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Paul Simon or bust… Our Dublin getaway! Part six

Saturday morning, we woke up feeling pretty free, since the thing we’d come to Dublin for was finished. Paul Simon’s concert was truly amazing and wonderful, even if being in such a large crowd and sitting in cramped seats wasn’t as comfortable as it could have been. Still, Ireland was a great place to see Paul Simon perform, if only because a lot of the people in the crowd could actually sing. I don’t know what it’s like for other people, but I am unusually sensitive to bad singing. I don’t know if it’s because I have perfect pitch or I’m just a perfect bitch… It’s probably a regrettable combination of both conditions. Anyway, I was glad that a lot of the people who were at Friday night’s show were decent singers. If I have to listen to people singing along, I prefer them to be on key and most of the people in Friday’s crowd were.

We had no plans for Saturday, so we got up and went to breakfast. I went with Irish buttermilk pancakes and a side of sausage. Bill had French toast made with cinnamon brioche.

We also tried tea, which I probably ought to have more of.

The pancakes were also offered with blueberry compote or apples, I think. One of my British friends said I was going to gain “stones” if I kept eating like this. My response? “Who cares.”

But I did make sure to have some fruit, too.

My back was hurting a bit, even though we had a pretty good bed. I think it’s because I’m used to having a feather bed. Because my back was aching, we decided to try out the Merrion Hotel’s pool. We found it empty and very inviting. I appreciated that it was nice and deep, too. We also tried the steam room. I usually can’t stay in them for very long, but I managed to do a couple of cycles in there lasting a few minutes each.

The hotel has nicely appointed changing rooms with lockers, showers, and even a machine that wrings all the excess water out of your bathing suit. Supposedly, they even sell bathing suits if you need one.

An oasis of calm! Felt great on my sore back. The mural was painted by a Brady… Simon Brady, to be exact.

Lots of weights and machines for those who insist on truly working out. There’s also a fully operational spa, which I probably should have made time to try.

After our swim, we went back to the room and got changed. The weather was lovely, so we decided to take a walk. As we were passing Merrion Square, we noticed a military regiment and an Irish piper. We stood by to watch. Apparently, during the summer on Saturdays, a different Irish regiment does a memorial service for fallen members of the Irish Army. Family members are on hand to lay wreaths as their loved ones are honored.

A sign explaining… they were also passing out brochures. Bill was interested, so we watched the whole thing, which took about 45 minutes.

Officers prepare for the start of the program.

Family members stand by.

The guards were giving orders in Irish.

I was more interested in the musicians.

The piper played several pieces, including “Highland Cathedral”, which was what I marched down the aisle to on my wedding day.

More than once, I caught Bill standing at attention.

The memorial after the wreaths were laid. Behind it are several flags, including Ireland’s flag, which was lowered to half mast, then raised again.

Across the street from parliament.

And there were also dancers nearby, though they had nothing to do with the military ceremony. They were also attracting attention.

A playground nearby. I liked that there was a sign posted that read the area was only for adults accompanying children. No creepers allowed.

Oscar Wilde again. You can’t miss him in Dublin.

By the time the military ceremony was over, it was time for lunch. We ended up at what appeared to be a nice looking restaurant but turned out to be a hotel restaurant with little character. They also played some very annoying dance music that kind of spoiled the ambiance. Oh well….

We were told the fryer wasn’t working, so there was no chance for fish and chips.

My burger came with a salad, which was probably better for me anyway.

Bill had a club sandwich. Not bad… and this was also the only place we had Guinness during the whole trip. Guinness is really a winter drink, as every Irish person instinctively knows. But you can’t come to Dublin and not have a Guinness, right? It makes you drunk, as noted by Ireland’s greatest drinker with a writing problem, Brendan Behan.

The rest of the restaurant. Lots of cutesy stuff written on the walls.

After lunch, we went across the street, where I proceeded to buy three cheap t-shirts with obnoxious sayings on them. I’ll probably only wear them at home, although they pretty much express my sentiments perfectly.

After we bought the t-shirts, we passed this all purpose walk in clinic. Apparently, they have something for everyone… Reminds me of an old George Carlin routine– Bud’s! Where all the sick people go!

They have you covered!

