Movements through the Landscape

Movements through the Landscape: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9798437622254: Amazon.com: Books

The World I Live In by Mary Oliver

A beautiful poem by Mary Oliver......

I have refused to live

locked in the orderly house of

     reasons and proofs.

The world I live in and believe in

is wider than that. And anyway,

     what’s wrong with Maybe?

You wouldn’t believe what once or

twice I have seen. I’ll just

     tell you this:

only if there are angels in your head will you

     ever, possibly, see one.

Movements through the landscape

My newest collection of poems, Movements through the Landscape, is now available on Amazon in paperback form and as an e-book: Movements through the Landscape: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9798437622254: Amazon.com: Books

This book is a collection of poems originally written in Norwegian and translated into English. I am planning to publish the Norwegian version as an e-book here in Norway. 

Update from the home front February 2022

It's been six months since I stopped working. Six peaceful months of not having to answer to someone else. Six months of reorganizing the way I look at my life and what I want to do with my free time. I don't think there was ever any doubt in my mind that I wanted to focus full-time on writing. So far that seems to be working out well. I just submitted a poetry collection (in Norwegian) to a publisher here in Oslo and am hoping for a positive response. If they don't want to publish it, I'll self-publish it as a Norwegian e-book and then I'll self-publish the English translation on Amazon. I've already translated all the poems into English so it's ready to go at any point. This poetry collection is entitled Movements Through the Landscape (Bevegelser gjennom landskapet in Norwegian). 

I've also finished writing my garden book as well as my book about growing up in Tarrytown NY. I started the latter well over ten years ago, but what with working full-time, personal challenges and other obligations, it's taken a while to finish it. Now I need to find a publisher for this book as well. I'm thinking about self-publishing my garden book. I tried to get a literary agent interested in it last summer but no go. The publishing world can be as elitist in many ways as the world of academia that I happily left behind. Once you get your foot in the door as a published author, your books continue to get published even though they may not be anywhere near as good as your last one. But that's life. As my friend's father used to say, don't let the turkeys get you down. Good advice. Another piece of good advice for building self-esteem and believing in yourself is to stay off social media. It's just a time-waster and a negative spiral that will drag you down. I'd cancel my social media accounts without any problem except that I have enjoyable contact with a number of American friends and family and I'd miss that. We'll see what time brings.

Here's to a productive 2022 for every creative soul I know. Creativity is hard work but it's incredibly rewarding, no matter what type of creativity it is. 

Remembering my brother

My brother Ray died seven years ago today. I still remember the shock of hearing about his death. I was at work and it was all I could do to gather together my belongings, call my husband, and find my way home. Seven years. So much has happened in that space of time. Too much to write about here; there is a lifetime of sadness that has occurred during that time. However, his two children seem to have survived the tragedies that unfolded around them during these years and are now flourishing. Ray would have been so proud of them both. 

I published a poetry collection in 2019 entitled Cemetery Road dealing with his death and with death generally (https://tinyurl.com/muxk95hb). One of the poems in this collection is called Photo of You in a Manhattan Café . I wrote it in 2017, two years after his death, and am including it here. 

And on this day, the second anniversary

Of your untimely death

A long-buried photo of you surfaced

Causing me to catch my breath

 

We had met for lunch in some downtown Manhattan café

That you frequented—eager to share with me your find

Proud that you were working there in that melee

Of New Yorkers milling about with their own kind

 

The contours of your face, your photogenic smile

Your youth that emanates from a decade ago

Your furtive smile, the one that could beguile

And persuade the most stubborn of us so

 

Your hidden secrets that remained unearthed

You did not give them willingly away

And those of us who tried to probe and came away

Unenlightened frustrated rather gone astray

 

If walls could talk, and photos likewise

Perhaps you would still walk upon this earth

And smile your stealthy smile for all to know

That happiness was yours, there was no dearth

Englene (The Angels)--my new poem

I was out walking yesterday afternoon, thinking about a collection of poems (in Norwegian) that I hope to publish this year. One of the poems I happened to be thinking about is called Englene (The Angels). As I was walking under some large trees whose branches were covered in snow, some of the snow fell on me, landing softly on my head and shoulders. I burst out laughing, because my first thought was--angels having fun, dropping some snow on me to see my reaction. It was one of those moments that was more than coincidence, at least that's how it felt to me. 

