In July of 1984 Chrissy and I went to Ireland on a week guided tour of Ireland that was spent three days in Limerick and then to Dublin for three days and back to Limerick and the Shannon airport.  In July of the next year we returned, but this time on our own, no bus, no guided tour.  But with both visits we had the experience of visiting a real Irish home - not just being a B&B guest, but a guest to the Irish.

The first time we met a guy named Tom (Chrissy said all the Irish guys are either Tom of John) and when we told him we had rented a car and were going to go to Blarney castle, he suggested that he drive us there, and we could also visit his "Mum" who lived nearby in Bantry Bay.  In Ireland they drive on the other side of the road, and our rented car was a shift stick that Chrissy had never used.  When the rental agent brought the car to our hotel he offered to give Chrissy a lesson on shifting.  I was having a cup of tea and thought best to not be a part of it.  I was right because in half an hour, they returned - both their faces were bright red, but I think the rental car agent was brightest and he could barely speak as he rushed out.  "What happened?" I asked Chrissy, who had ordered a pint, and was downing it quickly.  "Oh, " she said, "I was doing good, until I had to put it into fourth gear, and I accidently went into reverse.  The car jumped straight up into the air and that was the end of my lesson."  So, when we had an offer to be driven to the castle, we thought it a good idea.

We set out early the next morning.  We started to realize that Tom (or John) was a little unusual when he stopped to have us pick strawberries in a field to bring to his mother.  We got to the castle, climbed the dangerously small stairs, kissed the stone, and were off to meet Mum.  The house was beautiful - like somthing out of the movie The Quiet Man.  It was right on the ocean, their dogs, two collies, were frolicing near the edge of the water.  In the house, the TV was on, a game show from American, and Mum greeted us warmly, although it was hard to understand a word she said.  Two bachelor uncles appeared in the kitchen, looking at Chrissy and myself as if we had dropped in from heaven.  After a short visit, he left to return to our hotel, but the Irish visit outshone kissing the Blarney Stone by a mile.

The next year we visited the home of John ( maybe Chrissy was right) Quaid.  I had met him in Tivoli when he was working on the horse farm.  After his visa ran out, he had returned to Ireland and graciously invited us to his home.  We drove up, hestitantly, was this it?  The hedges were covered with laundry drying, no clothesline in sight.  Chickens roamed about the yard, and then the door opened and John came out, followed by his parents, both adorable, with white, white hair, and blue, blue eyes.  "Come in, come in" they ushered us into a small sitting room.  Newspapers were in piles all over the floor, the chairs we sat on were missing legs, held up by a brick instead.  They offered us large bottles of beer (Chrissy and I could never find bottled beer in Ireland) and then to a "tea" that was everything but tea.  Piles of smoked salmon, a platter of delicious potato salad with dill and peas, the bread so good, that we couldn't stop eating it and then a cake made, as John's mother said, with a dozen eggs.  What a feast.  We took pictures of them and they took pictures of us.  John and his brother looked sad as they said goodbye...sad that they weren't going home to America.  We said, "We'll be back" and they said, "See you soon', but we never did get back to see them.  I wonder now if I ever will get back.