I HAVE been doing a lot of reading, however- not only of George R. R. Martin’s epic fantasy but of all of my favorite blogs, plus a few new ones. If you’ve noticed, my blogroll has gained a new category devoted solely to book blogs. These varied and wonderful bloggers (I’m as eclectic in my online reading as in my book choices) are a fabulous source of information and will probably make me a little bit poorer each month with their excellent recommendations. Raych at Books I Done Read and the fabulous ladies at Forever Young Adult (Twilight drinking games and champagne reviews, anyone?)  are most likely to make me cry-laff each day,  while Angela at Bookish and Kit at Books are my Boyfriends keep me intellectual.  I highly recommend you check them out. For all of the talk of books that I do over here, it’s a pretty big DUH that I didn’t find myself gravitating to the book bloggers sooner.

Otherwise, I’ve been keeping myself amused by watching Downton Abbey (Side Note: Ok Universe? I AM SO MAD THAT YOU DIDN’T TELL ME ABOUT THIS RIGHT AWAY.  Because I am madly in love with everything about it. The cast, the plot, the dry wit and the clooooooothes, omg… If Matthew Crawley would be into some polygamy, I’d gladly invite he and Mr Bates to come live with Army Boy and I, that’s all I’m saying) and The Walking Dead. The latter is as much a shock to me as it is to everyone who knows me, as I’ve made no secret of documenting what a huge wuss I am. There’s something totally compelling it that makes me able to overlook the horror aspect and stick to the narrative as a whole.

So, there’s all that. Between the job, the job search, and the overwhelming desire to take the winter and hibernate, I’m around. Just not quite as talkative right now.

This is Kylemore Abbey, formerly Kylemore Castle, built by Mitchell Henry as a gift for his wife Margaret. Story has it that they visited Connemara on their honeymoon and fell in love with the area, vowing to eventually live there. It has a rich history, including being owned by the Duke and Duchess of Manchester, who mortgaged it to the hilt before it was purchased by Irish Benedictine nuns and turned into an abbey and a boarding school for girls.

We’d also planned to visit some other castles, including one on the island if Inishbofin, but my foot injury prevented that day of hiking.

Kylemore was on our agenda for Saturday, the day after our pony trek. It took us a little bit to get moving that morning after our ride, but by the time we set out in the car we could tell that it promised to be a lovely day.

Sure enough, as we reached the grounds of the estate the clouds dissipated entirely and we were treated to the most beautiful blue sky for the rest of the day. It was perfect for exploring the expansive Abbey grounds, the Gothic Church that Mitchell Henry built as a memorial to his wife, and the gorgeous walled garden.

The gardens were massive, surrounded by a red brick wall that was interrupted at intervals by large wooden gates that were painted a cheerful aqua. We saw the site of Kylemore’s many greenhouses, which are in the process of undergoing a restoration project, as well as the Bothy (home to the full-time gardening staff) and the Head Gardener’s cottage. The cottage itself was a small white building nestled at the bottom of a cliff, painted white and accented with the same lovely aqua echoed elsewhere in the garden. The large windows inside let loads of sunlight in, and I could easily have imagined holing up in the front window with a book or to write.

We spent the majority of the morning wandering around and enjoying the beauty of the day, which was only briefly marred by a busload of American tourists. Guys, it’s sad but true- we deserve the stigma that other countries have regarding us. The gentleman wearing a Harley Davidson shirt and making a scene on the shuttle bus because he didn’t think they had time to tour the garden? Way to perpetuate negative stereotypes, buddy.

Feeling energized after being out all morning under the brilliant blue sky, Army Boy and I decided that we were going to climb to the D’Arcy monument that afternoon. It was a squat stone monolith on the hill above the hotel, and easily within walking distance. I’d heard that the view from up there was one of the best that you could get in Clifden, and knew I’d kick myself if we didn’t at least attempt to get up there. (We meaning me, obviously, and my busted-ass foot.) I wrapped my foot much as I had the day before for pony-trekking, and off we set along Sky Road, my camera firmly strapped in place.

We found the entrance to the monument easily enough, but quickly realized that the going was going to be more difficult than we anticipated. The land was exceedingly boggy, and it took us some time to get from the road to the bottom of the slope where the monument resides. By the time we reached it, we were covered in mud, and just took it as part of the adventure. I was already beginning to be enchanted by the views, when Army Boy whispered urgently.