Here is the poem, first in Norwegian, and then in English: 

Englene               copyright 2021 Paula Mary De Angelis 

Engler på skulderen min Som hvisker i øret mitt Når mørket faller og vinter skraper Mot vinduene med sine skarpe negler Engler som vandrer rundt de gamle traktene Vi hilser dem velkommen selv om Vi vet at de bor et annet sted Langt fra denne verden vi kaller hjem

Jeg står i døråpningen og ser utover vinterenga Dekket med snø og iskrystaller Den strekker seg så langt øynene kan se Et kaldt landskap, men et som kaller til meg Jeg tar på meg kåpe og vandrer ut over den frosne jord Jeg vet ikke hvor jeg skal men jeg vet innerst inne At englene som sitter på min skulder vil vise vei

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Angels on my shoulder Whispering in my ear When darkness falls and winter scrapes Against the windows with its sharp nails Angels wandering around the familiar tracts We welcome them though We know they live somewhere else Far from this world we call home

I stand in the doorway and look out over the winter meadow Covered with snow and ice crystals It extends as far as the eyes can see A cold landscape but one that calls to me I put on my coat and wander out over the frozen earth I do not know where I am going but know deep down That the angels sitting on my shoulder will show the way

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Winter solstice

This is a poem I wrote in 2013 that later became a part of a poetry collection--Remnants of the Spirit World--that I published in 2014. The collection is available for purchase here: Remnants of the Spirit World: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9781495376450: Amazon.com: Books

Solstice

Mid-winter night of nights

The shortest day of days

Walk into darkness’ might

And leave behind the light

Darkness falls upon the land

A weary world adrift in dream

Awaits return of sunshine’s hand

That stays its course upon the stream

What shadows lie in wait

For simple souls who traipse

Into their world of hate

Locked beyond the gate

Gather round the blazing fire

Hands clasped against the gloom

Fear of what events transpire

Chanting as dark shadows loom

And so the shadows lie

Cast doubt upon fair souls

Where shadows do not tread

Just souls have found their stead

Gather round the blazing fire

That warms dark frozen souls

Gather round the cleansing pyre

That burns to make them whole

The longest night of nights

Turns slowly toward the sun

Moving on to longer days

In the end the battle won

O’er darkness and the shadow life

Creatures retreat behind the gate

The cracks filled in with blessed light

Sealed against the wall of hate

Copyright 2013 Paula Mary De Angelis 

In honor of Veteran's Day

We learned to recite this poem in grammar school in honor of Veteran's Day. The first two lines of the poem have remained in my mind even though the rest of the poem has not. The poppy is a symbol of remembrance and hope according to what I have read online. I can remember being given a red paper poppy to pin to my school uniform on Veteran's Day. I always wondered what it symbolized and now I know. We are acknowledging that we remember and support all the armed forces in the world, and that we hope for a peaceful future. 

Poppies grow in my garden; the flowers are lovely but fragile. I'm not sure what type of poppies they are, just that they're red. When the wind blows through the garden it scatters the red petals that are torn off the flowers by the wind. But poppy seeds spread well in a garden and a gardener can end up with a small field of red poppies blowing in the wind. 

In Flanders Fields

BY JOHN MCCRAE

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

 Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

 In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Pardon--my poem from 2011 about wanting to change my life

This is a poem I wrote back in 2011. I understood already then that I was done with the academic work world as I knew it then and know it now. You have to love the political arena, love the fight, love the competition, love to win. Perhaps at one time I did, but at around the time that I wrote the poem I simply wanted no part of the academic political arena anymore. I'm not sure how or even why it happened, just that it did. I think my soul asserted itself and demanded that I pay attention to what it had to say, and I did. This poem is from my collection of poems entitled Remnants of the Spirit World that I published in 2014; you can find it on Amazon: Remnants of the Spirit World: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9781495376450: Amazon.com: Books

Pardon                   copyright Paula M. De Angelis 

Pardon my wandering toward the door

The light beyond it shines so

I turn my head, I hear a call

And see a past that won’t let go.

