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Glenveigh: Travel Goals Ireland
James Bond is on my mind as I drive through County Donegal to reach Glenveigh National Park. It is eerily foggy as we wind through the hills. When I checked the map earlier this morning, it looked like a straightforward drive on the highway to Letterkenny and onward to Glenview. Now my husband is navigating. He and his GPS have me on cow paths. I am literally following tractor ruts through farm country. I am expecting a supervillain to appear on a runaway tractor at any second, because the country looks more and more like the Scottish highlands in “Skyfall”.
Eventually I grow tired of complaining about the road conditions and find the parking lot. There is construction everywhere and finding the visitor center is a bit of a scavenger hunt. Once we get to the main building, we try to pay for the bus to the castle by the lake. The attendant simply points and says “free.” This may be fewest words I have ever heard an Irish man speak. (Maybe I did magically arrive in Scotland?) With no other words forthcoming, back into the mist we go to find the mysterious bus stop.
There is no bus in sight, but the stop has a good view of the lake. It is beautiful in the cool, cloudy weather. By the time the bus arrives, there is a full load of people waiting to board.
The ride along the lake is uneventful and we are glad we didn’t hike up to the house as it is raining heavily. I try to catch glimpses of the lake and castle, but it is pretty foggy. An American family is becoming increasingly loud and unruly at the back of the bus. Thankfully, we are pulling into the lot.
As I am walking to the side walk, a teenager runs by and I am body slammed…. by her father. It seems they think it is a good idea to play tag coming off of a crowded bus. Shoved violently to the side, I struggle to keep my feet and clutch my side where I am sure a bruise must be forming. The mother eyes me warily and hisses at her children to hurry on. They disappear around the corner with no apology. I shake my head. Not exactly a super villain encounter, but I have met my nemesis. If only I had a sound track to make the encounter as dramatic as it felt to me. (Da da Da Daaa).
We head inside to sign up for the house tour. The interior is more modern than I was expecting. There are strange furnishings like a chair that weighs you as you sit. It is said the host wanted to prove that guests gained weight as a result of lavish hospitality. I think I would pass.
In the dining room, a screen sits in the corner with mirrors mounted at angles. Apparently the servants had to stand out of sight and with their backs turned. They used the mirrors to see what the guests may need. No wonder it is easy to impersonate the help in all the spy movies…no one actually noticed them.
Eventually we walk the gardens and trails as the rain stops. The views of the hills descending into the lake make me remember time in Scotland. I walk farther up the hills and smell the heather. The mist tickles my nose. I remember standing in the highland pass where Skyfall was filmed. It is warmer here and perhaps not as dramatic.
Headed downhill, we wander through themed gardens. Apple trees are trained to follow the fence lines. There is an Asian garden, and a Roman garden. So many beautiful possibilities.
But it is afternoon and we are hungry. I am not a super spy. I am just a reasonably fit retiree hiking my way to lunch. The restaurant is in the walled garden and is named “Synge and Byrne Tearoom”. Gotta love the Irish sense of humor.
I don’t know if James Bond ever enjoyed a pot of Earl Grey and a slice of Banoffee pie. I’m pretty sure he didn’t recount tales of his exploits at the “battle of the shuttle bus”. He probably didn’t complain that the mist was making his knees stiff as he descended a mountain. But as I walk around the edge of the lake in the rain to the bus stop, the theme song is playing in my head. I think I will stop here at the boat dock and belt out at least the first verse and chorus of Skyfall as I take a few pictures of the fog rolling in. After all, the best movies are the ones you make in your head.
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An Afternoon in Kiltyclogher: Travel Goals Ireland
There is a comfort in community, ritual, and celebration. It helps us feel rooted in a place. It helps define our sense of belonging. At home, we participate with our friends and family and take our place in the community. When we travel, we often find ourselves on the fringe of a community celebration.
In Iceland we were invited to an all night town celebration where neighborhoods competed in games, songs were sung, and the entire town spent the night sitting on a hillside enjoying 24 hours of daylight. It was a memorable experience. So when our farmer friend, invited us to an all day festival just a few miles from our rented farmhouse, we decided to visit. The Stonywoods festival lasted three days officially. But most of the events were held on a Sunday.
