the the shops in tourist towns, we later learn from Gene. We also pick up a Gaelic Football and shirt for Joe and Melissa gets a few things for herself.
We meet at the Wander Inn for a couple of drinks, and then head to the Rockcrest house to check in. As we are still getting out of the bus and bringing in the luggage, the owner demands to know when want breakfast tomorrow morning. Can we consult with the rest of our party before deciding ?", I ask. "No. I have another group coming in tonight so I need to know now," she snaps. Melissa and I decide that everyone is eating at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. That means no coffee in the morning. I hate having no coffee in the morning.
We go to a place called Ryan's where a young guy (about 30 yrs. old maybe) who is bartending owns the place. It is a large place which has new decor, but is tastefully done. Lots of wood, brass, etc. We start talking to him , and he indicates that including improvements, he has E 2.2 million (about $3 million) into the place. I ask him where his cash came from and he states he got lucky fixing up two previous bars and flipping them. At least he doesn't think he's a genius, because he bought in the right place at the right time. Sure it takes hard work, but there's also an element of luck to owning a place and he recognizes this. I kind of like the guy. We meet a couple where the female is originally from Davenport, Iowa. We exchange stories about Iowa City.
We head to a fast food place where basically all they serve is fish and chips , but talk about fresh. The owner (at least I presume she was) actually pulls the fish out of the fridge and breads it in front of us before dropping it in the cooker. It is delicious. We head to couple of more pubs before walking home. If the weather clears up like it finally appears to be doing here, we'll be seeing the Ring of Kerry tomorrow.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
"This Ain't No Party, This Ain't No Disco...
. . . this ain't no fooling around."
--The Talking Heads, "Life During Wartime"
"Old folks boogie, down on the farm. Wheelchairs, they was locked arm in arm."
--Little Feat, "Old Folks Boogie"
"The waiting is the hardest part."
--Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, "The Waiting"
Let's see. Where do we start? How 'bout with the visit from the lady from Hospice? She was certainly nice enough, but it was fucking depressing, going through my medical history for the umpteenth time. Shortly after the visit concluded, the delivery van from the hospice arrived, and set up a hospital bed in my (1st floor) office. I thought I was prepared for this eventuality, but I guess not. Maybe no one ever is.
Then a couple hours later it was over to the hospital for a three hour MRI session of my neck, cervical spine, lumbar spine, and sacroiliac spine. Then over to X-ray to photograph 8 views of the same thing. The first machine we were on broke in the middle of my pics. Kind of the story of my health the last 1 1/2 years. Got home at quarter to midnight, completely exhausted.
Now I have to wait until tomorrow (Thursday) to see if if the cancer has spread to my spine and if so, if any palliative radiation can be done. it's questionable due to the previous radiation on the lung. If not, I guess it's time to get fitted for a wheelchair. I was ready for pain, even extreme pain, but I wasn't (and I'm not) ready for that news.
--The Talking Heads, "Life During Wartime"
"Old folks boogie, down on the farm. Wheelchairs, they was locked arm in arm."
--Little Feat, "Old Folks Boogie"
"The waiting is the hardest part."
--Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, "The Waiting"
Let's see. Where do we start? How 'bout with the visit from the lady from Hospice? She was certainly nice enough, but it was fucking depressing, going through my medical history for the umpteenth time. Shortly after the visit concluded, the delivery van from the hospice arrived, and set up a hospital bed in my (1st floor) office. I thought I was prepared for this eventuality, but I guess not. Maybe no one ever is.
Then a couple hours later it was over to the hospital for a three hour MRI session of my neck, cervical spine, lumbar spine, and sacroiliac spine. Then over to X-ray to photograph 8 views of the same thing. The first machine we were on broke in the middle of my pics. Kind of the story of my health the last 1 1/2 years. Got home at quarter to midnight, completely exhausted.
Now I have to wait until tomorrow (Thursday) to see if if the cancer has spread to my spine and if so, if any palliative radiation can be done. it's questionable due to the previous radiation on the lung. If not, I guess it's time to get fitted for a wheelchair. I was ready for pain, even extreme pain, but I wasn't (and I'm not) ready for that news.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Reality Interlude, Part II
I've got an appointment for an MRI tomorrow night. Dr. McGinnis thinks it may be metastatic cancer to the spine causing the numbness and tingling in my legs. Because of the previous radiation to the lungs, if there is cancer high up on the spine, there will be nothing they can do. A wheelchair will be in my near future. Pray for me.
Friday, March 02, 2007
The Redemption of Mary, Gay Bars, and Kinsale
Sunday, February 11, 2007
We woke up about 6:15 a.m. after a good night's sleep. Didn't freeze to death. In fact we were quite toasty . These blankets in Ireland are fantastic! We shower, and after a cup of the best coffee in Ireland (really!), Mary's husband, Sonny, drives Melissa, Megan and I to church. (The rest of our crew consists of unrepentant sinners :-) ). Mary warns us that they hit you up for two Euro a head on the way in, so I am prepared. 3/4ths of seats are unoccupied, yet there are numerous people standing in the back. I wonder if the $2 Euro is some sort of seating tax. It is a sunny, glorious morning, and mass takes only 27 minutes. The scenery outside the church is beautiful, even the graveyard (different than the one in Kilbehenny) adjacent to the church. We attempt to take to a picture from the steps of the church, with the Galty Mountains in the background but I think the camera batteries were worn out. No matter. I have the image in my head for the rest of my life.