Pardon my gazing at the floor

While you speak of many things

My soul’s discovered it wants more

Than small ideas and earthly things.

Pardon my wishing for release

From this prison of daily grind.

What I know is I want peace,

Serenity for a weary mind.

Pardon my wandering toward the field

Of dreams and hope and light

I’ve reached the point where I shall yield

The frenzied floor without a fight.

 

A poem for today

 A beautiful poem......

'To know the earth as poetry'

This resonated with me, and I wanted to share it with you. This is mostly how I feel these days. There is a time for everything under the heavens. I'm hoping that the intense pressure to achieve, compete, win, and work till you drop will lessen, and that the stress associated with all of these things will disappear. I've had a lifetime of these things, and I no longer want them. I want quiet, peace, calm and relaxation for the foreseeable future. Maybe in a few years I'll want to rejoin the fray in one form or another. But right now, I want to leave the fray behind. 

My poetry collections

I've been writing poetry for many years, since I was fourteen years old. During the past ten years or so, I've been able to publish most of what I've written over the years as different poetry collections, which I've listed here:

• Cemetery Road, published in 2019
• Quantum Bloom, published in 2015
• One Hundred Haikus for Modern Workplaces, published in 2014
• Remnants of the Spirit World, published in 2014
• Parables and Voices, published in 2011  

All of them are available for purchase on Amazon.com 

My Amazon Author page provides the links to each book: Amazon.com: Paula M. De Angelis: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle

Brilliant poem--The Journey by Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver is fast becoming one of my favorite poets. She speaks to me in nearly every poem of hers I read. 


“The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.”

― Mary Oliver

Happy Easter

Wishing you all a Happy Easter--here are the lyrics to the hymn On Eagle's Wings. This is my prayer for Easter.........


On Eagle's Wings

You who dwell in the shelter of the Lord,
Who abide in His shadow for life,
Say to the Lord, "My Refuge,
My Rock in Whom I trust."

And He will raise you up on eagle's wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

The snare of the fowler will never capture you,
And famine will bring you no fear;
Under His Wings your refuge,
His faithfulness your shield.

And He will raise you up on eagle's wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

You need not fear the terror of the night,
Nor the arrow that flies by day,
Though thousands fall about you,
Near you it shall not come.

And He will raise you up on eagle's wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.

For to His angels He's given a command,
To guard you in all of your ways,
Upon their hands they will bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against a stone.

And He will raise you up on eagle's wings,
Bear you on the breath of dawn,
Make you to shine like the sun,
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.
And hold you in the palm of His Hand.


Songwriter: MICHAEL JONCAS
On Eagle's Wings lyrics © MECHANICAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTION SOCIETY LTD

Cemetery Road--my new poetry collection

I recently published my fifth collection of poetry, entitled Cemetery Road. It was written following my brother's death in 2015. As the book description reads:

How do we deal with the death of a loved one? These poems were written following the untimely death of the author's brother, and touch on our ever-present awareness of mortality as well as on our feelings of loss and grief in connection with death. They also touch on the losses that all of us experience as we age, be they letting go of our past or of our identities in society, and the grief attached to both.

It is available on Amazon.com: http://tinyurl.com/y4ww8xh4

A beautiful poem by Walt Whitman

Out of the rolling ocean the crowd
by Walt Whitman


Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me,
Whispering, I love you, before long I die,
I have travel’d a long way merely to look on you to touch you,
For I could not die till I once look’d on you,
For I fear’d I might afterward lose you.

Now we have met, we have look’d, we are safe,
Return in peace to the ocean my love,
I too am part of that ocean, my love, we are not so much separated,
Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,
As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever;
Be not impatient – a little space – know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land,
Every day at sundown for your dear sake, my love.