Just around the corner is the Royal College of Physicians of Ireland. I had to take a picture of the sign because about thirty years ago, I read a book called The Intern Blues by Robert Marion, MD. Dr. Marion didn’t get into an US medical schools at first, so he spent a year in Ireland studying medicine before he was able to come back to the States and finish his training. His book was about first year interns circa 1985.

And we also found where Bram Stoker lived.

At this point, we decided we wanted to find a pub with good music and character, so we went in search of one… but not before we stopped into a couple of grocery stores to see if we could find some Irish chocolate treats to bring back to Germany with us. We were successful at a Tesco, just around the corner from our hotel.

Eastern Europe

Cheap thrills in the Czech Republic! Part five

There was one thing I remembered from our first visit to Plzen. In 2009, I remember Bill driving down a main drag and seeing a large “Thank You, America” memorial. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to bring my camera with me on that trip and, at that time, didn’t own a smartphone. I was hoping we’d get to see the “Thank You, America” memorial on this trip, since it kind of makes me feel a little pride for my country. It was built in 1995, fifty years after the United States Army, led by General George Patton, liberated Plzen from the Nazis.

Sadly, we missed the memorial, not because I didn’t have my camera, but because apparently it recently disintegrated. I can’t help but be reminded that the memorial’s decline is not unlike the decline in the United States right now. It seems almost symbolic. But anyway, for those who would like to see a photo of Plzen’s “thanks” to America when it was still standing, follow the link.

I am heartened to report that the memorial is being repaired and will be reconstructed with French marble, which I guess is sturdier. I guess the materials available in 1995 were of poor quality, which doesn’t surprise me, since in 1995, the United States was sending Peace Corps Volunteers to the Czech Republic. That was a time when things weren’t as prosperous in the Czech Republic as they are now. Anyway, the memorial will be back at some point, probably as good as new. Hopefully, our country will likewise be repaired in the coming years. Incidentally, there is also a museum and memorial for General Patton, for those who are interested. In fact, I saw a lot of references to America in Plzen, including a street named for Franklin D. Roosevelt.

We came back to our little cottage with beer, wine, “crocketts”, breakfast pastries, and other odds and ends. I had looked in vain for Chodovar beer in the Kaufland. They didn’t have any of that. They did have some interesting wines, though. We picked up a couple of bottles from Bulgaria, as well as a couple of Czech wines. We tried the Bulgarian merlot, but the others will have to be tested later.

Potato croquettes. We discovered these on an earlier trip to the Czech Republic.

Because we were really full from lunch and it was cold outside, we decided to stay in and watch the Winter Olympics on the big TV. We had “crocketts” for dinner. What I call crocketts are actually potato croquettes. They are all kinds of delicious. We discovered them in June 2008, when Bill and I visited Passau, Germany for my 36th birthday. Passau is not far from the Czech border, so on the big day itself, we drove into the Czech Republic and visited Ceske Budjovice and Cesky Krumlov. We had lunch in Budjovice, which is where the “original” Budweiser is made.

I don’t remember exactly what we had for lunch on that visit. I probably had duck because I love it. But I do remember that whatever we had came with a side of potato croquettes. Our waiter pronounced it “crocketts”, which we thought was funny. I know you can get potato croquettes in Germany, but somehow they seem different in the Czech Republic. I actually went hunting for them at Kaufland. It wasn’t easy, but I finally found them in a sea of frozen pommes. There were only a few bags. I guess the Czech people love them, too.

We watched skiing, including multiple replays of Czech skier Ester Ledecka, an adorable snowboarder and Alpine skier who won gold in the Super-G competition. She was so cute, because after she finished her run, she looked absolutely stunned to be in first place. She had borrowed the skis on which she won her medal.

We also watched multiple interviews with Czech men’s figure skater, Michal Brezina, who is married to a retired American skater and trains in California. I got a huge kick out of his hair. I probably enjoyed that as much as I did his long program. It was a treat to get to watch the Olympics, since we don’t get local TV. I guess if we could watch them at home in Germany, we might have been more inclined to eat dinner on the town.

After a few hours of Olympic coverage, chowing down on croquettes, and drinking Bulgarian wine, we went to bed. I was determined to do more on Sunday.

