We’ve finished the Emerald Isle portion of our trip so I can look back with a touch of nostalgia.
First of all, a scatalogical observation. Every time I visit Ireland, my stool has a specific odour based, I presume, on the local influence on my gastrointestinal system (i.e., the biome).
Secondly, the accents, especially of older women, who preserve the lilting dialect of the locale in which they were raised. Much like precious jewels or works of art, those who survive the drink and live past their 50s are wondrous works of nature.
Lastly, nature itself. The nonanthropological portions of that area of the planet not covered with saltwater were as fascinating as ever…including, sadly, the reminder that I don’t enjoy traveling with my wife much anymore, a fact I’ve yet to reconcile as the advent of our 30th wedding anniversary approaches.
Was there a moment that I’ve ever been truly happy with my wife or have I always had to lie to myself and compromise my beliefs in order to be with her?
Thirty years. Seems like a long time and then not such a long time.
A coworker once commented to me, “you seem like the kind of couple that have to get drunk to want to have sex with each other,” which hit me in the face like a slap.
Does the truth hurt?
Would I have enjoyed this trip better with someone else?
I can’t wish away the years I’ve lived but I can focus on planning the years ahead.
Back to the future in my thoughts.
Meanwhile, I’ve a week on holiday with my wife to remain civil as best I can. Sober, at that.