What's in Dave's Head

The house we rented in Dingle is a 20-minute stroll from the town center on an unnamed road that’s off another unnamed road, which unlike the other is paved. The paved road is wider, enough for two small cars to pass if they squeeze against the hedgerows at a crawl, and features blind, hilly curves. The speed limit on the larger road is 80 kilometers per hour, or 50 miles per hour, which seems a little optimistic. Directly behind the house is a mountain, covered on the lower parts either with thick, impassable waist-high thorn bushes or mucky, swampy ground covered with chest-high grass. Three years ago, when Donna and I and Donna’s siblings and their spouses stayed at the same house, we walked up the gravel road a ways and discovered a path through the obstacles that led to the top of the mountain. Besides offering spectacular panoramic views of Dingle Harbor, Dingle Bay, the town, surrounding vibrant green fields dotted with sheep and cows and the mountains across the harbor (wat

Donna and I spent two wondrous weeks in Ireland to belatedly celebrate a milestone wedding anniversary. We had intended to go in January, but Covid at the time was still raging, making travel an iffy at best proposition, so we postponed to October. During this, our fourth Ireland trip, we: Contributed to the decline in the world fish population and beer reserves and enjoyed the craic and comfort of the outstanding restaurants and pubs across the Republic... Walked and hiked many, many miles in towns, villages, and a national forest, and made at least one very bad choice along the way that led to a perilous situation... Were awed by the wild, majestic beauty of the sea-dominated geography... Learned about the history of the inhabitants of the Blasket Islands, toured ancient churches, monasteries, and cemeteries, and visited Killeagh , the village from which Donna’s mother’s family (O’Keeffe) emigrated three generations ago... And, in addition to much, much more, engaged with many che

You pile up enough tomorrows, and you’ll find you’ve collected nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays. So says The Music Man’s Professor Harold Hill, the name taken by a traveling scam artist peddling marching band instruments in the rural Midwest in the early 1900s. Donna and I are heeding that sound advice by striving to have as few empty yesterdays as possible. We recently returned from a trip to New York City, during which we saw the magnificent Hugh Jackman in Meredith Willson’s masterpiece and had other adventures over a couple perfect fall days. Getting there We took a Megabus from White Marsh to Manhattan and back for about the cost of just parking a car for two nights, never mind the tolls, gas, and stress of driving. A good way to go, but we might try a train next time. Wi-fi didn’t work either way and the seats aren’t the most comfortable. You can’t walk around except to use the restroom, so we were sti ff when we got off. Nits, but still. We arrived mid-day and Ub