Ireland Day 5 - Miles to Go Before I Sleep

"The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper."  W.B. Yeats

We hop in our car to head to our next stop - Killarney.  It doesn't look that far on a map.  About 3 inches.  We're no longer traveling on the motorway but on narrow, winding roads that at some points have me holding my breath as we round curves and praying no one is coming from the opposite direction.

We finally make it to our destination The Killarney Park Hotel, by far the grandest place we've stayed the entire trip.  We're greeted by name by the doorman and warmly welcomed by the hotel staff.  This is my kinda place!  The hotel is cozy and inviting with all its fireplaces and the grand staircase leading to the second floor.

We've got no time to sit around admiring the place and head straight to the Killarney National Park to hike.  This beautiful park contains some of Ireland's highest mountains as well as the beautiful lakes of Killarney.  As we begin our exploration, we notice the ruins of the Muckross Abbey which can be traced back to the beginnings of Christianity in Ireland.

We then hike alongside one of the lakes.

We end up at the Muckross House, a mansion designed by British architect William Burn which was eventually presented along with the acreage surrounding it to the Irish nation and became the basis of the national park.

After exploring Muckross, we head off to locate Torc Waterfall at the base of Torc Mountain.  As we approach the falls, I can't help but feel like I am in a lush, verdant cathedral.  The beauty of this place is breathtaking.

As we close on our Killarney adventures, we head back to the hotel and end the day with Irish whiskey, our senses sharpened; our world made magical.

Sealed with a Kiss - Ireland Days 3 and 4

We've had enough of the city and rent a car to head south.  Bob takes the wheel like a pro but I am continually reminding him, "Drive on the left!"  since our rental has a sticker on the dash with this warning.

We take to the highway and head south toward Cork.  It's about a 3 hour drive but the bucolic scenery makes the time fly by.  Seeing that we're not trying to be too touristy (ha!) we decide to swing by the Blarney Castle and Gardens on the way in.  The castle was built by Cormac McCarthy in 1446.  Most people recognize it for the Blarney Stone.

As legend has it, kissing this stone gives you the gift of gab.  I need all the help I can get in this department so I don't dare pass up this chance but they don't make it easy.  We climb a very tight, stone spiral staircase for several stories to get to the top of the castle.

The view alone is worth it.

We are hesitant when we learn we have to hang upside down and backwards while someone holds our legs to reach the stone.  It's not as easy as it sounds and it is a little disconcerting to be looking down while 90 feet in the air.

We all seal the deal with a kiss.  It's then that I wonder how many people have also locked lips with this stone.  Yuck.  But I'm assured by the staff that the stone is wiped down many times a day.

Despite being considered a tourist trap, the grounds of this castle are worth the trip.  As with everything in Ireland - lush and green.  We wander around for a couple of hours taking in all the beauty.

We head into Cork for an early dinner at Gallagher's Pub.  This pub is named after a famous musician from Cork named Rory Gallagher and it sits at the base of Patrick's Hill a block away from the St. Patrick's Bridge.  I'm skeptical but one of my son's Rooster Teeth fans who resides in Cork highly recommends the place.  It does not disappoint.  We're seated next to a huge plate glass window overlooking Patrick's Street so we can people watch while listening to the cool tunes playing.  

After all the walking at Blarney, we are famished and ready to whet our whistles with more Irish beer.    Pubs are the best place for fish and chips and mine are delicious.   

I would love to stay until the 8:00 Vinyl Hour to see what albums they spin but with our appetites satiated, it's time to move on to the coastal town of Kinsale.  This quaint town is full of character and charm.  It's small and appears to have more pubs than people.  The cobblestone streets are lined with charming shops and restaurants as well.  Our time here is way too short but we make the most of it.

If you're keeping score, the tally so far:

Tourist Trap:  2 (+1 for kissing the Blarney Stone)

Local Flavor:  3 (+2 for Gallagher's and for Kinsale in general)

Blurred Lines - Day 1 in Dublin

My soundtrack:  Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2
https://youtu.be/stillhaventfound

I not only want to be in Ireland - I want to be Irish.  How could you not?  They're such an affable lot. You have to give it to them - despite the Norman invasion, Irish War of Independence, the Irish Civil War and all the other conflict the country has seen, the Irish have an unflappable patriotism and pride of country that can't be surpassed.  And they're friendly and engaging to boot.  So as we arrive in Dublin, our hopes are high for our short time in the city.

