I remember the first time we flew into Ireland’s Shannon Airport. Matt had his nose plastered against the window of the plane and gasped. “Look how green it is.”
When I looked out that window, a blanket of emerald, Kelly, and aquamarine stunned me. Sure, I’d lived in the Adirondacks and Apalachians, but this was different. The colors were divided neatly by hedgerows of forest green and looked like a perfect patchwork of verdant carpet. And the sky! And the ocean! I’d never seen anything like it before. I fell in love with my ancestral home.
Since that first trip, I’ve been back six times, mostly because that’s the only destination Matt would consider.
Loving Ireland led me to writing my trilogy called Daughters of Ireland. If you haven’t read the first book of that trilogy, Shanty Gold, what in the world are you waiting for? Haven’t you read the reviews?
Hmmm…just wondering…does a love of Guinness make someone an official Irishman? If so, my husband is as Irish as Paddy’s Pig. Except he’s not.
Matt’s mother’s family came from Bulgaria. His father’s family emigrated from Sicily. I’ve always wanted to take him home to his roots just as he took me to mine in Ireland for the first time. Frankly, Bulgaria doesn’t appeal greatly. But Sicily? Oh, yes.
I have tried to get him to plan a trip to Sicily for years. He had no interest. “I want to go to Ireland.”
But Sicily called to me…the food, the volcanoes…the wine. Frankly, most of all, the wine.
But he dug his heels in and continued to say, “No”
Until I caught him in a weak moment just before my last surgery and happened to find a great deal on the internet. Before he could say, “Faith and Begorrah!,” the trip was booked.
Guess what? We fly to Palermo on June 4.