We got up early and visited Sean McDiarmada’s homesite. Sean was a local man (I am told he was related to my new friend) who took part in the Easter rising and was executed at Kilmainham Gaol. So in this part of Ireland, where the troubles are part of living memories, the McDiarmada cottage is a heritage site. Sean is a martyred legend with statues to ensure remembrance.
On the way to the cottage, we had to back down the one lane road to allow a large tractor to pass. They were on their way to town for church and apparently the tractor run that would occur shortly afterwards. At the McDiarmada cabin, we were greeted by sheep. The cabin wasn’t open. No matter. Music played softly inside and we walked the grounds with our wooly escorts. It was a peaceful place.
I thought about the farmer’s stories of bombs and destruction. I wondered about the price of freedom and why others will fight to oppress others. Is it greed? Power? Prejudice? But this was a festival day, so I put those heavy thoughts aside.
Back in town we saw lots of cars but no people. We stopped at the community center and found a lovely bake sale. There were volunteers but no shoppers. I bought Banoffee pie and soda bread. I also asked about the people.
The people, it turns out were all at the church. Family groups stood together beside the family grave sites waiting for the priest to bless the grave of their ancestors. It was something I had not seen before, but it evoked feelings of connection and family. It made me think of the power of remembrance and respect of elders. I thought of my own family and gave thanks. I spent some time inside the empty church to pray.
A stranger suggested that if we wanted food and drink that we may want to get to the local pub before the crowd moved from the church. So we found the corner pub and claimed a window seat. People began to stream in until you couldn’t walk due to the crowd. We somehow managed to grab steaming hot fish and chips and a beef burger in the chaos.
As I was finishing off my chips (fries), the pub owner came out and tossed us all out in the street. She wanted to watch the tractor run and she locked up the pub behind her. This meant we all had to go out and watch the tractor run. It seemed like every person in the county owned a tractor and drove them through Kiltyclogher. People cheered as they passed. They drove around the McDiarmada statue on the roundabout and then on down the highway. Apparently they had a several mile course through the country. Just when I thought it was over, the lead tractors were on their way back to more cheering.
There were endless tug o war contests held in the middle of the only road through town. Cars just had to wait until a break in the action. There was laughter. There was music. There was even a sheep auction. I wondered if any of these guys were my buddies from the farm.
Somehow in all the excitement, we missed our friend. He was looking for us and we were looking for him. But hours of onlooking in a cold misty rain made me crave the peat fire at home. Kiltyclogher was still in full festival mode, but we were ready for rest. I enjoyed my day. Communities coming together….that is something we need to see more often.
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Sligo in the Rain: Travel Goals Ireland
Sometimes in Ireland the rain sets in. There is nothing to be done except to find an umbrella and sing. We find ourselves in Sligo on such a day. Using our trusty Google Maps, we find a large parking lot near the town center. So we arrive at Sligo Abbey only half drenched.
The ticket taker suggests I borrow a “proper” umbrella. It’s twice the size of my travel umbrella so I accept his kind offer. With the protection of a very large umbrella and stone arches, we have an enjoyable hour of exploration. Ancient abbeys are fascinating to me.
The hour passes quickly and it is still raining. We stroll the high street. We try to find lunch but everything seems closed. Finally we find a wonderful Italian bistro. Half the city is here trying to fortify themselves before heading back out into the rain.
We pay to visit the Yeats museum and then immediately wish we hadn’t. The fee is steep to walk a circle in a single room and read quotes from poems. They have a few family photos, and not much else. But we are dry.
Across the street, we find the Sligo County Museum. It is free. It is also a delightfully jumbled multi-room collection of artifacts. We spend time reading and exploring. I encounter Countess Markewitz for the first time. Why don’t I know about this amazing woman who fought for Irish independence? I am intrigued. I see reading in my future.
Our final stop is at the model. It is an art gallery, community center, coffee shop and probably other things. We came for the art. Everyone else apparently has other purposes. We are alone in the gallery. Like everything else in Sligo, it features the Yeats family. Apparently in addition to the famous poet, there were artists.
