The Only Thing Left Was the Getting There...

6 April 2011 -
9:30pm - I am at JFK Airport.  I have two flights down and one left to go.  This is my last one - when I land I will be in Ireland.  I am in line at Customs? Immigration?  Not really sure but this where the passport is very key.  I know if there is something wrong with my passport then that final flight, that final leap to Ireland will not be taken.  It was an important moment and I felt it.  But I had checked my passport repeatedly over the last 6 months, I had others check it, I dreamed about it.  It is my turn to step up to the grumpy man.  I hand him my passport and smile with all the Southern charm my mama taught me.  He looks at my passport, he looks at me and says, "You realize you have handed me an invalid passport?"

EARLIER THAT DAY:

10am - I am standing outside in the driveway of my parents' home my kids are buckled in Patsy's car.  What a great woman to do this - there are few people I would trust more with my children - I was grateful but couldn't stop crying.  I would miss my chatty, crazy, rambunctious, loving, sweet, kissable children.  That last goodbye was rough.  But Patsy had mercy and left before I could get a really ugly cry started.  I then took a deep breath, centered myself and danced a little jig.  All that was left was the getting there.

1pm - Dad and I arrive at Asheville Airport for a 3pm flight.  He drops me off and goes to park the car.  We are super early and feel really relaxed and comfortable.  Asheville Airport is so small you breeze through everything.  I go up to the counter to check-in.  I am immediately told that my flight to Atlanta was cancelled and my new flight is leaving in 20 minutes. They told me in rapid Southernese that  I needed to rush through now, now, NOW!  I, not knowing what else to do, went into panic mode.  I was telling them my dad was on his way  - they were telling me to go on without him - I was telling them  NO - they said YES!  So I did what every 40 year old mature woman does in such a situation:  I left all my stuff at the counter, ran outside to the parking lot and yelled, "Daddy!  Daddy!!!  Daddy!!!!!"  And do you know that it worked?  It weirdly always does.  You call your Daddy and he comes.  We race through everything and as soon as we sit in the plane and clasp hands, we take off. (I am not a great flyer and tend to grab people's hands during take-offs - it helps when it is people I know <grin>)

5:30pm - Atlanta - All is well here except the whole country is delayed because Obama is flying out of JFK.

9:30pm - We arrive at JFK and are in the passport line (see above).  "You realize you have handed me an invalid passport?"  Those were his exact words.  I wasn't sure at the the time (and still not sure now) whether it was a question or statement.  I could feel my blood turn to ice, the blood rush from my head, my pupils contract - I broke out in a cold sweat.  Everything hinged on this moment I had known this for 6 months and somehow I had failed.  He was of course waiting for an answer to his question/statement.  I shook my head, beyond words, almost beyond standing.  I wanted this trip with every cell of my being.  He just looked at me for a long time (it felt long - it was probably two seconds), held up my passport and showed me where I hadn't signed it.  He asked if I would like to validate it now.  I nodded, still couldn't get the words out.  He handed me the pen and I could barely hold it I was shaking so badly - my signature is hardly recognizable - but then I was waved through...and I walked and walked and breathed and breathed until I saw this:

It still took me hours to stop shaking.  And that is NOT letting the truth get in the way of a good story.




I loved seeing my name everywhere!

Dad nor I slept the entire flight.  When we landed it was 9:30 am in Ireland but 3:30am in NC.  Brutal, but I was high on adrenaline.  When we landed the first thing I saw was my name.
 

Thanks to Dad's "celebrity" status at this camp we had a kind guy named Ambrose meeting us and escorting us to Portumna.  Ambrose is a Garda or a member of the Irish Police Force.  I didn't know this at the time.  While Dad went to the restroom, Ambrose and I went to the rental car counter to get my keys.  Before the person would give me the keys they really gave me the third degree about how well I drove and was I aware and comfortable driving on the opposite side of the road and the opposite side of the car with a manual shift,etc.  It was such a grilling that I was afraid I wasn't going to get the car if I didn't sound confident so I responded with lines like:  "I have totally done this before, not a problem!  I know exactly what I am doing!"  I finally convinced them, I grabbed the keys and stepped away from the counter.  Ambrose was there through this whole exchange with the car people so when we were out of earshot I just looked at him and said, "I totally lied...I have no idea what I am doing or how to drive on the other side of the road!  I am probably going to get a million tickets, hit every car I pass -  if not kill someone!" When I glanced at him he had a funny smile on his face and then informed me that he was a policeman.  Ugh!  He told me I would do fine but he was going to give me his number in case I needed it.  I figure with him being Garda and all it could have gone a few different ways but it was the first of many kindnesses the Irish showed me.

Dad and I rode in the Silver Bullet all the way to Portumna.  Dad was about to "wee-wee" in his britches the entire time, he was so un-nerved by the whole experience.  I found that hysterical but on further reflection it made me think he might not trust my driving. Huh.  Anyway, that first drive I got to just stay behind Ambrose and follow him.  I did what he did, turned when he turned.  It was just enough to get me somewhat used to the roads.  The roads were like nothing I had ever seen before - more about them later.

Then, suddenly, I was there at the Shannon Oaks Hotel.  I could relax because I had made it.  Except I couldn't relax because I couldn't seem to figure out the doors, elevator, electricity, money, ordering food at the pub or how the shower worked.  Apparently, you have to "call" elevators (don't push the arrow buttons) and turn on electrical sockets.  I think with the doors I was just tired.  The Irish men who helped me figure them out said as an American I should know how to work doors.  I told him I knew how to work American doors but these Irish ones...they're a little tricky.   It felt like I was in a foreign country! <grin>  It was amazing - I felt so alive and challenged...and tired.   Thankfully, the pillows in Ireland worked the same as here and they certainly beckoned but right behind the hotel there was something else beckoning... 

It wasn't even a close competition - sleep was not a high priority on this trip and this was waiting for me right behind the hotel through a path hugged by ancient yew trees.