Go west, young man (And old broad!)

I've seen lots of young men around here (some very nice looking lads, mind you!)... and I've wondered if they yearn for a time in the west... meaning the USA.

At one point in Irish history, emigration to the States was almost a given for certain generations of Irish. That's no longer the case. The Irish economy is booming and unemployment is almost non-existant. So, I wonder, do people still long to spend time in the US? I rather doubt it. What we've gleened from folks we've met on this trip, the overall opinion of the US isn't very high. The press (I suppose) pretty much portrays our country as one of high crime, unemployment and poor social services. Not a very nice reputation to have, even if it's mostly true.

Just thinking through my fingers here.

John and I have laughed over the last few days about a running joke Kerry and I had when we were here 5 years ago... that soft little dream of starting a B&B and a pub. The B&B would have to be the Lone Star B&B and in addition to the traditional Irish breakfast, we could serve a real southern breakfast. (Guess we'd have to import grits!) Next door, we laughed and said that we'd have a pub called "Kerry O'Curlee's"... Now, John and I have decided it would have to have music EVERY night and not just on weekends. And, it would be nice if there were music sometimes during the lunch time period... for those tourists (like us) who only make it to a pub in the middle of the day for a grand lunch. We have had great times laughing over this dream... who knows... if we win the lottery, we just might have to make the dream come true. (Don't pack your bags just yet, but if the dream became a reality, you'd all have a place to call home in Ireland!)

This morning, after leaving our beautiful Sligo B&B, we zipped up the road for the requisite visit to the grave of W.B. Yeats. While Yeats never truly lived in Sligo, he did have many ties to the area as his great grandfather was rector of the church at Drumcliff, in whose cemetary he is buried (at his own wish). Interestingly enough, in "Under Ben Bulben", Yeats wrote his own epitaph. The poem reads:
Under bare Ben Bulben's head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
An ancestor was rector there
Long years ago, a church stands near,
By the road an ancient cross.
No marble, no conventional phrase;
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:

Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by!

And those words are on his tombstone. Lovely church there, as well, built in the mid 19th century on a spot where Christians have worshipped for over 1500 years. (There's a lot of that around here!)

We have moved on to Westport; made a few phone calls home; had a lovely lunch; and are now ready to move forward, toward Clifden and a drive along the Atlantic Coast. Tonight we sleep in Oughterard. Not sure how to pronounce it either! Then tomorrow is our last day and we make the pilgrimage to the Cliffs of Moher, a truly special place.

We're grand, simply grand. We hope you are all fine.

Take care... and more soon!
Dawn

And now, a wee bit more Yeats...


Aedh Wishes For The Clothes Of Heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Thus endeth the lesson!