“Brooke… Turn around… Verrrrry Slowly…” I complied, fighting down panic at whatever Irish-style beastie might have appeared to endanger our trek-

Only to burst out laughing at the sight of two hardy Connemara ponies deftly picking their way through the muck toward us. It seemed that we had arrived at their tea time, and were going to have to share the trip to the monument with them. Their lack of halters and shoes confirmed my suspicions that we were lucky enough to be in the presence of some of the region’s wild residents, whom I’d barely allowed myself to hope we’d encounter.

“No worries babe, I’m sure they won’t even pay attention to us,” I reassured quietly, standing still so as to gauge the ponies’ intent. Sure enough, they came up and sniffed us cautiously, and then gave us space as we continued our walk up to the summit. They stayed a few steps back, as if observing our technique of picking our way over the rocks and brambles, and then took their own (doubtless better) path.

The mess was worth it when we reached the top of the hill, and looked to see the town of Clifden nestled in the valley below, with the mountains of Connemara National park in the background. If we looked to the other direction, we could see more of Western Ireland, out toward the sea. It was one of those moments in life where it takes great restraint to not throw your arms out a la Julie Andrews and start singing about the hills being alive with the sound of music. That probably would have terrified our equine companions, and Army Boy as well.

Speaking of the former, they were going about their business of grazing without much thought to the two-legged intruders in their midst, pausing occasionally to gaze at us with liquid brown eyes and pose for a picture or ninety. We kept our conversation low and soothing, so as not to startle them. I seriously wished I’d stashed some of the brown sugar cubes I’d become so fond of on our trip in my pocket to share with them as a snack, but hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

When I felt full to the brim with the glorious scenery and the magic of that whole afternoon, I reluctantly allowed Army Boy to lead the way down from the monument so that we could return to the hotel for tea. We also had quite a bit of cleaning up to do to make ourselves presentable for dinner that evening, Saturday night.

As I mentioned in my previous post, weekends at the Abbeyglen were a whole different ballgame than the quieter weeknights. The atmosphere became even more festive and fun, with nightly champagne toasts in the pub and a group gathering with entertainment after dinner. Typically, the hotel’s manager Paul would take a turn behind the piano, encouraging any and all guests to share a song. That night was the Marys’ last night at the hotel, and we joined everyone in the pub after dinner, to the amusement of many.

“The American honeymooners emerge!” greeted us more than once, along with more offers of alcoholic beverages than we could count.

*Side note: Earlier in the evening, I’d been DYING for a Sprite/7up/any clear non-alcoholic beverage that I could get my hands on after days of wine, beer and water. The bartender looked at me like I should be committed, but that was the best tasting 7Up of my LIFE.*

Usually, I’m not one to turn down a chance for a sing-along, but there happened to be a large party of Australians in the castle that night, and many of the songs were geared toward them.

*Another side note: Australians like weird folk songs, y’all.*

We were happy to bask in the company and get acquainted with some more of the guests before calling it a night. We had our last day in Ireland ahead of us, and plenty more on the agenda.

When we started planning our trip to Ireland, we realized that it fit most of our “must haves” from the other trips. Remote, beautiful location? Check! Who needs Epcot, we’ll be IN IRELAND. Oh and btw? We would totally be able to ride horses on the beach, in a little town called Cleggan that was fifteen minutes from our hotel. No, we would not be wearing bikinis and swimming trunks like in the ads for those all inclusives where everyone’s glowy and laughing… But really. Swimsuit on a horse?! Can we say “chafing”?!

Friday morning dawned, and it was time for the part of the trip that I was most looking forward to- we were going pony trekking. We’d made arrangements the month before via email with the Cleggan Riding Centre, and were so excited to finally meet the staff and get to explore Ireland on horseback.

Cleggan

Let’s go back for a minute to talking about the Irish Roads- some of the main roads there would pass for “country roads” around here. They were winding, barely two-lane affairs that somehow had ridiculously high speed limits. The local drivers took the twists and turns in stride, but it made driving them for the first time an adventure. Add to that the fact that they have no shoulder, and the person sitting in the passenger seat is referred to as “sitting in the death hole.” Army Boy was preoccupied with driving, leaving me to be the sole beneficiary of the gorgeous scenery we’d passed on our drive from Shannon. For the first time, he’d be able to sit back, relax, and drink in the rugged beauty that was constantly taking my breath away.