My spouse is uninspired. Art is not his thing. But just as I am drawn to the words of W.B., I also see glimmers of the soul in the paintings of Jack. I ponder and linger. It is still raining and here I am warm and dry. A subtle rustling and shifting of feet lets me know it is time to go. Our day in Sligo is ending. Time to head back. Perhaps will we find a pub with a nice peat fire to while away the last of the day. If I am lucky, there will also be Guiness stew.
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Becoming
Yesterday was my birthday. It was a day much like any other. I went to work and took care of the tasks that needed attention. But my husband bought beautiful flowers reminding me of his love. My son called multiple times to talk and let me know he loved me. I got dozens of texts and messages throughout the day. The small gestures in an otherwise normal day filled me with warmth.
I have simple goals in life. To love and be loved. To contribute more than I take from my community. To experience and know the world (largely through reading, study, and travel). And to remain, despite it all a person of integrity.
As I take stock of my year, it is hard to judge my progress. I have traveled. I have tried to contribute in both my personal and professional life. I have tried to remain true to my core values. But the world seems harder to navigate somehow. There is a lot of ugliness that seems unnecessary. I struggle with a world in which learning, core principles, and truth itself no longer seems to matter. I don’t know what to do with performative politics and the partisan weaponization of my religion.
As a student of history, I ponder comparisons. I recently read a scholar who claimed that Oliver Cromwell in The English Civil Wars way back in 1640 started an inverted snobbery. “I am a plain man, no nonsense about me. And no manners, grace, or generosity either”, said Cromwell. He wore his lack of learning and manners like a badge of honor. The author went on to say that in some parts of the (U.S.) states I understand it’s (an end of) a man’s political life to go to some constituencies with a tie and coat on. That’s being stuffed shirt. The ideal is to be one of the boys.”
Abraham Lincoln is a personal hero and he certainly retained the popular image of a simple “rail splitter”. However Lincoln was smart and exceptionally well read. He valued knowledge and personal integrity. Why is anti-intellectualism suddenly a virtue? Why is empathy suddenly scorned? Why is civility out of favor?
I choose those values anyway.
I sit here pondering the past year and I can’t help recalling a quote that I ran across in a book I was reading in our rental apartment in Oslo. (Scandinavians love books and the house had lots to choose from). Here is the quote: “It is an odd thing, but when you tell someone the true facts of a mythical tale they are indignant not with the teller but with you. They don’t want to have their ideas upset. It rouses some vague uneasiness in them, I think, and they resent it. So they reject it and refuse to think about it. If they were merely indifferent it would be natural and understandable. But it is much stronger than that….they are annoyed.”
As I reflect on my year, I realize that as I live my values I must speak out when civility, truth, or academic integrity is threatened. I must live the tenets of my Christian faith and uphold the constitutional principles that I value. My integrity demands it. But, in doing so I realize that many I hold dear may be challenged, or annoyed, or exhausted by my living of my core beliefs. It is easier to acquiesce, to look the other way or to comply in order to fit in. In fact someone recently advised me not to pay attention, stating that was how they got along. Alas, I cannot ignore the world around me.
I choose to live my values anyway.
On my birthday, I choose to love my ordinary life. I choose to pursue my life goals. I choose to live my values, even when they are difficult. I choose to treat others with dignity, empathy, and compassion. I will do so imperfectly, but I choose to learn from my mistakes and do better…..
“If possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”
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The Great Lake: Rural Road Trip
Sandwiched between a visit with our kids in Chicago and a work trip in Milwaukee, we squeezed in a day of enjoying rural Lake Michigan. After walking the granddogs to the local bakery for breakfast and a leisurely walk, we loaded up the car and headed North.
The day was sunny, warm and beautiful. After meandering through the countryside, we stopped in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Their park afforded a lovely stroll along the lake front. I must admit that I am always amazed at the size of the lake. It feels more like being at the sea than a lake. The park had statues and lighthouse views along the waterfront.
After getting our fill of the fresh clean air, we wandered over to the free museum. I was pleasantly surprised by the collections of dinosaurs, and native artifacts. The galleries were small but well done. We had fun learning about the large digs in nearby fields and the continuing efforts of excavation.