Sonny, takes us around town and shows us some of the beautiful Church of England churches and possessions. He then drives us back to the B&B where we have more of that great coffee and a very good traditional Irish breakfast.
We drive to Cork City to allow Wendy and the girls to go shopping. Unfortunately, nothing is open until noon, including the bars in the area. Wendy and Megan go shopping at noon, and the rest of us go to some place called Les Chateau which is the only place open that serves alcohol . The place is quiet except for a few guys having drinks. You have to get a code to go to unlock the bathroom, which I find a bit unusual but the bartender is cool about getting our drinks and taking our food orders. On my way to the bathroom, this guy at a table of three two table over from ours gives me the evil eye which I think is a bit weird since I didn't think our table was even being our loud obnoxious, usual selves. On the way back from the bathroom, he looks at me again, and I give him my best "Fuck you" look. I figure we collectively outweigh these guys by about 150 lbs. and if we can't take them in a scrap, we aren't worth our salt. Nothing further happens. Megan and Wendy get back from shopping. My sister and Bruce say their chowder is good, and after a couple more drinks we leave.
After we meet up with Gene at the appointed time and place, we tell him where we went, and and he says in his Irish brogue, "Did you know that's a gay bar?" We figured that explained the looks we were getting from that table and had a good laugh about it.
We now drive on toward Kinsale. On the outskirts of town, Gene wants to show us something special. We lost on some old dirt roads, so Gene stops three ladies who are out walking to get directions. They mean well, but they are about as helpful as mud. "Well, if go down this road, there's a sign pointing to Charlesford." Gene explains we have been up and down this road three times and there is no sign. "Well, then take your second left where the sign used to be." Right. Gene eventually finds what we are looking for which is Charles' Fort. It offers a spectacular view of the Kinsale Harbor, and beyond that, the Celtic Sea. We have some great pictures that I'll add to this site when we everybody's pictures for the photo album (Hint, hint!).
Gene has called ahead, and there is a problem with our B&B. He assures us it will be taken care of . We try to assure him that if worse comes to worse we'll find a hotel, and work it out with Chris later. We drive on to Kinsale, where we stop at the Blue Haven Hotel for drinks and appetizers while Gene checks out the B&B. We watch the (Gaelic) "football" (a/k/a/ rugby) match on television. It is actually a pretty cool game. The scoring is like football, except there are 5 pts. rather than 6 for a "touchdown", and the point after is 2 pts. rather than one. You can kick the ball forward, but only can pass or lateral it backward. You tackle the guy with the football, and there are no pads, so you have to be a tough S.O.B. to play this game. Field goal opportunities are given when various infractions are committed, and can be taken voluntarily at other times which I never quite figured out. Ireland ends up losing a heart breaker to France in the last minute , 20-17. We end up yelling as loud as any one in the bar.
Gene returns and tells us the owners of the original place we were supposed to stay at went on vacation, but he found us alternate accommodations at the Ashgrove House in Kinsale. We find out that the Blue Haven doesn't serve dinner on Sunday nights and that only guests of the hotel get to have the seven course breakfast. The best laid plans. . .We check in at the Ashgrove house and meet the proprietor. She doesn't seem very pleased that we are here. We ask her to have coffee ready at 8:00 a.m. and then breakfast whenever she can get it ready after that. We have Gene drop us in town.
We have a couple of drinks at some pub and end up eating next door at a place called the White House. Dinner is very good for a casual place, and it is our turn to buy so we put it on a credit card. Luckily, Melissa checks the receipt before we leave and the bill was made out for 1,620 Euros (roughly $2,200 American). She points this out to the waiter, who doesn't even apologize for the error, but silently brings over a corrected bill for 162 Euros. It makes us wonder if the error is intentional. We have drinks after dinner at Dalton's but we head home shortly after arriving. It is raining out, and the taxi service says we are too close to them to be picked up, so we have to walk in the rain to the taxi stand and then intercom them from outside. Kinsale, a real customer oriented town. We watch a little t.v. in the sitting room at the B&B and then call it a night. In my opinion, Kinsale, is a tourist town that can be skipped.