Saying goodbye to a wonderful teacher and a dear friend

Some people come into your life and stay there for a lifetime. They are sent to you by God, for a reason. They are generous people--with their time, their patience, their kindness, and their encouragement. They touch your life and change it forever, settling as they do into your heart. If you are so lucky to know such a person, you know that you have been blessed. I honor such a person today--my high school English teacher Brendan (born in Ireland) who noticed the quiet reserved student, and who encouraged her to write poetry. He died yesterday, after a long illness. We had corresponded on and off during the past forty years, mostly during the past decade after our high school reunion in 2009. And of course we connected on Facebook along with everyone else. But gradually there were less and less emails as his illness robbed him of the abilities to walk and to use his hands to write. But the desire to share a poem with me, or vice versa, was always there. Our mutual interest in all things poetic was in itself, poetic. It's not everyday you find someone with whom you can discuss poetry. I will miss that about him, and so much more. He made room for people in his life, and I see from the condolences on his Facebook wall that those many people remember him now. Many of them feel the same way about him as I do, for different reasons. He brought out the best in everyone. He left this world on the same day, January 17th, as the well-known American poet, Mary Oliver, whose poems we both liked. I am sure he has found his home in heaven now. I'd like to think that he and my father, who also loved all things literary, will find a moment together to share and discuss a favorite poem or two should they meet. I hope they do.

There is a poem I wrote when I returned from my first visit to Ireland in 2011, a poem that he really liked. He was thrilled to hear at that time that I had finally gotten to Ireland. I include the poem here. Rest in peace, my dear friend. Fear, dread, and death no longer have any power over you.

In the Shadows of Giants

I walk in the shadows of giants
Stand in the splendor of kings
Mute in the presence of tyrants
Lost in the halls that sing

I roam the passage that beckons
Ancient the call that keens
Lithe is the fairy that reckons
Spirit remains unseen

I fly in the temple of sinners
Eat at the tables of saints
Join with the forces of winners
Scarce are the jabs and the feints

I reel in the smoke of the fire
That burns in the halls of the kings
Fly in the face of ire
Sail with the lords of the rings

I forage the future of time
Divine with the rod of the druids
All things about me sublime
All things about me are fluid

I stand in the shadows of giants
Walk in the presence of lights
Far out upon the horizon
Dancing about me like sprites

I speak in the tongues of the ancients
Keen with the songs of the dead
Free my soul from the dungeons
Of fear, of death, and of dread

Copyright 2011 Paula Mary De Angelis

A beautiful poem by Edgar Albert Guest--Faith

Apropos my last post, that there are no strangers when I travel, I found this beautiful poem online that sums up my feelings about the world when I travel, especially the line That strangers are friends that we some day may meet. Enjoy.......


Faith
by Edgar Albert Guest

I believe in the world and its bigness and splendor:
That most of the hearts beating round us are tender;
That days are but footsteps and years are but miles
That lead us to beauty and singing and smiles:
That roses that blossom and toilers that plod
Are filled with the glorious spirit of God.

I believe in the purpose of everything living:
That taking is but the forerunner of giving;
That strangers are friends that we some day may meet;
And not all the bitter can equal the sweet;
That creeds are but colors, and no man has said
That God loves the yellow rose more than the red.

I believe in the path that to-day I am treading,
That I shall come safe through the dangers I'm dreading;
That even the scoffer shall turn from his ways
And some day be won back to trust and to praise;
That the leaf on the tree and the thing we call Man
Are sharing alike in His infinite plan.

I believe that all things that are living and breathing
Some richness of beauty to earth are bequeathing;
That all that goes out of this world leaves behind
Some duty accomplished for mortals to find;
That the humblest of creatures our praise is deserving,
For it, with the wisest, the Master is serving.