Sometimes, it is worth it to drive the backroads through farms and small towns. Life is peaceful and slower paced here. There will be time for Chicago’s hustle and Milwaukee’s bustle. Today I just want to drive with my windows down and smell the grain fields. I want to look at endless blues and watch the colorful sails of boats. I want to visit with the volunteer who proudly greets visitors. I want a gas station snack stop and good music on the radio. Rural road trips are often aimless guilty pleasures.
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I Too Am America
When talking heads try to define what it means to be an American with their endless flag waving , fireworks, and angry cries; I calmly lift a steady gaze. With a firm voice, I say clearly, “I too am America.”
My people were the first to walk these woodland trails until the trail turned to tears. But we are still here. My people came on the first boats to find freedom to worship as they chose and were content until religion was turned into a tool of power once again. In every age there are people who use dogma for control, but we still seek the path of simple faith and resist the manipulation of those who would subvert it for gain. We still obey the God who commands us to love one another, care for the poor, take care of widows and orphans, and welcome the immigrant.
My people fought each other in a bloody civil war. They bled over the right for all men to be free. They have been racists and abolitionists. My people fought in foreign lands to fend off dictatorships and prevent genocide. They served with valor. We are still here serving.
My people have been the oppressors and the oppressed. Dirt farmers, tenants, slave owners, preachers, miners, moonshiners, factory workers, janitors, housemaids, illiterate dropouts, collegiate scholars, country bumpkins, and city slickers all bound up together in a history that is complex and teeming with flaws and missteps. But we are still here working hard, dealing with adversity, and trying to find the best way forward in a messy world.
I too am America. We have a proud history of progress. But that history is meaningless if we can’t be honest about what that history cost. My people suffered and they also caused suffering. Land taken. Land gained. Rights unevenly applied. My people have criticized, protested, and claimed a variety of political affiliations, Our positions drawn and redrawn as we imagined a better future, one struggle at a time. We haven’t always been right. But we are here seeking, learning and adapting.
I too am America and will not be reduced to a single vision of what it means to be an American. My heritage is that of many diverse voices. And I will lift my voice for all of those who came before and those that will come after. The diverse, beautiful, fully human, often flawed, people trying to make their way in the history of this democratic republic are not forgotten. We are still here stronger for the struggles and diverse backgrounds. I too am America and so are you. “We the people” has room enough for us all.
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Somewhere Beyond the Sea: Travel Goals Ireland
We visit Ireland for simple pleasures. Today was a classic Irish adventure. We took our time leaving the farmhouse. I had a nice chat with the sheep in the front yard while packing my roadtrip snacks of oranges and Taytos. Our destination was the west coast of counties Sligo and Donegal.
It was overcast as we drove the ring road of Mullaghmore. This worked in our favor as there was no one here with us except few local joggers. We gathered from the many signs that this was unusual. The views were still incredible despite the mist.
Classiebawn Castle held court beyond a rocky coastline under the shadow of Ben Bulben. We took our time savoring the views. I walked a bit and talked to the local cattle that came to the fence line. (You should always be nice to the neighbors.) Eventually we reached the town. Sailboats and fishing vessels lined the pretty little harbor. Like a few other couples, we grabbed an icecream and walked the harbor front park.
The next stop was Creevykeel court tomb. It sits just down the road behind an unremarkable car park. From the gate it looks like a pile of rocks. But we kept walking, and soon realized why it is an important megalithic monument site. Dating from 4,000 B.C., the standing stones evoke an otherworldliness. We were the only ones onsite (except for the person sleeping in their car in the lot), and it was cloudy with a light mist. It was easy to imagine Celtic warriors here. As we climbed under lintels and over thresholds, I truly felt connected to another time. Unfortunately, we were fully grounded in present and getting hungry.
So we drove up the road to the lovely seaside town of Bundoran. It seemed to me to be an Irish Atlantic City. Pubs, casinos, music venues, arcades, and shops lined several blocks. Like most beachside areas, it was a bit run down without the glitz of the night lights. Daytime was definitely not prime time.
An amusement park and waterpark dominated the beach. A golf course and seaside trail sat on the outskirts as a simpler alternative. The natural beauty of the area beckoned along a cliff walk trail.