After a seven hour flight, we arrive in Dublin at 9:00 a.m. along with a plane full of Americans eager to celebrate the week leading up to the St. Patrick's Day festival.  We check into our hotel, take a one hour power nap then set out to explore. Despite the nap, we stiff suffer from tremendous jet lag so we decide to simply tour the Guinness Storehouse which is only a couple of blocks from our hotel.  We set off on foot towards the large facility that takes up several city blocks. As we wander aimlessly, a young guy stops and asks if we know where the entrance is. We confess we're lost and, having pity on us, he offers to lead in search of the entrance. Our new friend, Cooper, shares that he is originally from Belfast but now resides and works in Dublin. He, in turn, inquires about our home and what we're hoping to see while in Ireland. My husband innocently replies, "We want to stay away from the touristy places and get some local flavor" to which Cooper dies out laughing then asks, "Then why are you going to Guinness?" Good question.

As we round the corner to the entrance, the realization sets in. There is a line of tourists wrapped around the building. We smartly purchased our tickets online so there is no waiting for us. We enter  this massive 7 story complex that is part museum, part dining adventure and part brewery. In sum, it's like beersney world on steroids with the goal being the 7th floor to indulge in the panoramic view of Dublin while sipping a Guinness.

Initially we stop at each exhibit to learn the beer-making process. But by the time we reach the 3rd floor I'm ready to blow past the remaining exhibits and the throngs of people straight to the 7th floor. My family holds me at bay and suggests we participate in the Guinness Academy on the 5th floor where we learn the art of pouring a proper Guinness.

Step 1:  Choose a 20-ounce, tulip-shaped pint glass.  The wider neck allows nitrogen bubbles to move down the side of the glass and back up into the neck.  Tilt the glass to a 45-degree angle.

Step 2:  Pull the tap and fill the glass to the bottom edge of the tulip bump.

Step 3:  Stand the glass up and let it settle so there is a clear distinction between the dark body and the creamy white head.  If you don't let the beer settle, it will have a bitter taste.  Once settled, put the Guinness back up to the tap, push the tap away from you, aim directly into the middle of the foam head until it is half a millimeter about the rim of the glass.  Then let it settle again.

Step 4:  Bring the glass to your lips and sip the foam until you hit the beer.  You must have a foam mustache after sipping.

I'm not a dark beer fan but this is good.  They've won me over.

So we've mastered the perfect pour and move up to the 7th floor with our full glasses of Guinness and with every other tourist for the beautiful view of Dublin.

And it is an amazing view.

We're dragging at this point and have had enough of crowds.  A friend suggests we hit the oldest pubs in Dublin so we search out the Brazen Head.  It is officially Ireland's oldest pub and dates back to 1198.  It's a cozy place full of locals watching the rugby match between England and Scotland. We find a table, order pints of Guinness and join in cheering on Scotland.  I'm not certain why anyone else is pulling for Scotland but assume it has to do with a potential future match-up with Ireland.  I know nothing about rugby.  It's a brutal game with no helmets, no pads. From the looks of it, each team is trying to murder the man with the ball when they're not in a huge, human heap pushing, punching and kicking each other. Alas, Scotland loses but that doesn't dampen our spirits.  Except maybe for Boy No. 2 who hates for me to take his picture.

Score:

Tourist Trap - 1

Local Flavor - 1

But tomorrow is another day.

Pineapple Express

My soundtrack:  Pineapple Express by Huey Lewis & the News
https://youtu.be/pineappleexpress

Someone recently asked me how I met all my nutty friends.  Without even thinking, I replied, "Crazy people naturally gravitate to me." While my response was in jest, upon reflection I realize there may be some truth to the statement.  

This can't be any more true than when I travel. Back in the heyday of flight, passengers actually dressed up to board a plane.  It was an event in which you wanted to look your best.  Now I'm not surprised if half the people on my flight are wearing pajama's.  And don't get me started on the crankiness and rudeness.  But that's enough about me.

We have family who reside in San Diego so my husband and I travel there frequently.  I know what you're thinking - first world problems.  But spending time in sunny, southern California isn't the problem.  It's the flight there.  That's when they - the crazy people - come out of the woodwork to torment me.

There's that time the man sitting directly behind my husband projectile vomited.  Then there's the time a lady (I use that term loosely) walked down the aisle of the plane and screamed, "Whoever brought on the burrito with onions, I'm gonna kick your ass!"  She then proceeded to sit across the aisle from my husband and me and painstakingly describe her life in the porn industry.  I have to admit I hung on every word.

But those incidents pale in comparison to our latest flight on Southwest Airlines.  This flight will go down in infamy for me.

We start with a 2 hour travel delay due to fog which is my first sign this day is not going to go as planned.  Everyone is thrilled when we board the plane for a second time and it looks like we're actually going to take off.  That's when I spot him and he walks into my crazy life.  Down the aisle proudly strolls a grown man wearing lime green knee socks, lime green t-shirt and lime green and yellow pineapple shorts.  Did I mention this is a grown man?  My mean girl emerges as I lean over to my husband giggling and whisper, "Nice outfit!"  He is affectionately referred to as Mr. Pineapple Pants for the remainder of the flight.

