Mr. and Mrs. Teabody Take a Journey

A friend, a foe, a gift, a beau, a journey to go...

Outside of the Christmas season, nothing can stir the fires of anticipation and imagination as much as a journey. My uncle was fond of saying most folks possess a tumbleweed gene that looks at the whole world as somewhere else to be. Yes, I also have friends and family members who assert they plan never to fly again (or ever!), that they “didn't leave anything over there”, that anyone who ventures off their street is just asking for trouble. Point taken. And understood. However, Mrs. Teabody's friends and associates seem to be mostly of the tumbleweed variety, the kind who look at the next horizon and wonder what adventure awaits. Through their travels this year alone in the safety of the TYF tearoom, Mrs. Teabody has visited her favorite cities, London and Paris, the longed-for Amsterdam, the glories of far-flung China, riotous India, onion-domed St. Petersburg, other-worldly Iceland. Through the stories and photographs of her friends, Mrs. Teabody has delighted in what is often called armchair traveling. Armchair traveling is satisfactory in many ways, but today marks (at last!) the start of a two weeks-long, six-months-in-the-planning sojourn with friends on that Emerald Isle, Ireland.

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

We shall not, as Mr. Yeats suggests, in this poem , THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE, build a cabin of clay and wattles. No. We shall unpack in a lovely, already-made house on a Wild Atlantic Way peninsula, but that shall not hinder our having a very Yeats-ian experience. Ireland will see to it, of course. Nearly twenty years ago Mrs. Teabody took a short flight from London to Shannon aboard an AerLingus flight and was bowled over by the brilliant green uniforms and beautiful visages of the crew. Our small craft flew rather low and as I had a window seat I caught my first glimpse of the Emerald Isle at 10, 000 feet. I was enchanted. You would be, too--even before you meet your first citizen. That's when real enchantment begins.

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

Ireland is beautiful as everyone will tell you. The Creator did not put together an island of mountains, rocks and lakes for such scenery to be ignored. No, this is the meaty stuff of Nature reminding us that our time here is not going to last forever so take in those rocky cliffs, that stunning ruin, that sheep-dotted meadow that sweeps straight up to a rocky peak. There will be much, much gazing at the sea in wonder because that is what Mrs. Teabody and many of her esteemed friends do when there is a sea to look at. There will also be some not-very-difficult trekking, some going about on buses and trains, some excursions with guides, many evenings filled with traditional and modern music, but mostly one visits Ireland to just be. Just. Be.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

A wise person chooses good companions. Most folks who reach Mrs. Teabody's advanced years know the joy of passing time with old friends, of passing time with new, specially-chosen friends, of passing time with interesting friends, of passing time full of appreciation of the knowledge of how fortunate we all are to be passing time at all.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Almost everyone who will be sharing the house on the peninsula overlooking Galway Bay has roots in Ireland. Mrs. Teabody's great-great-great Grandfather William was born in Ireland in 1781. He left Ireland when it was ruled by Great Britain to make his way to America to start a new life, one with different opportunities. With what trepidation did William look upon his journey to the new world in 1798 when he crossed the ocean from Ireland to America? Did he pack and re-pack his suitcase half a dozen times? Did he pre-print his boarding pass to avoid standing in line? Did he spend hours at his computer looking at pictures and reading the history of America? Did he think to Google the place where he hoped to live? Or did he just wake up on a fine morning in Ireland, look at the sea and say to himself “I wonder what's happening across the water there? Maybe I should have a look.”

Maybe you should, too? Ta for now!