August 6, 2016

Dingle Peninsula, Ireland. May, 1992

When my mother died, I thought it might be a good time to distract my father by taking him to Ireland, a place he'd always wanted to visit. I practiced patience for ten days as we drove almost a thousand miles and stayed along the way in bed-and-breakfast accommodations of varying levels of comfort. Like this one here. Kidding. Sort of.

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