This is the first of what will I'm sure will be many posts, several of which will think they are funny (even if this proves a minority opinion) and will run the gamut from the superficial to the inane and back again.  But, as if to prove that all things worthless and weak started out somewhere strong and hopeful, I've chosen a more somber subject for this first blog entry.  Just before Thanksgiving, I had the chance to travel back to Ireland, this time on business, and had the good fortune to take my sweetheart with me.  We hoped to grab a quick getaway once business was concluded, to be sure, but more importantly, we also leapt at the opportunity to take care of something we'd been putting off for quite a while: the scattering of ashes belonging to our respective Mothers - now three years gone and still dearly missed.

Any adult who has lost a parent, particularly after growing up with a single mother or father, will tell you that the grieving process can last quite a while.  Close relationships mourned, more distant or problematic ones regretted ... and the occasional stumbling over a keepsake or remembrance that brings fresh pangs of loss or remorse.  After our Moms passed on within 6 months of each other in 2005, we'd each worked our way through the process, and the events of the past year somehow brought us around to the plan:  find a likely spot during our drive across Ireland and scatter the ashes to the fine Irish breeze.

Now, if you are planning to travel abroad with the remains of a loved one, it's wise to read up on the regulations for this sort of thing: it's recommended that you keep a copy of the death certificate and perhaps the cremation record for good measure.  Then, you might want to think about whether you are putting these items in your checked baggage or placing them in carry-on: you have a real conversation starter on your hands if you are singled out for screening at security.  Lastly, your airline may have some concerns to address, not to mention the host country.  All in all, our travel was without incident and we arrived in Ireland without having made up our minds where to scatter the ashes.

Our first choice of location was not an option - the Dingle Peninsula in the southwest of Ireland has special meaning for us, having visited several times and rented a cottage there for one glorious week some time ago.  This time, we would be staying further east, first in Co. Cork and then briefly in Co. Kilkenny in the southern-central part of the country.  Instead, we chose a magnificent spot with a panoramic view - a turnout on the road that lets down from the Knockmealdown Mountains onto the sweeping plains of Co. Tipperary below.  The spot is called 'The Vee', comprising a notch in the mountains where the road crosses from the south.  Not only is the view spectacular but there are several trails that run across the hills, some leading to a series of 'beehive huts', 6th century stone dwellings used by the early Christian hermits, so named because of their distinctive shape.

But, the weather was against us - a soft rain had been falling throughout the day as we drove northeast, and a gusty breeze made plans for scattering ash seem unwise at best and foolhardy at worst.  We agreed to continue to look for a suitable spot but pray for a break in the rain.  As we neared the turnoff for The Vee, we put the decision in the hands of the Fates ... if there was some sign of clearing, we would take the road to Clogheen, at the foot of the mountains - if not, we would press on to Kilkenny and hope for better weather on the next day and a different location TBD.  As we approached the roundabout (rotary) for the junction of the two routes, we could see sunshine off in the distance towards the gap.  Still, we hesitated - we had gotten a late start and the detour now would undoubtedly push our arrival in Kilkenny past sunset.  Should we?

In a moment that assured us of our direction and warmed our hearts for the task ahead, we glimpsed a rainbow forming above us as the sunshine and clouds battled for eminence in the sky.  Turning towards the mountains, we watched the rainbow grow larger as we sped east and then briefly south, passing through Clogheen and driving up into the hills before us.  Fresh rain had chased the colors from the sky by the time we reached the turnout, forcing us to cover our heads and seek shelter from the wind on the lee side of an outcropping.  We followed the trail for a bit until we found a spot we liked and stopped, collecting our thoughts.  We each said a few words, calling to mind the faces that we knew so well and speaking to each of them as best we could.  At last we opened the containers we had brought and shook the last of their earthly selves out over the land below us.

We hiked back to the car and dried ourselves off, laughing at our wet hair and glasses.  We stayed awhile to take in the view and snapped a few pictures as the rain lightened a bit, revealing more of the landscape stretching into the distance.  Finally, we drove on, down into the vale of Tipperary  and on into the fading light of day.  Having waited so long to perform this ritual of respect and remembrance, we were relieved.  

There has always been something about the feel of Ireland that has spoken to me.  The smell of the earth, the 'thousand shades of green' that my mother used to recall from her own trip there, the wonderful interplay of light and shadow that paints the landscape as the ever-changing weather moves across the land.  Now, our memories of loss and melancholy are mingled there as well.  Still, I feel less sadness when I think of my Mom.  I think she would be happy to be in Ireland again.  Perhaps she would be proud that it meant so much to me to take her there.  I hope so.