A beautiful poem by William Butler Yeats--The Song of Wandering Aengus

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire aflame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some one called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

by William Butler Yeats

Traveling through Ireland and Yeats country

My husband and I traveled through Ireland this summer, starting in Dublin and working our way west. We started our trip by taking the overnight ferry from Oslo to Kiel, Germany, and then spent the following day driving through Germany to Rotterdam, Holland, where we boarded the overnight ferry to Hull, England. Once in England, we drove from Hull to Holyhead in north Wales, where we got the afternoon ferry to Dublin. We stayed two nights in Dublin, living at the Sandymount Hotel, in the Sandymount area of Dublin that is quite close to the ferry ports. The Irish poet William Butler Yeats (a favorite poet of mine) was born in this area of Dublin, a happy fact that I was not aware of when I booked the hotel. But that is the nature of my travel planning; I happily discover things that I was not aware of and they become an important part of the overall nature of the trip. We did the standard tourist-type things in Dublin--visiting the Temple Bar district to eat Irish food at one of the pubs there, and listening to some live music which I love. There is so much live music at each of the pubs in this area, as well as many street musicians. Lively and fun. We also took the Guinness Brewery tour, which I had done once before, but which my husband wanted to do. We also visited the Christ Church Cathedral, with its crypts in the cellar containing a number of treasures from medieval times.

From Dublin, we traveled west to Galway, but stopped along the way to visit the small town of Banagher, in the county Offaly. From there we drove through the town of Birr, through pleasant Irish countryside, and then on to Adare in County Clare, where my mother's relatives were from. Adare was recently voted as one of the prettiest towns in Ireland, and I can understand why. On our approach into the town, we passed an old castle and an abby, a golf course, and many green parks and open spaces. The town itself was filled with pubs, shops and small bistros; quite charming. The day we were there was 'Market Fair' day, and I ended up buying a lovely green wool cape that was knitted by one of the local craftswomen in the village. We ate lunch at a small bistro, and I had a salad with warm goat cheese and strawberries--just excellent. After Adare, we drove on to Galway, a city on the west coast of Ireland. My husband's colleague had highly recommended it, and we were not disappointed. It was a lovely quaint city. We stayed at the Nox Hotel, and spent the evening walking around. I took pictures at the local cemetery with gravesites marked by the tall Celtic crosses--a quite striking sight. We ate dinner at one of the city pubs, where I had a hamburger that was just so good, as was the beer. We ended up watching one of the World Cup soccer matches, and it was fun to experience that in a pub setting. We then walked around the city, along the harbor and into the city's Latin Quarter, with many street musicians and young people milling about. It was a warm and nice evening. The weather was sunny and warm for most of our trip; it was only when we were driving in Germany on our way home that we experienced pelting rain for some hours.  

After our stay in Galway, we drove north on our way to Sligo, stopping to visit the Knock Shrine in the town of Knock. This is an internationally-known Catholic shrine where in 1879, a group of townspeople saw apparitions of Our Lady, Saint Joseph, and Saint John the Evangelist. It was a peaceful place in a lovely setting, and I’m glad we stopped to visit there.