We headed to the dining hall, ready to load up with a Full Irish to be prepared for the adventure ahead. What we WEREN’T counting on, however, was that the hotel’s staff had experienced a minor change. The Abbeyglen castle is managed by two brothers, Paul and Brian Hughes. We’d met Brian our first night, when he’d generously treated the two of us to champagne in the lobby (AFTER we’d already had the castle treat us to a bottle in our room on arrival).

Friday morning, Paul stepped in to take over the “weekend” shifts, and immediately the castle was bubbling with new energy, much like our champagne. We watched him deftly making his way through the dining room, greeting guests and chatting about their stay. Somehow, word reached him that the “American Honeymooners” were in the dinning room, and he had to stop over to greet us. More than that, we HAD to have another bottle of champagne. It was an “Emergency!” he cried, asking the nearest server to head to the bar for a bottle. We were toasted and serenaded with “For They Are Jolly Good Fellows,” while having our picture taken to be displayed on the table. Though we still look half asleep, and are dressed for our riding adventure, it remains one of my favorite pictures from our trip.

We were subtle enough to drink a couple of classes at breakfast (and added some more soda bread to our previous meal selections)(What a chore, I know!), not wanting to be remotely tipsy before our day. We smuggled the bottle back to our room for later, suspecting that we’d be in need of a nice hot bath after the ride.

I’d decided ahead of time that Das Boot wouldn’t be making the trip to Cleggan with us, and instead packed an ace bandage to wrap my foot with. I didn’t plan on riding too strenuously, so the extra cushion should be more than sufficient for a walk through the countryside. I have no idea what it did to amuse itself, but photographic evidence found after the fact suggested that it was perfectly content to remain in the room.

We set off for the seaside village of Cleggan, making only one wrong turn as our GPS apparently confused a driveway for the highway turn we needed. As we pulled up to the riding centre, I hopped out of the car with my camera to capture some of the local scenery.

Cleggan village was far smaller than Clifden, and we’d parked with a commanding view of the coastal headland that gives the town its name (in Gaelic- “An Cloigeann”, meaning “head” or “skull.”) With a bit of imagination, you can see the profile of a man. At the highest peak, there are the remains of a watchtower from the Napoleonic wars. Of course, I couldn’t help thinking of the lighting of the beacons of Gondor in “Lord of the Rings,” because HELLO. Nerd Alert.

We were greeted at the stables by our guide Siobhan, and given some forms to fill out prior to beginning our trek. They were meant to give the center an idea of our levels of riding experience, and as we started answering questions, I realized that we weren’t quite in for the quiet ride I was envisioning. Questions about our comfort level with jumps and at a gallop prompted me to ask Army Boy to drop the camera back off in the car.

BIGGEST REGRET OF THE TRIP.

Yes, we did do some trotting along, but Army Boy could easily have managed with the camera strapped to him.

We met up in the riding ring to meet our horses- Army Boy was introduced to a quiet bay named Barney, and I was on a sweet piebald named Tom. Judy put us through our paces, verifying that we were as experienced as we claimed. Oddly, getting back on a horse is just like riding a bike (if not easier). As a little Brooke, I was lucky enough to take a few years of riding lessons, and loved every second that I’d spent on horseback. Though I hadn’t ridden in a number of years, my body instinctively remembered.

Once they were convinced that allowing Army Boy and I to ride wasn’t completely hazardous to our well-being, off we went. The route that we were planning to take was about a three-hour walk through the countryside to a tidal island called Omey Island. At high tide, the island is completely surrounded by water, but when the tide recedes it leaves a one-kilometer stretch of totally open sand, which can be walked or driven across to access the island.

Shortly after we set off, I realized our mistake in not bring the camera. The majority of our travel was done at a walk or a slow trot, and the sights that we saw were unbelievable. I’ll always swear that the best way to truly see Ireland was on horseback. We followed back country lanes, by stone walls and pastures full of sheep and cows. Occasionally they’d raise a curious head in greeting, but mostly they were non-plussed by the sight of the American tourists on horseback.

“Watch out for the cows,” Siobhan warned us. “They sometimes mistake Tom for one of them because of his coloring.”

As we rode, she chatted with us about the local history, including pointing out a man-made island that had been in use since the days when Viking raiders would visit Ireland. The villagers had literally constructed an island in the middle of a lake, and hidden strategically placed tree stumps just under the surface of the water. The villagers knew where to step, and were able to get their families and livestock to safety in times of trouble.

