A little more about Ireland and the sweetest old man whom I wanted to keep……
I have so many beautiful scenery pictures from Ireland….but the highlights of the week were finding my great grandfather’s cottage, and then the next day finding the remains of my great grandmother’s cottage. I shared that story here….https://apronsheelsandyogapants.wordpress.com/2016/05/28/wanderlust/
It all seemed surreal, especially when hunting for my great grandmother’s childhood home, with very little clues to go on. (just a photo and town name) We received a name and address, with the help of a sweet lady at the post office, of the oldest man in the tiny little town we were searching in. She said in her fabulous Irish brogue, “He knows everything.” Between the kindness of the Irish people, the way they speak, and one charming village after another, surely this must all be a dream.
When we arrived at the oldest man in town’s little farmhouse, there he was out in the field with his flat cap on, a button up shirt, blazer, and trousers….older Irish men are always well dressed. As a matter of fact, I have found that what I love about older Irish men, is that they look like older Irish men.
I wish so badly I would have taken a photo, but I didn’t want to seem “touristy.” His name was Sean Marren. Marren is the Irish name in our family. Again….this must all be a dream. His brogue was wonderful. It really felt like a scene out of a movie…or maybe I’ve watched “The Quiet Man” too many times. The scenery was perfect as I walked through the field. I happened to be wearing a long, flowing skirt that day…..I almost felt like Maureen O’hara, as I walked toward this sweet man, who for all I knew could be a relative. He was darling and I wanted to take him home, but my mother said I could not.
Mr. Marren was kind enough to study the picture we brought of the cottage. He knew exactly who had owned it and it was right around the corner from him.
As I said, I wish I had a picture of him, but didn’t want to appear rude. Ireland receives many Americans a year, searching for ancestral homes and long lost cousins. He may have thought I was just another one of “those.” (which I am)
I’ll never forget him or this magical place called Ireland. Some people and places are simply unforgettable.
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