Hungry, we headed first into town. I picked the Chasin Bull. Lunch wasn’t served for about fifteen minutes, but in Ireland an Irish coffee is always available to chase away the chill. When the food came, it was tasty. The staff was friendly. We lingered and regrouped. On an Irish adventure, there is no need to rush. With this principle in mind, I also visited a few shops.
We walked down to the beachside amusement park and opted to play a round of mini golf. In a rare stroke of luck, I hit the hole that supposedly led to a hole in one on the next level of the course. Except my ball did not come out of the hole. So I walk down to the lower green and kneeled down to look in the tube the ball went into. I stuck my hand in and came out with my ball. It had a hitchhiker. A large snail had attached itself to the golf ball, preventing it from exiting. Another Irish natural encounter left me speechless.
I spent the next hour on the rougey cliff walk. We climbed the steep trail to the cliffs and were rewarded with a spectacular view of the bay. I left my husband sitting overlooking the beach and continued on. I passed the golf course and some cattle pastures. I watched fishermen and dodged joggers. I found the fairy bridges and continued on to Tullan Strand. I was in a walker’s paradise. At least until I turned to face into the wind. It was an uphill battle with a bitter, cold wind in my face. The spots of rain added a little sting. But even that couldn’t detract from the beauty of the place. The few hearty souls on the trail greeted each other with the secret smile of those who realize the power of place and the drive to push on.
It was late in the day as we headed back to Leitrim and home. But we made one last stop at Drumcliffe.There, in the shadow of Ben Bulben, lies the grave of Yeats. It was simple and unremarkable. But it is in the churchyard where his grandfather preached, in the country he loved, in the region he immortalized in verse. Near the parking lot was a memorial with one of his poems, “….tread softly because you tread on my dreams”. It moved me.
As we drove home, I thought that every day we tread on dreams of others and ourselves. What a responsibility. Today, I think we used our footsteps wisely. I made new memories and also realized my dreams of travels and adventures in new places. We had pleasant encounters with local people. We shared life together. Tread softly indeed….tread softly.
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State Park Adventure: Rural Road Trip
There is something very relaxing about a camping trip. I sound hypocritical to my own ears when I say that the trick is a minimalist mindset (we own a class A motorhome). I know people who won’t camp that talk about the work involved. Less is truly more. (And I still think a backpack is all you really need).
You have to do a bit of pre-planning. But give me I cast iron skillet, a coffee pot and a spatula and I can cook anything over the fire. (I do carry charcoal in case I want to bake.) Breakfast meal prep is a can of biscuits and a pack of bacon. Burgers or steak make a hearty evening meal. Lunchtime is usually not required due our big breakfast, but grapes or cheese can be a pleasant snack. Anything tastes better if you cook it and eat it outdoors.
Clothes are packed for the weather and the activity. Just a few shirts, pants and perhaps a jacket. Equipment is minimal. A few lawn chairs to sit by the fire, my fire tools, and a hiking stick are all I really need. If we are staying several days we will bring the canopy to cover the picnic table and our e-bikes.
Each trip is unique. Sometimes I live in the woods. I hike the hills and I drink in the solitude like a dehydrated person needing water. Other trips we visit with family and friends. Sometimes, the parks offer adventure such as caves or zip lines. In some locations, I bike or kayak.
I’ve been visiting parks since I was a child. Often, when I am walking I will notice a plant and in my head I will hear my grandfather explaining the properties of sassafras or ginseng. I see pine stumps and think of the many times we went foraging for kindling (this is not allowed in state parks, just to be clear).
Sometimes, we encounter unexpected surprises like the day a stranger left a hummingbird feeder, nectar and a note encouraging us to enjoy or stay. Another time, we found a dinosaur left behind in the dirt (now our camping mascot). Or we find a stash of river rocks and are reminded of fun times with our beautiful children.
But life is more relaxed now. It’s just the two of us with plenty of time to kill. We do what we want to do, when we want to do it. A two hour walk around a lake, a campfire coffee break, or maybe a nap are possibilities. We might drive to town, or find a local restaurant.
I can spend hours just walking, thinking, and enjoying the beauty of creation. The forest never disappoints. Camping for me is slowing down and disconnecting. It is discovery of nature . It is learning to make space for yourself.