Occasionally, we’d pass groups of horses out to pasture, and they’d neigh out a welcome to us. They’d trot along their fences, snorting companionably to our horses. For all we knew, Tom was planning to dump me on the beach the first chance he got, but at the time it was immeasurably charming. Even the livestock was included in the welcoming spirit that we’d been shown for our whole trip.

We marveled at the adorable cottages that we were passing, noting that all of them had very large windows, and a lot of them. Siobhan explained that this was to compensate for the lack of daylight that’s common in the winter months. Everyone wants to make the most of the sun that they do get, and as we could see, the houses were far enough apart that people didn’t need to worry about unintentionally giving their neighbors a show.

Have a lovely picture of a house in Cleggan. Instead of us on horseback. Because dammit.

In what seemed no time at all, we were descending a small hill onto the beach. The day was slightly grey, and the wind picked up since we were closer to the ocean. I started to regret not having worn more layers, but Siobhan’s next instruction took that thought right away.

“Right. Brooke, you and Tom stay here and I’m going to lead Army Boy up the beach for a trot. When we turn around and signal, you can give Tom his head and join us at a canter. Are you ok with that?” she questioned, with a wink.

Army Boy stuck his tongue out at me in jealousy, and followed off along the sand with Siobhan. Tom was initially dismayed at being left behind by Barney and Siobhan’s horse Shadow, but walking in small circles distracted him enough that I could regain his attention and prepare for the ride of my life.

I watched as my companions got further and further away, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Siobhan raise her arm in a salute. Without a second thought, I tightened my reins, and gave Tom the physical cute to GO!

Like a shot, he took off at a canter and we pounded down the beach. The salt spray collected on my cheeks as we splashed through shallow puddles, and my perception of the world both narrowed to the rhythm of Tom’s hooves on the sand, and expanded to take in the grey sky, the chill of the salt air and the archeological ruins on Omey Island to my left. It was totally exhilarating.

I caught up to Army Boy and Siobhan quickly, and my delight was evident on my face.

“Nothing like it, yeah?” Siobhan grinned.

“Nothing at all,” I agreed, matching her smile.

We repeated our exercise a few more times, Siobhan guiding us around the little tide pools and keeping us to the areas of firmly packed sand. All three of us trotted through the waves of the incoming tide for a while, our horses unconcerned with the water lapping at their feet. Each time I prompted Tom for a canter, he responded with more enthusiasm. He was as eager to stretch his legs as I was to let him.

All too soon, it was time for one last run before our return to Cleggan. It would be the longest stretch yet, and I hoped that Tom wasn’t feeling too tired to give it his all. Fortunately, he wasn’t.

Army Boy and Siobhan paused up by the path into the village of Claddaghduff, and Tom and I raced to join them. As if sensing that our “fun” was drawing to a close, Tom poured on the speed and I hunched low over his back, keeping low to the saddle and grabbing a handful of mane. Our last run was definitely a gallop, and all I could hear as we slowed was Army Boy laughing in delight.

“You were FLYING!! Siobhan asked if we’d brought the camera to catch that!” he exclaimed.

“Oh MAN!!” I agreed, regretting that decision for the umpteenth time that day.

As much as I was going to miss the beach, my unused riding muscles were feeling the strain and I was relieved to stick to a slower pace for the trek back. I had a suspicion that Army Boy would need to help me out of the saddle when we arrived back at the riding center. The idea of that hot bath and leftover champagne seemed even more appealing than it had that morning.

I keep my eyes glued to the countryside as we rode back, willing myself to commit every little detail to memory. The sweet grey ponies capering on the hill beside us, the peach stone church of “Our Lady of the Sea” in Claddaghduff, the gorgeously vivid hydrangeas lining the road, all of them remain fresh in my mind like yesterday.

Army Boy DID have to help me down off Tom’s back at the conclusion of our three hour trek. But I can truly say that I got to gallop along a beach on our honeymoon, and it was INCREDIBLE.

After 2011, the year that has seemed to be the most hectic EVER, I feel like 2012 is definitely going to be a year to slow down, take a breath, and make improvements. We’re already planning on funneling the resources that went into wedding planning for the last year into home improvements (Central Air that broke in Sept, I’m looking at you!), so why not focus the energy that I used for the above into making self improvements? As everything got busier and busier, certain personal hobbies and habits started to take a backseat.

