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The Rovers: Travel Goals Ireland
Of all the things we could be doing in Ireland, my our son in law wants to go to a Sligo Rovers game. I was thinking music festival or dinner by the sea. But it is their vacation and we have been here for weeks, so the local soccer game is now the plan for Saturday night. The Sligo Rovers will face off against Derry.
We arrive early and park on the street in front of the Sligo stadium. Our plan is to buy groceries for breakfast at the nearby store (conveniently just across the street) and then enjoy the local atmosphere at the corner pub. It is the place to be before a big game. Season ticket holders show up in Rover Red as the neighborhood comes alive.
By game time, the place is packed. It seems the whole town turned out to see the local lads face Derry on the pitch (don’t let the sports talk fool you, I am uncertain about what we are doing here). A group of middle school boys are sitting in our row. They are joyfully rude in the oblivious way that middle school boys have perfected through the ages. The old men in our section aren’t having it. They are grumpy and rude in the way that old men excel. The boys are told to sod off to their parents. The boys fly paper airplanes into the old men and run laughing through the stands. I am caught up in the drama. This might be fun after all.
Across the stadium, the drumming starts. There are fireworks (even though signs say they are prohibited). An entire section of young men, drum and sing and stand for the entire three plus hours of the game. It is a family atmosphere with grilled burgers and canned soda. We all have a fresh juicy hamburger for what one burger would cost back home in St.Louis City stadium.
There are lots of ways to spend your money in the stadium. So of course our children have to visit the merch store at the half. I tag along. Next door to the team gear shop is a candy store. Across the courtyard are food and drink stalls. There are people selling raffle tickets. I spend time people watching and trying not to get swept up in the crowd.
Finally our daughter comes out of the team store sporting a bucket hat and our son in law has his own bag of goodies. I smile when I see how much they are enjoying themselves. This is something I would not choose do on a trip. It is good to be outside my comfort zone. I don’t love soccer….but I love these kids who are clearly enjoying themselves.
Back in the stands, we cheer and groan with the home crowd. “Let’s go Sligo!” The elderly man behind me say the same phrases so often, my son in law begins his own version of the chant. “Pass the ball ye eejits!” “That’s grand lads!” It is really interesting to watch a game in another place. The same sports ethos with a different cultural feel. Familiar yet novel.
Never mind that I don’t love sports in the same way my son in law does. When Sligo wins and the fireworks start, my heart is full. I am in a country I love with people I love (and several thousand Sligo residents). What could be a better way to spend an Irish evening?
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Enniskillen: Travel Goals Ireland
Some days despite my research, we reach a place and it is nothing like I anticipated. Enniskillen was busy. And it was raining…..again. All roads converged near Enniskillen castle and we struggled to find a place to park. We tried two different lots including one that merged with a school pick up line. I’m pretty sure we were going the wrong way at one point (based on the dirty looks). But with a smile and wave, we managed to cut through to a small lot nearby where a kind soul even gave me an extra parking token. It was just a short walk along the river to the castle.
This is where I became confused. While Enniskillen Castle had high walls and battlements, it turned out to be a series of small museums nestled together. Part community center, military museum, civic museum, and cafe; I am not sure how I would describe it. Eclectic would be the only description I can muster. Certainly, it was not what I was expecting.
We looked at memorabilia from the Royal Fusiliers battalion that had once been stationed here. We saw religious art and early inventions. There were tanks and buggies. Perhaps most surprising, there was an exhibit on an Irish newspaper that I have been reading for years. I didn’t realize it was published right here in Enniskillen. Today has been full of unexpected encounters. With a little perseverance and an adjustment of expectations, we have managed to salvage a rainy day into a new adventure.
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Mishap at the Holy Well: Travel Goals Ireland
After a long day of sightseeing at Castle Coole and Enniskillen Castle, the light rain finally stopped. On the way home, I asked to stop at St. Patrick’s Holy Well in Belcoo, Northern Ireland. I promised my husband a 99 (icecream) after we made the stop at the small pilgrimage site.
Unexpectedly, we hit a curb shortly after we made the turn. By the time we parked across from the well, we already had a flat tire. The rental didn’t come with a spare (that would make sense) and the fix a flat wouldn’t work on the sidewall.
Stressed I walked across the street to the Holy Well. The Spring bubbled continuously. It was cool under the leaves. I was hyper aware of the tokens left to petition for health and good fortune. After several deep breaths, I rejoined the fray.
I called the rental agency at Shannon airport and explained our dilemma. Instead of help, I received “how did you get this number?” I replied that it was on our rental agreement and that we had purchased full coverage with emergency roadside assistance. Instead of help I received, “the number for emergencies is on your key fob.“ click.
I had walked about a quarter mile to receive cell service and now walked back to get the key. No number, just a QR code….which only works if you have working WiFi or cellular data. We were out of range. I called the rental company and received the same hostile voice telling me how busy he was. I explained that we were not at a place where I could access the number. He grumbled but got me a number to call.
This time I got a pleasant woman who asked if we were safe and was the car off the roadway. Finally, someone who cared. She asked lots of questions, took tire details and then asked location. She couldn’t find us. I gave her detailed info and added that we were just over the border in Northern Ireland and that we had purchased the cross border supplement. She told me to stop talking and that she would transfer me somewhere else. The phone went dead. I called back the number but no one answered. I started walking toward town. It was getting late and we needed help. Perhaps I could borrow a phone book or get cellular data service further down the road.
My phone rang. It was service for Northern Ireland. Their advice was to call AAA. “I am not a triple A member. What will I say?” I was advised to tell them that I had purchased full coverage insurance and they would appear and fix the car. With much skepticism, I called the number provided. It was out of service. It was also out of service the next five times I called. The service stopped taking my calls.
It was now ten minutes to five. I had been trying for 1.5 hours to get help. As a last resort, I said a prayer and called a tire service in Enniskillen. The man was polite and understanding but said he didn’t have anyone to send, but thought he knew someone in Belcoo. He would give me his number.
At this point, I broke down and begged him to make the call for me. My battery was almost dead and I had been shuffled so many times. I was desperate. In his lovely Irish way, he told me he would sort it.
I returned to the well. It was peaceful and serene. If I had to spend the night here, it wouldn’t be so bad. The trickling water soothed my frazzled nerves. St. Patrick’s well soothed. I watched a local couple (the first people we saw) fill a water jug to take with them. They asked if they could help. I told them we thought help may be coming.
Within fifteen minutes a man pulled up in a truck. He had the tire off in five and promised to be back with a new one in ten. He was true to his word. Kind, confident and efficient. My kind of man. When we asked what we owed, he gave a price much lower than I expected and apologized saying that we were paying extra for the call out. We thanked him and gave him a generous tip. Heroes never want the recognition and he tried to give it back. We insisted.
I thanked St. Patrick in goodbye and we started down the road for ice cream…..which my husband promptly managed to get all over the interior of the car and all over me…..but that is a story for another day.
Ps: Despite paying Budget Car Rental over $1000 extra for full coverage and roadside assistance we were left to sort a serious problem on our own. We got no help from the rental counter or the emergency services. We were also not reimbursed because in the stress and confusion I did not ask for a receipt. Mea Culpa. I will not be renting from Budget again. Had we been injured or without calling capability I don’t know what we would have done. We were saved by the kindness of strangers to whom I am very grateful.
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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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Prisoner of Hopes 