All tray tables are in their upright position so we take off for what seems to be an uneventful trip.  That is until about 2 hours into the flight.

My husband and I get up at the same time to go to the restroom so we cause the least amount of disturbance to our seat mate. Somehow Mr. Pineapple Pants falls in behind my husband.  As he is about to enter the restroom, Mr. Pineapple Pants asks, "How badly do you need to go?"  Taken aback by the odd question, my husband responds, "Pretty bad but I'll be quick."  I'm then left with the unfortunate task of waiting in the service area with my crazy, new friend.  I'm minding my own business when I suddenly hear the flight attendant shout, "Sir, you CANNOT do that!  Sir, sir, stop that now!"  Startled, I turn around to find Mr. Pineapple Pants' back to me but I can only assume the worst.  "Is he peeing?" I ask the flight attendant incredulously. She retorts, "Yes! In a cup!"  (I confirm later with my husband that you can't "stop that" once it's started.  I don't want to know how he knows this.)  

Turning her attention back to the crisis at hand, the flight attendant barks, "Please do not touch anything!"  My worst fears have come true.  No more drink service and I only have half a Bloody Mary left!  I inquire of the flight attendant how soon we are landing when she looks at me and deadpans, "Not soon enough."  You gotta love those Southwest Airlines flight attendants. 

In a cruel twist, once we land no one is allowed to disembark.   A cleaning crew bursts into the back of the plane like a raid in a cop show and cleans that mess up before we're allowed to get up from our seats.  Once we finally de-plane, I notice the flight attendant speaking to the police as we step onto the jet bridge.  Mr. Pineapple Pants is detained and questioned and I'm hopeful the offender will recompense his victims for the buzz kill. 

Within a few minutes we see Mr. Pineapple Pants at baggage claim acting as if nothing unusual has happened.  I guess peeing in a cup in the service area of a plane is not an actionable offense which is laughable because I've been practically stripped searched for going through security with a full size tube of toothpaste in my purse.  What have you got to do to get arrested these days?  Surely the outfit alone was a crime.  I am serious. . . And don't call me Shirley.

  

When a Door Closes

This article was originally published in the Belzoni Banner, January 10, 2017 edition.

www.thebelzonibanner.com

The remaining members climb the 14 steps to the front door of Isola United Methodist Church for the last service. As they participate in the Order for the Leave-Taking of a Church Building, a flood gate of emotion bursts open.

The church has been a part of Isola since 1902 when the first Methodist congregation was organized. At the turn of the century, Mr. and Mrs. F.H. Hutson donated the land for the church. At the time, the town was known as Lake Dawson and was part of Washington County. Soon after a plain, white frame building was built. Eventually, in 1919 the town became known as Isola and was part of the newly formed Humphreys County. The congregation had bigger plans for their church and in 1926 under the direction of B.A. Wright, J.Q. Smith, J.E. Herron and R.H. Hooker, the current building was constructed. This was quite a feat for the day as the people of Isola were of modest means and the congregation was small but faithful.

This leap of faith resulted in the beautiful structure that sits today at the corner of Edna and Baird Streets. The two-story building consists of a basement which houses the kitchen, nursery, restrooms and the fellowship hall. The second story not only holds two classrooms but the large sanctuary. This sanctuary has always been the heart of the church with its colorful, towering stained-glass windows that were added in the early 1960’s. The building overlooks the town and has presided over many milestones within the congregation.

The year after the completion of the building, the Mississippi River overran the levees and the entire delta flooded. The muddy waters engulfed the town of Isola. The basement of the church filled with water but the sanctuary, perched high above the crest of the flood, stayed dry. Months later when the flood waters receded, the congregation resumed services.  

In the early years in an ecumenical move, the towns people rotated from church to church to worship together despite their doctrinal differences. The first and third Sundays they worshiped with the Methodists; the second and fourth Sundays were reserved for the Baptist Church; and one Sunday a month they worshiped at the Presbyterian Church. Bobby Ann Castle once commented, “When people ask me if I’m Methodist, I tell them I’m Methodist, Baptist, and Presbyterian!” Eventually that practice ended and each congregation met at their own church.

The membership of the church never grew very large but as the Bible states “where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I with them.” The church was vital to Isola and extremely active for its size. Because of it’s small size, everyone had to play a role in the church.

The men of the church were community leaders not just in Isola, but the county as well. They included farmers, merchants, bankers and lawyers to name a few. As far back as I can recall, Billy Garrard led the adults of the church in Sunday school until he succumbed to a brain tumor. At that point, his brother and my father, John Garrard took over the adult teaching duties.