If I were smart, I would pick just one of these things and stick with it, but honestly? I think they’re all equally do-able AND important.

NEW JOB.- Enough said.

Start Journaling- A month or so ago, Yezel pointed out this adorable little journal, and it was automatically added to my Christmas list. I used to spend time pouring my heart out into the pages of my journal, and though I can’t promise nearly that much time, I would enjoy having a reason to pause each night before sleep. Plus, being able to track five years in one book? Awesome!

Reach my Goal Weight- I did manage to lose a total of 16 pounds before the wedding in October, thanks to diet and exercise. That put me about 6 pounds away from my “goal” that I set when I started getting healthier last March. I’ve found that my body REALLY likes to hang out around a certain weight, and it takes a lot of discipline to get below it. We’ll see if my “goal” is realistic (It should be, but if my body likes a little bit of fluff I’m going to have to live with it.), and getting through the winter months without packing on some pounds will be a challenge! Which leads me to…

Get Back to Yoga- I admit it- I DID stop attending classes after the first session of 2011. Between the usual duties of having a house, taking care of a new puppy (who, at the beginning of this year was having some scary vaccine reactions and requiring extra care) and planning a wedding, I felt stretched to the limit. I SHOULD have kept up yoga just for the mental benefits, but sometimes I was SO. TIRED.

Make More Me Time- See, um, all of the above. Make sure that I’m getting what I need emotionally and mentally so that I’ll be a happier person overall. Take time out to paint my fingernails and feel girly, or take an hour to read that really amazing book that I want to read. Stop feeling like I have to go-go-go until I collapse in the evening. (Even if it means telling Army Boy, who tends to be more motivated and energetic when it comes to DOING ALL THE THINGS, that I need a BREAK. And not feeling bad about that.)

Keep the House Cleaner- I KNOW. It seems so “Mad Men” of me…. But our house is small, and when there’s any clutter it drives me NUTS.

There’s my list of the positive changes that are rattling around in my head for 2012… Do you make a habit of making resolutions? And more importantly… do you keep them?

Happy New Year to All!!

…But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.”

~Clement Clarke Moore

“Another Piece of My Heart”~ Jane Green

Release Date: March 13, 2012

Plot Summary: (From Amazon)

Andi has spent much of her adult life looking for the perfect man, and at thirty-seven, she’s finally found him. Ethan–divorced with two daughters, Emily and Sophia–is a devoted father and even better husband. Always hoping one day she would be a mother, Andi embraces the girls like they were her own. But in Emily’s eyes, Andi is an obstacle to her father’s love, and Emily will do whatever it takes to break her down. When the dynamics between the two escalate, they threaten everything Andi believes about love, family, and motherhood—leaving both women standing at a crossroad in their lives…and in their hearts.

ANOTHER PIECE OF MY HEART is a novel that illuminates the nuances and truths about relationships and is Jane Green at her absolute best.

TxtingMrDarcy Notes: Ok for starters? I had a really hard time not getting Janis Joplin stuck in my head EVERY time I picked up this book. Clever title choice, but kinda distracting.

This book ended up being very different from what I expected. It started out as a run-of-the-mill “Bratty Daughter Hates New Stepmother and Weak Father Doesn’t Intervene” story. As I continued compulsively reading it though, it became much more. Jane Green creates very well-drawn characters who you can both root for and dislike at the same time. You empathize with Andi, who has finally found the love of her life only to realize they won’t be able to have biological children of their own. You feel that her husband Ethan is weak, allowing himself to be bullied by his teenage daughter and constantly putting her above his wife and other child. It would be SO easy to hate Emily, the antagonistic punk who wreaks havoc through the opening pages of the novel. Nothing in the story is that black and white, though, and that’s what kept me reading.

Jane Green makes you question how much a relationship can really take when there are destructive behaviors acting on it from within. Where should a parent’s loyalty lie if one of their children is deliberately poisoning their relationship? Would they even be able to see it before there are catastrophic consequences with their partner? I really don’t want to write too much and reveal too many spoilers, especially prior to the book even being released.

I will, however, admit that I couldn’t help comparing it to “Not My Daughter,” a novel by Barbara Delinsky that touches on similar themes. If you’ll notice, I didn’t post a review of that particular story because it left me feeling rather uninspired. Yes, I read it. No, I didn’t particularly care for it.

