Jeremiah: Not a Bullfrog

Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine. I never understood a single word he said but I helped him a'drinkin' his w-w-w-what? No, no, no! The song got it all wrong!

Jeremiah is not a bullfrog. Jeremiah was our charming and wonderful driver and guide in Ireland-- but he did become a good friend. I understood most everything he said, Irish accent and all, but I didn't help him to drink his wine. Indeed, he helped us to drink our Guinness and Irish Coffee, taking us to the best pubs along the way.

This is my Gray on the left with Jeremiah. We can't sing his praises loudly enough. He would listen intently to our conversation, picking up on every question and answering it. He switched coaches after two days so that Grandpa PingPong could have a table for playing bridge on the long drives. He got him a wheelchair so that he could see more of everything. He cared about our interests, likes and dislikes and catered to them. How else would we have been able to see a fantastic working sheep dog demonstration or twelve different breeds of sheep in the same location (details tomorrow)?

When we got to Blarney Castle, the Gray decided to kiss the stone and take a fantastic picture from the top.

Meanwhile, I was in a poor mood and just sat outside the castle observing the centuries-old stonework and wondering how it might feel to be locked up in the cold dark dungeons. When I got to the point where I thought it might be nice, I decided I should wander back to the bus, where Jeremiah waited for us.

Now the day before, my sister-in-law had become tired of ordering martinis in bars and pubs only to get some strange-tasting drink that didn't remotely resemble a martini. We thought it would be good if we could find a liquor store and buy our own fixin's. Jeremiah overheard and before we knew it, he had parked in front of an "off-license" store. Delighted, we packed the store and totally astonished the young man working at the counter. We assembled our purchase, and he asked if we had cups. No... he threw them in for free. He asked if we had ice. No.... he bagged some up for us for free. We got some teensy bottles of Jamieson's and Bailey's. He threw in two more of each for free. Amazing!

Back to Blarney. I'm in the poor mood, getting back on the bus. Jeremiah is rubbing his chin and looking out the window. I mention that it's too bad we don't have any ice or I would teach him how to make a martini-- and then drink it myself, of course! He said nothing, but continued to gaze out at the view. A couple of minutes passed, and then he said, "do you have a cup or two?" I did. He took them and said "I think I can get you some ice." He returned forthwith, ice in hand. I think I fell in love with him right then and there. (Shhh...Don't tell his wife (or my husband)!)

Jeremiah's son Gary, 11 years old, is a competitor in Irish folk dancing, and their family traveled to Nashville in July so that he could compete. He placed 8th in the world! The amazingly wonderful thing, though, was that Jeremiah had a friend in, of all places, Dyersburg, Tennessee, a place very familiar to me (and named after relatives of mine).

Anyway...we proceeded on to the Blarney Woolen Mill store there near the castle, where this beautiful old loom was on display. There is a herringbone tweed in progress, and it sports a fly shuttle but looks like it hasn't been in use for a while.

We arrived at our Lodge in Killarney only to find that the carpet was just plain, so I had to resort to the tiles in the bathroom for inspiration:

I did find a beautiful carpet the next day atthe Red Fox Inn, a place outside of Killarney at the beginning of the Ring of Kerry. Believe it or not, the carpet really is this red:

And the Irish Coffee was the best I've ever had.

At some point we had stopped at a pub and I took a picture of these interesting stained glass windows. I have no idea where this was:

Kim has taken notes and at some point I'll be able to connect all the pictures to the places. Here is one of my favorite pictures, with Grandpa Pingpong resting on the bench and watching the boats on the clear blue Irish Sea, while Jeremiah talks to him, his tie blown by the wind.

I miss Ireland, but it really helps to tell you all about it. Wanna go with me next time?

Posted by Sheila at July 29, 2005 07:37 AM Posted to Ireland | Weaving | TrackBack