The church was also blessed with wonderful female leaders and teachers. When we were children, Virginia Tirey kept us in the nursery in the basement. There was a large sand-box style table in the room that held all the hand-me-down toys with which we played. In addition to our lessons, Ms. Tirey read wonderful books to us that exhibited unconditional Christ-like love including The Velveteen Rabbit and The Giving Tree. Whenever I see these books today, I am immediately taken back to those halcyon days in the nursery.

Pauline McMath taught the elementary school children. She was a faithful teacher and provided a lesson every Sunday even if only one student was in class. In our later years, we were lead in Sunday school by Kathryn Garrard and Mary Ann Sory. They provided us with wonderful Christian insights. Kathryn, a life-long school teacher, tried her best to get us to memorize the books of the Bible but I’m not certain she succeeded with any of us. Mary Ann was always approachable as a teacher which was important during those awkward teenage years.

Along with weekly Sunday school for our small youth population, Methodist Youth Fellowship was held every Wednesday during the school year and was open to all youth, whether members of the Methodist Church or not. We hopped off the school bus at the McMath house for snacks and playtime before participating in an informal Bible study meticulously prepared each week by Pauline McMath.

Other contributions by the ladies of the congregation included the Missionary Society. This group met monthly and presented programs on Methodist missionaries in the field and oftentimes raised money to support them. The ladies of the church also cooked and served lunch to the all male membership of the Isola Lions Club which held its monthly meetings in the basement fellowship hall.

The building was always teeming with activity. There were weddings and funerals held there not to mention piano recitals, Easter egg hunts, Christmas pageants, town meetings, class reunions and innumerable pot-luck dinners. At one such dinner, the pastor at the time enjoyed the rum balls so much that he had to be sobered up before he could drive back to the parsonage!

Being a small congregation lent itself to many other funny and unusual moments within the church. Former member Jennie McMath Jackson laughs as she recalls the uncomfortable silence that fell over their Sunday school class when they asked their teacher, Willie Belle Castle, what adultery was. Another former member recollects B.A. Wright, Chairman of the Deacons, contacting members if they fell behind paying into the church treasury. Mr. Wright even went so far as to show up at the members’ homes to collect, but it was noted he always brought vegetables as a gift.

Janice Bearden’s fondest memories revolve around Tim Beard, the pastor of the church from 1992 to 2002. “Mine and Spooky’s marriage was performed by Tim Beard and was the last marriage at the church,” explains Janice. She also laughs about the time Pastor Tim went on a diet. She and Spooky had arrived early for church one Sunday. Carolyn Garrard and Walker Sory were practicing on the piano and organ while Pastor Tim was getting ready for communion. He bent over to pick something up and his pants fell off. Everyone, including Pastor Tim, had a big chuckle over the incident.

Longtime member Carolyn Garrard’s favorite memories revolve around the numerous times members’ dogs sneaked through the doors of the sanctuary to sit with their owners. No one so much as batted an eye at the pooches perched under the pews. Carolyn is convinced that Dwen Stevens’s dog was very religious since he was so well-behaved. Spooky and Janice Bearden’s dog could have been a member of the choir with his tail keeping perfect rhythm to the hymns.

The most prolific memory relates to the music in the church, especially Margaret Hutson’s piano playing. As Virginia Tirey recalls, Margaret loved to “put in the extra notes!” Sometimes it felt more like a honky-tonk than church. Her boogey-woogie style of playing, all by ear, definitely livened up Sunday services. The congregation was also immensely blessed to have Esther Sory as its organist and pianist. She was an accomplished musician who taught most of the town’s children how to play piano. Ms. Sory also led the church choir which made a joyful, if somewhat off-key, noise to the Lord every Sunday. I can still picture Gladys Pittman being front and center as the choir belted out Surely Goodness and Mercy.

Time has taken a toll on both the members and the building. Several of the members are unable to make their way up the steps to attend services. The old, majestic building is expensive and difficult to maintain. “To every thing there is a season . . .a time to keep and a time to cast away” and in November the congregation made the agonizing decision to close the church. But in a progressive move, they decided to give the building to the Pilgrim’s Rest Baptist Church congregation as long as it is utilized as a place of worship.

The congregation works their way through the Litany of Thanksgiving and Declaration of Deconsecration. As a final act, the Order of Disbanding the Congregation is issued. The alter items - the brass cross, candlesticks and offering plates are removed. The tears flow freely as the recessional hymn is sung:

When darkness appears and the night draws near

And the day is past and gone

At the river I stand

Guide my feet, hold my hand

Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home.