Apparently, walking the back roads of Galway during the evening implies a deep knowledge of the countryside.

It was my first evening in Ireland and I needed to stay awake just a few more hours to reset my body clock. I’d been awake for over 30 hours. So I took a short stroll in the cool air.

Marveling at the thick purple and red fuchsia in bloom everywhere and highlighted by the long evening light, I was stopped by two lost drivers. And one comedian.

Most were people about my own age with thick brogues. But for the clear tone of questioning that ended each statement, I had no clue what was being said other than it was indeed a question.

And that rising end tone told me that I should respond. The first time I was stopped for directions, I replied that I had been in the country just short of ten hours and that “not only can I not help you, I also have no idea where I am right now or how to get back to where I started”.

This answer was met by a great flashing smile, and a hearty laugh both from the driver and his passenger in the back seat.

“I can see you’re not good for much help all”, he grinned.
“I suppose not”, I replied.

The second time I was stopped I held up my palm, and told the driver straight off that I had no idea where I was let alone where they might be going. Again, this had us both laughing right away.

The third time a car stopped, it was the man who had been directly behind the second driver who had stopped me. Seeing my shrug, palm and smile to the driver in front, he offered to give me directions “anywhere in Tonabrucky” so I could better help the next person who stopped to ask.

My third good laugh in mere 10 minutes. Welcome to Ireland.

That evening I learned that my sense of humor, a deeply important trait that has pulled me though many an adverse occasion was born right here in Ireland. Born here and handed down from mother to daughter, for five generations.

Playful, self-deprecating, ornery, these are all parts of my own sense of humor and were easily shared with most of the Irish folks I met. Perhaps, our great, great, great grandmothers had been the closest of pals.

In the airport as we left Ireland, I watched an Irish father and his teenaged son in line with their bags. The son was bored, perhaps a little anxious. The father slid their bags along the floor until they pushed at the son’s shoes. A moment later, the son slid the bags back, up onto the father’s shoes. Back and forth the bags slid, each time further, each time, neither one looking at each other or smiling openly.

But their eyes said it all. I feel you, I love you, let’s have a smile together.

Thanks, Ireland. I am grateful to you for my sense of humor and playfulness. I’ll carry you with me.