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Our big Virginia trip, part three– My Dad’s memorial…

Friday was an emotional day. We buried my dad’s ashes on the hillside overlooking the house he grew up in. Jason Grimes, the minister from High Bridge Presbyterian Church came and had a little service for us. I was heartened to hear that he’s from South Carolina, which has a special place in my heart. Go Gamecocks!

My dad grew up going to this church and became a member when he was ten years old. It’s still the “family church”, as it were.

My Uncle Brownlee made the box for my dad’s ashes… I thought the VMI ball cap was a nice touch.

A few hours later, we had a celebration of his life at the church itself. Since I was asked to sing, I was a little nervous. My dad and I have always had a complicated history. Our musical history together is no less complicated than anything else about our relationship ever was. My dad was a singer and used to do a lot of solos in church. When I was very young, I’d plug my ears with my fingers when he’d get up to sing. I usually got in trouble later for doing that. As time went on, I became more tolerant, though I can’t say I was ever a great fan of his singing. I feel comfortable in saying this openly because it’s common knowledge, most of all to my dad. Anyway, I had visions of him sitting up in Heaven with his fingers in his ears.

I sang “Softly and Tenderly”, which is a hymn I discovered while heavily into karaoke. Indeed, I used a karaoke track to accompany myself, since it was the easiest thing to do from thousands of miles away. The version I used is on the soundtrack for the movie, The Apostle, although curiously enough, on the soundtrack it’s an instrumental. A vocal version by Rebecca Lynn Howard is also on the soundtrack, but it’s different than the one I did. No matter, though, since I actually prefer the instrumental version. If you’re curious…

I recorded this a few days after my dad died in July.

So anyway, because I was singing, we had to get to the church early. It was bitterly cold outside, but otherwise a clear, sunny day. I had changed from more weather appropriate attire to a dress and a bright blue piano shawl we bought in Spain last January. Actually, only my feet got really cold. I had strappy, sparkly sandals with no hose. But they looked prettier and were more comfortable than the black pumps I have, which make me walk like an old lady.

We had rehearsed the song two days prior and got the sound system all set up. I was able to sing it from memory then and it sounded good, though one never knows how things will turn out when there are people in attendance. Of course, as we left the church, a big wad of snow fell off the church roof and I got the feeling it was my dad throwing a snowball at me. That’s the kind of thing he would have done. I kind of knew it was going to be alright after that. Sure enough, it was. I stepped up to the mic, my nerves alive and buzzing. At first, my voice came out a bit tremulous because I was nervous and emotional, but then I relaxed a bit and it turned out very nicely. I think my dad was probably pleased.

My cousin, Karen, also performed. She sang “Psalm 23”, accompanying herself on her guitar. I wish I could play guitar, especially as well as she does. There was also supposed to be a rendition of “Amazing Grace”, but apparently none of the musicians in the house got the message. The pastor joked “The Lord wills otherwise.” when no one answered the call to perform that standard during the service.

My hilarious Uncle Carl introduced sort of an “open mic” for anyone and everyone who wanted to talk about my dad. Carl was followed by my Uncle Ed, who needed no mic to tell us a hilarious story about growing up with my dad. Several other people came up to speak, including Zeke Finney, a fellow VMI grad and choir member at the church I grew up in. His wife used to occupy me during church services because my mom was always playing the organ and my dad was always in the choir. My sisters were, by then, mostly out of the house. Two of my sisters spoke. One recited a poem she wrote. Another simply stole the show with heartfelt and funny comments about our dad. I got to see Sue, my lone cousin on my mom’s side. She lives nearby. Last time I saw her was at my wedding in November 2002. She looked good– and tiny, like my sister Becky.

After the service, there was a reception and I got to meet more of my dad’s friends. Another sister presented a very moving video about my dad’s life. There were a lot of photos in the movie that I’d never seen before and a few that I contributed. I would have added a few more, but all my pictures are in storage in Texas.

At the end of the video, we got our rendition of “Amazing Grace”… it came from my dad himself. My sister found a recording of him performing it. It had been years since I had last heard his singing voice. I resisted the urge to put my fingers in my ears and am a better person for it. Some things never change. In all seriousness, it was very fitting that we had a recording of him singing. Music was one of my dad’s true passions. I think he passed that passion on to me.