I was initially intrigued by the plot premise of a group of high school girls entering a Pregnancy Pact, and how that decision changes everything for them and their parents in their small town. However, I felt like Delinsky went a bit too “butterflies and roses” on the reader. The high school girls annoyed the crap out of me, with their talk of “being ready to be parents” at 17. The parents annoyed the crap out of me with their lack of anger at their selfish, immature daughters. The other residents of the TOWN annoyed the crap out of me placing all of the blame on the mothers of the pregnant girls. (One of them is unmarried and a successful single mother, how HORRID.) As if these “innocent children” didn’t make a conscious decision to have unprotected sex, and that the women should have been better parents. The girls were aware of their actions and the potential consequences, and they DID IT ANYWAY. (See why I didn’t review? Book stupid. End of story.)

However, some “scary things” happen with the health of one of the young girls, and suddenly everything is magically ok. One of the protagonists even ends up married to her long time love in the end, how SWEET. And the girls are all working SO HARD to be good Mommies and lost all their friends and wah wah wah.

My point? I felt that it was unrealistic. I felt that in the “real world,” situations and decisions like that have consequences, and there is no black and white. Parents don’t always step up and say “Oh well, now we have to take care of our daughter and the baby.”(As in Delinsky’s world.) Even when girls THINK they know what they’re getting into becoming parents at a young age, it might not work out. It might prove to be too much, for whatever reason. A teenager can go out, chose to have unprotected sex, get pregnant and it is NOT a reflection on her parents, she could just be a lost soul looking for attention, affection, or validation. THIS is what Jane Green addresses so well in “Another Piece of My Heart.” You may not always want to be friends with her characters, but you understand their motivations and their reactions to situations. She captures human nature extremely well, which is what drew me to her writing in the first place. Even though she was telling a Cinderella story in “Jemima J,” she told it with heart and let the reader know that everything didn’t magically get better once Jemima lost weight.

I was thrilled to get a chance to read this novel thanks to GoodReads, and would definitely recommend it to any fan of Jane Green, Jennifer Weiner, Sophie Kinsella, or some of the other great female writers out there today. I hestitate to categorize this as “chick lit,” because it’s so much deeper than the typical “Girl meets boy and hijinks happen,” story that falls squarely within that genre.

I’m loving it to death (it’s totally “Lord of the Rings” + Sex)(And the characters, zomg!), and speeding to the end, but the recent holiday excitement has been limiting my reading time. I did make sure to ask Santa for some more installments in Martin’s saga, and I’ve got my fingers crossed that he’ll allow me to stay in Westeros for a while longer.

In addition to “Game,” I’ve got some other great reads staring me impatiently in the face. For starters, there are four books in Jean Auel’s “Earth’s Children” series just waiting for me to witniss some prehistoric lovin’.

Next in line is the new Jane Green novel “Another Piece of my Heart,” which I was lucky enough to grab an advance copy of through Goodreads. Jane Green is the one who really turned me on to reading chick lit back in 2003 while I was working at the library and happened to check out a copy of “Jemima J.” Since then, I’ve been following her releases eagerly. This one is shaping up to be a doozy, so I can’t wait to get a review posted.

I was thrilled to get a text from Army Boy on Friday letting me know that my Secret Santa/Fairy Bookmother Angela had struck again, sending me another totally awesome surprise package. Look, look!!

Why yes, that IS an autographed edition of “Clockwork Prince,” second book in the “Infernal Devices” trilogy. I’m eager to see what happened after the tense conclusion of the first novel, and return to some angsty Shadowhunter action.

In short, I’ve got a TON of great reads on my shelf, and am eager to get to each and every one of them! I’m not neglecting the “Reads” part of my blog in favor of honeymoon tales, I’m just making sure that I have LOTS of material. Stay tuned!

It came as a total shock to me to be nudged awake by Army Boy in the wee hours of Wednesday morning, as the flight attendants brought around a simple breakfast of fruit, juice and croissants. I nearly fist-pumped with glee, so thrilled was I by my sudden new magical ability to summon slumber!