We woke up about 6:15 a.m. after a good night's sleep. Didn't freeze to death. In fact we were quite toasty . These blankets in Ireland are fantastic! We shower, and after a cup of the best coffee in Ireland (really!), Mary's husband, Sonny, drives Melissa, Megan and I to church. (The rest of our crew consists of unrepentant sinners :-) ). Mary warns us that they hit you up for two Euro a head on the way in, so I am prepared. 3/4ths of seats are unoccupied, yet there are numerous people standing in the back. I wonder if the $2 Euro is some sort of seating tax. It is a sunny, glorious morning, and mass takes only 27 minutes. The scenery outside the church is beautiful, even the graveyard (different than the one in Kilbehenny) adjacent to the church. We attempt to take to a picture from the steps of the church, with the Galty Mountains in the background but I think the camera batteries were worn out. No matter. I have the image in my head for the rest of my life.
Sonny, takes us around town and shows us some of the beautiful Church of England churches and possessions. He then drives us back to the B&B where we have more of that great coffee and a very good traditional Irish breakfast.
We drive to Cork City to allow Wendy and the girls to go shopping. Unfortunately, nothing is open until noon, including the bars in the area. Wendy and Megan go shopping at noon, and the rest of us go to some place called Les Chateau which is the only place open that serves alcohol . The place is quiet except for a few guys having drinks. You have to get a code to go to unlock the bathroom, which I find a bit unusual but the bartender is cool about getting our drinks and taking our food orders. On my way to the bathroom, this guy at a table of three two table over from ours gives me the evil eye which I think is a bit weird since I didn't think our table was even being our loud obnoxious, usual selves. On the way back from the bathroom, he looks at me again, and I give him my best "Fuck you" look. I figure we collectively outweigh these guys by about 150 lbs. and if we can't take them in a scrap, we aren't worth our salt. Nothing further happens. Megan and Wendy get back from shopping. My sister and Bruce say their chowder is good, and after a couple more drinks we leave.
After we meet up with Gene at the appointed time and place, we tell him where we went, and and he says in his Irish brogue, "Did you know that's a gay bar?" We figured that explained the looks we were getting from that table and had a good laugh about it.
We now drive on toward Kinsale. On the outskirts of town, Gene wants to show us something special. We lost on some old dirt roads, so Gene stops three ladies who are out walking to get directions. They mean well, but they are about as helpful as mud. "Well, if go down this road, there's a sign pointing to Charlesford." Gene explains we have been up and down this road three times and there is no sign. "Well, then take your second left where the sign used to be." Right. Gene eventually finds what we are looking for which is Charles' Fort. It offers a spectacular view of the Kinsale Harbor, and beyond that, the Celtic Sea. We have some great pictures that I'll add to this site when we everybody's pictures for the photo album (Hint, hint!).
Gene has called ahead, and there is a problem with our B&B. He assures us it will be taken care of . We try to assure him that if worse comes to worse we'll find a hotel, and work it out with Chris later. We drive on to Kinsale, where we stop at the Blue Haven Hotel for drinks and appetizers while Gene checks out the B&B. We watch the (Gaelic) "football" (a/k/a/ rugby) match on television. It is actually a pretty cool game. The scoring is like football, except there are 5 pts. rather than 6 for a "touchdown", and the point after is 2 pts. rather than one. You can kick the ball forward, but only can pass or lateral it backward. You tackle the guy with the football, and there are no pads, so you have to be a tough S.O.B. to play this game. Field goal opportunities are given when various infractions are committed, and can be taken voluntarily at other times which I never quite figured out. Ireland ends up losing a heart breaker to France in the last minute , 20-17. We end up yelling as loud as any one in the bar.
Gene returns and tells us the owners of the original place we were supposed to stay at went on vacation, but he found us alternate accommodations at the Ashgrove House in Kinsale. We find out that the Blue Haven doesn't serve dinner on Sunday nights and that only guests of the hotel get to have the seven course breakfast. The best laid plans. . .We check in at the Ashgrove house and meet the proprietor. She doesn't seem very pleased that we are here. We ask her to have coffee ready at 8:00 a.m. and then breakfast whenever she can get it ready after that. We have Gene drop us in town.
We have a couple of drinks at some pub and end up eating next door at a place called the White House. Dinner is very good for a casual place, and it is our turn to buy so we put it on a credit card. Luckily, Melissa checks the receipt before we leave and the bill was made out for 1,620 Euros (roughly $2,200 American). She points this out to the waiter, who doesn't even apologize for the error, but silently brings over a corrected bill for 162 Euros. It makes us wonder if the error is intentional. We have drinks after dinner at Dalton's but we head home shortly after arriving. It is raining out, and the taxi service says we are too close to them to be picked up, so we have to walk in the rain to the taxi stand and then intercom them from outside. Kinsale, a real customer oriented town. We watch a little t.v. in the sitting room at the B&B and then call it a night. In my opinion, Kinsale, is a tourist town that can be skipped.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Brief Reality Interlude
Going in for an MRI and meeting with the oncologist today. Have been experiencing numbness and tingling in both legs and headaches. It started in Ireland a little bit but I hoped it was due to the long plane rides and all of the walking we were doing on the trip, but has gotten worse since we got back. The headaches were really bad yesterday, too, but so far nothing today. I'll keep you updated on my medical status.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
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.
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.
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