Our arrival in Sligo brought us into William Butler Yeats country. When I was fifteen years old, I was introduced to the Irish poet William Butler Yeats by my high school English literature teacher, who was Irish-born himself (from Banagher). Yeats was his favorite poet, and he soon became mine as well. Yeats imparted a sense of the Celtic influences and the magic of Irish culture, in a romantic way that appealed to me at that time. All these years later, it still appeals to me, and now I see the true genius of his talent even more clearly. I also understand his importance to Irish culture, literature, and even politics (more by association with his circle of friends). But it is the man who interests me. This was a man who bore an unrequited love for a woman named Maud Gonne; he asked her to marry him seven times, and she refused him each time, but they did remain friends throughout his life. She is considered by many to be his muse. His romantic longings are reflected in some of his early poems. She married the political activist John MacBride (Irish republican) who was executed by the British for his participation in the 1916 Irish Easter Rising in Dublin. Yeats eventually married a woman named George Hyde-Lees, considerably younger than him, who bore him two children, and who was also a great supporter of his writing. She is buried together with him in Drumcliff Cemetery in Sligo, Ireland. We arrived in Sligo in the early afternoon, and stayed at a hotel very close to the center of town. The Garavogue River runs through Sligo, and the river banks are dotted with one charming pub or restaurant after another. Again there was live music at many of them, which is one of the many things I love about Ireland. Sligo and the surrounding area were Yeats (and his family's) favorite places in Ireland, as I found out from the guide at the Yeats Memorial Building who told us the story of his life. Their mother was from Sligo, and they spent their childhood summers there, with fond memories of their stays there. Yeats is buried in Sligo, at the Drumcliff Cemetery surrounding St. Columba church, a ten-minute drive north of the town. From the cemetery, you can view the Benbulbin rock formation; you can also see it from Sligo as well. We visited Yeats' gravesite—plain and simple, no fuss surrounding it, probably as Yeats wanted. His epitaph reads 'Cast a cold eye on life, death, Horseman, pass by'. At the end of his life, Yeats had found the objective eye he had perhaps sought. Or even if he had not longed for objectivity, he had attained a certain amount of it after a long life. He was no longer the romantic poet and man of his youth. We become more objective as we grow older, at the same time as our romantic longings become a treasured part of our past. 

We drove from Sligo to Monaghan along the scenic route, a narrow winding road that led us past several lakes and through idyllic countryside. Ireland is dotted with small farms and houses, but all of them are on roads that lead to main roads, even if they have what appear to be rural locations. You can be certain that you will eventually meet a main road even if you think that you are lost in the middle of nowhere. Once we got to Monaghan, the search began for the Castle Leslie Estate in Glaslough, County Monaghan. My husband had seen a culinary program on the National Geographic or Discovery channel that included the Castle Leslie, and his interest (and mine) were piqued. So I checked it out on google, and sure enough, you could book an overnight stay as well as your wedding reception if so inclined (this is where Paul McCartney and Heather Mills got married and had their wedding reception, as we discovered). The Leslie family own the 1000 acres that make up the property, and have renovated the 'castle' so that it can house paying guests. I had booked the 'Green Room', which had been the room of Sir John Leslie, as we later found out. This room overlooked the lake on the property and had a fairly complete view of the surroundings. Before dinner, we took a walk around half of the lake, meeting horseback riders as we ambled. After dinner, we had coffee in the garden with the fountain, and then walked down to the lake's edge to look at the lake and the boathouse. Fishing is allowed, so boat rental is not a problem as long as you know how to operate the rowboats. There were a lot of pike in the lake, some quite large as we saw from the photos of one man who had caught a few of them. It’s hard to describe how lovely this place really is; you have to experience it. It is definitely a place to stay for couples who want to get away from the stresses of the modern world and relax, if only for a few days. There are no TVs in any of the rooms, and the entire place has a calming effect upon the soul—no stress, no worries, no hustle and bustle. Just peace and serenity.

The following day, we drove back to Dublin and spent the afternoon relaxing, before we found another charming pub where we ate shepherd’s pie and drank a few beers. The food in most of the pubs is very good, from shepherd’s pie to beef stew (with Guinness beer in it) to hamburgers. I love it all. It reminds me of some of the food I ate growing up, since my mother made shepherd’s pie and excellent beef stews.

We then made the trip home, taking the ferry from Dublin to Holyhead, the ferry from Hull to Rotterdam, and then driving to Frederikshavn in Denmark (instead of to Kiel), so that we could get the day ferry to Oslo. The trip went as planned, with no hitches, and it was a good to know that there still exist car ferries that will take you to England and Ireland from mainland Europe. It’s also possible to drive through the Eurotunnel (the Channel tunnel) from France to England, which we did a few years ago. It’s nice to have your own car with you, as we’ve discovered, rather than renting one, which of course can also be an option if you want to drive around Europe as we enjoy doing. Perhaps in a few years, we will be traveling through Europe in an RV; it’s something we’re talking about. But for now, it’s good to be traveling the way we do; we learn as we go, and tackle new challenges and experiences as well. Some photos will follow in my next posts.......