We were quite the sexy couple as we emerged from the plane into the misty darkness of the Irish predawn, and were extremely grateful for the hot coffee we’d managed to procure at the airport. We found our adorable rental car with little trouble, loaded up, and began our two-and-a-half hour drive out to the village of Clifden, outside Galway. Because of my foot situation and inability to drive a manual, Army Boy was relegated to driving duty for the entirety of our stay, and it was a remarkably freeing experience to have no choice but to sit back and relax.

We made our way west with little enough difficulty- the sight of a local traffic circle recently sent me into a spasm of post-traumatic stress induced terror- but the help of our GPS and my rad navigational skills, we were soon cruising along through mountains and fields teaming with sheep. I really think that the utter beauty of the drive was what kept us awake, because although you’re supposed to try to stay awake to ward off jet lag, we found it utterly impossible when we arrived in our room.

The roads were every bit as narrow as everyone warned, and then some, and we found ourselves being passed multiple times by local drivers who were far more comfortable with the treacherous curves than we.

Our final arrival in Clifden was met with huge yawns from Army Boy and squeals of glee from me- It was as quaint and beautiful as promised, and you could see our hotel on the hill. We pulled into the parking lot and I began the first of my series of dumbfounded sighs that we were REALLY IN IRELAND.

The lovely front desk staff at the hotel took one look at our exhausted faces and Das Boot, and hustled us back to our room with the prescription of a bottle of champagne. It was our honeymoon, after all! Though it had taken us two days to get there, we were finally ready to celebrate! We walked through our door, and were ushered right into one of the hotel’s signature rooms- a round turret with a large four-poster bed, fireplace, and giant clawfoot tub in the bathroom. At that point, we hadn’t the energy to do much more than marvel at our luck, before closing the room’s many drapes and collapsing to sleep.

Disclaimer: This was my first experience ever (shock!) with jet lag, and it is a nasty beast!! I didn’t expect it to be quite so physical… more a mental feeling of disorientation, but after our travels each way it felt like the worst hangover I’d ever had.

We woke the first day just in time for tea, and blearily made our way to the hotel bar. Army Boy was a bit skeptical, but since we’d eaten nothing since breakfast and had a couple of hours until dinner, he gamely decided to accompany me. The quiet room with a peat fire burning was cozy and inviting, and the fresh scones were restorative. We enjoyed taking the time to relax with our fellow travelers, and hear about their daily adventures while we all unwound before getting dressed for formal dinner later in the evening. Even now, Army Boy and I try to make time on the weekends to sit with a cup of tea and take a few breaths in the midst of doing all the things.

Unaware of the pace of Irish living on our first day, we were dressed and ready to go to dinner promptly at 7pm. Fortunately for us, we were waylaid in the hotel lobby by a trio of ladies who were already well on their way to “getting wrecked,” as they cheerfully informed us. Their names were Mary, her daughter Mary, and her daughter in law Miriam, and they made it a point of taking a girls’ weekend each fall to shop and relax in Clifden. One of the hotel’s owners, Brian, joined us at that moment and hearing that we were the “American Honeymooners,” insisted we stay where we were while more champagne was fetched.

(This was a trend that would be repeated many times throughout our visit- the Irish are wonderfully generous and could all drink us under the table without effort.)

We visited with “The Marys” for a bit until they needed to go change, and then went up to dinner. The restaurant was quiet, but for the occasional bit of fun that Brian would have with the guests. The food was heavenly, and the menu veered heavily toward the local seafood. I’ve never had smoked salmon like the kind I tasted in Ireland that night, and made an effort to enjoy it throughout the rest of the trip. The desserts were decadent, and we made our way back to our room for a well-needed soak in the tub before falling asleep again.

Thursday morning, we awoke refreshed and ready to start adventuring. We spoke with some of the hotel’s other visitors for recommendations about some activities that we could do relatively close to the hotel, and got some solid advice. With my foot, we had to rethink the itinerary a little (no hiking in Connemara national park, and not much to do on Inishbofin island if you weren’t able to walk), and were thankful for the help.

It was pretty easy to make the decision to spend our first day exploring the town of Clifden. I’m ashamed to admit that we drove the half mile or so into town, and parked near the town center. I wasn’t sure how far my foot would let us get in the “exploring” front, and didn’t want to chance it. It also gave us a good spot to drop any packages we might accrue from shopping. Which, I mean, DUH.

