As I stood outside and greeted the day, like I used to in Ireland, I looked around my familiar setting. Birds, of various types, singing in the trees, the quiet discourse of the morning schedule interrupted by the tranquil stillness of Cooper's Glen, and the whole thought of was it just a dream?
We left the hotel The Temple Bar at an early 9 a.m. getting to the bus stop just as it pulled up, stood on the bus, as it was packed from worried travelers, and began our 24 hour journey home. Dublin Airport was a madhouse, we thought we'd have at least some area to sit in, but the place they put us - along with all the misplaced travelers - was a basement section of the airport where they attempted to beat a World Guinness Record of just how many Americans can you cram into a tiny airport space.
We ran into one classmate who had been the victim of the volcano burping and he was just as happy as us to be flying home. By the time our flight was boarding, there was a completely filled plane, and it was half-full when we flew in the first time.
We then got delayed, which caused an immediate rush of complaints and grumbles - including from myself - of which was quieted down after we actually boarded. Once in the air we all began to settle down and felt our spirits soar. It would be an 8 hour flight to Chicago and then a layover.
We arrived late into Chicago, leaving us with only an hour and a half to check our luggage in, scramble to the other side of the airport and for me to have a quick smoke. Once we actually got to the gate we found we were immediately boarding and another sigh of relief escaped our mouths. So close I kept chanting.
Once in the air I could feel my thoughts begin to try and decipher the last six weeks of my life. How the hell am I going to be able to put this all down in a coherent piece?
The stories, the experiences and the links I have seen throughout my time in Ireland is amazing and so rampant. All throughout the last leg of our journey I kept looking at my wife and thanking Brigid we were on our way home to family and friends. Mostly thanking Brigid for not letting that volcano hold us up any longer.
We stepped off the plane 40 minutes early, grabbed our luggage, met our wonderful niece and drove to Taco Bell. Our first meal was one of savory taco meat and taco condiments of which we suddenly felt a deep thankfulness that we could actually do that - at any time or day - and without having to drive to another city.
How strange that feels. How alien it was to be in America once again after being gone for so long. We drove on what we call normal roads, we can go shopping in what we call normal stores and we can do things later than in most towns and parishes of Ireland. It leaves one wondering of it all.
How Strange
How strange it is to see so many stores,
from where we came there was but a few,
and even less open on a daily basis,
How Strange it is as I awake to different sounds,
no lambs baying in the distance,
no ocean waves to be heard,
How strange is it to be able to drive again,
on the right side of the road,
to have stop lights instead of round-abouts,
How strange it is to walk outside of my bedroom door,
not hearing the daily clatter of friends,
or the midnight door slams,
How strange it is to notice the differences,
to feel so comfortable,
and yet so far away,
How strange is it to have left something behind,
feeling like you haven't really come home,
and yet knowing when you are.
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