I love our public spaces. Parks are truly state and national treasures. If you stay in a state park and happen to be up early and you notice a woman up at dawn making coffee over the fire in a battered, blackened coffee pot…. Stop and say Hi. It is probably me. Not many people make their coffee the old fashioned way. But it is the best coffee. You should try it. And make sure you try out our wonderful parks.
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Character Matters: Educating For Sanity
When we talk about “character,” we’re referring to the values and traits that guide how a person thinks, feels, and acts. It’s the compass people use to navigate relationships, challenges, and decisions in school, at home, and out in the world.
A person of strong character consistently chooses to do the right thing—even when it’s not the easy thing. They’re the quiet heroes among us: the person who stands up for another, picks up litter at the park, or owns up to a mistake and makes it right. These everyday acts are the building blocks of a better community, and a better future.
What is Character Education?
Character education is the intentional effort to help children understand, care about, and practice core values like honesty, kindness, and responsibility. It happens in:
Our homes
Our schools
Our communities
It’s about more than telling kids to “be good.” It’s about helping them live out their values in ways that are meaningful, consistent, and compassionate. Think of character education as planting seeds of kindness, courage, and integrity that we water every day at home, in school, and throughout the community. It’s a purposeful way of helping children understand, care about, and live out core values that matter.It’s not just about rules or discipline, it’s about helping kids grow into thoughtful, resilient, and responsible adults. And just like any garden, character grows best with time, attention, and love.
The Four Dimensions of Character
💖 Moral & Ethical Strengths
Traits like kindness, honesty, gratitude, and integrity shape who children are on the inside. These values help kids treat others with compassion, choose fairness over favoritism, and appreciate the little things in life. Kids who develop these strengths know that even the smallest act of kindness can change someone’s day—and maybe even their world.
💪 Performance Strengths
Think grit, responsibility, and self-discipline. These are the traits that help kids work through frustration, keep promises, and set meaningful goals. They’re what help children keep trying, even after they’ve failed. And let’s be honest; raising a child who doesn’t give up when things get tough? That’s a superpower.
🧠 Intellectual Strengths
Curiosity, open-mindedness, and critical thinking are all part of this category. Kids with strong intellectual character love learning, ask great questions, and are willing to consider new ideas, even when it means admitting they were wrong. It’s about raising thinkers, not just followers.
🌍 Civic Strengths
These include fairness, respect, and a desire to help others through volunteerism and service. Children with civic strengths understand that they’re part of something bigger. Whether it’s helping a neighbor or standing up for what’s right, they see themselves as contributors to their community.
As an act of citizenship, commit to strengthening your character strengths and those of the young people you care about.
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Along the Byway: Travel Goals Ireland
Some of my best days in Ireland are simply unplanned drives in rural counties. I use google maps and find an area to which we haven’t traveled. A simple “things to do” or an “attractions”tag in the search bar yields lots of options. It is how I found an awesome Gaelic Warrior statue in a roadside park. There was literally nothing else around and only a delivery driver dozing on his lunch break in the lot. But the horse and rider blazing under a blue sky is one of my favorite trip pictures.
We find monasteries and ruins of every variety. Some are maintained by the national trust and others have cows peaking out of the rubbles windows. The most memorable experiences are often those surprising moments in places others skip over. Sometimes we drive down lanes barely wide enough for our car, hoping we won’t meet other vehicles. Sometimes we can’t find a place to park. Sometimes we drive in circles. Whatever happens is a fond memory.
Sometimes, a quiet moment by a lake or stream brings balance to our day. The stress of daily life melts away. We watch swans or sheep. I could sit on a rock at Glendalogh or Lough Erne for hours. Okay that may not be true. I am not good at sitting. But I could hike trails along the lake for hours, and have happily done so.
We find the remains of great houses and wander through servants tunnels. I am reminded of the sturdy stock of laborers from which I come. I remember to be thankful for all that have come before. Stories are told and retold in this place. There is connectedness and history at every turn.
And I find endless trails, woodland walks, boardwalks and mountain staircases. Much to my husband’s chagrin, I would like to hike them all. We find compromise in shorter walks. We stop for a 99 or a cup of coffee or a pint. The point is not the destination. The point is fully experiencing a place. We have found balance in longer stays and living local as much as possible along the byways.
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Prisoner of Hopes 