We arrived in town around 10am, and to our surprise, none of the shops were open. (see above re: the pace of Irish living) The majority of them opened around 11am, so we did a little hobbling/walking and took in the scenery. The town didn’t disappoint, being as picturesque as we’d hoped. We made it a point to visit both of Clifden’s two churches, the grand Roman Catholic St Joseph’s and the equally lovely Christ Church, part of the Church of Ireland. The two seem to stand as sentinels over the town, and it never got old using the spires to orient ourselves if we got turned around.

Our first stop was at the charming O’Daleigh Jewelry store. We knew that we’d have luck finding some souvenirs there, just not THAT much luck. We left there having spent a good chunk of our euros, but with lovely pieces for ourselves and a necklace for my mom.

The next stop on our tour of town was the Super-Valu market right across the town center. We wanted to pick up a few necessities to keep in our room (some snacks and bottled water) and I was on a MISSION, tasked me by Yezel: experience as much Irish chocolate as humanly possibly. Namely: Cadbury.

We located our more mundane purchases pretty quickly, and then went on to the sweets. I attacked the challenge with a scientific approach- grab as many different types of goodies as possible to try while we were there, and to allow us to settle on some favorites to bring home with us. Our highlights included Cadbury Crunchie, Aero, Flake, and Wispa. There were also Mars Revels, Bounty bars and some Cadbury buttons. Even if our accents didn’t peg us right away as American tourists, our haul when we reached the cash register sure did. The clerk laughed along with us when we answered that we were on our honeymoon and wanted to make the most of it.

The other exciting part of our shopping was finally getting to visit the Clifden Bookseller, one of my priorities. It was a quaint little shop along the main street absolutely overflowing with books beneath a cheerful awning. I’d decided that the best use of my euros there would be to locate a UK edition of “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.” I quickly succeeded at that venture (and had to talk myself out of buying the whole paperback set…), and turned to the other shelves. To my delight, I found my copy of “The Night Circus,” as well as another magic-themed selection, “The Magicians Guild.” Keeping our weight limitations for flying in mind, I had to convince myself to leave the charming little shoppe with only those three purchases.

I won’t risk boring you with a play-by-play of our shopping adventures that day, but let it suffice to say that the back seat of our little compact was pretty well covered with parcels by the end of the afternoon.

Finally, it was time to head back to the hotel for the evening if we wanted to make sure to catch teatime and have time to get ready for dinner. The day had passed remarkably quickly, and it was hard to believe that our honeymoon was half over already.

If you were superstitious person, you would say that it was a bad omen that we had three visits to the ER within our first two weeks of marriage. That’s ONLY if you were superstitious.

The night of the wedding, I had the expected sore feet, sore back, and bone tired exhaustion that comes from just having lived through the biggest weekend of your life. An amazing soak in the hotel tub and a good night’s sleep, and I’d be ready to face the honeymoon.

However, the next morning, I still didn’t have feeling in the toes of my right foot, nor could I put any weight on it. I immediately feared the worst, and mentioned as much to Army Boy. After a quick conference with my parents in the hotel lobby as we wished all of our guests a safe journey, we decided to head over to Urgent Care to get it checked out. I didn’t want to leave the country with anything that could potentially hinder our travels or be dangerous on a trans-atlantic flight. Also, I work in healthcare and know all about those scary things.

Thus, we ended up at the local Urgent Care, getting my foot x-rayed while wearing our Bride and Groom tee-shirts. To everyone who asked, we jokingly agreed that the wedding had to have been an AWESOME party for us to end up seeking medical attention.

Hubby in his "Groom" tee

The verdict: Nothing broken, but stay off it, lots of ice and OTC pain relievers. I was cleared for the honeymoon.

Except that deep down, I felt like I WASN’T cleared. There was something seriously wrong with my foot, and I suspected it more and more over the course of the next day. The wedding was on a Friday, and we were due to leave for our trip on Monday morning. I am SO glad that we scheduled things the way we did.

We went home, we opened our gifts, and we spent all day Sunday packing. I had to drastically revamp my planned wardrobe of dresses and heels for our formal dinners, and sulkily picked out dress pants and flats. Throughout the day, I was in a lot of pain, which finally became unbearable while I was trying to take a shower.

I sat in the bathroom and cried, feeling like I was letting down Army Boy and ruining our trip of a lifetime. We would only have one honeymoon, and I couldn’t navigate a flight of stairs. And also that SOMETHING was wrong with my foot. It wasn’t simply a bruise.

I came out of the bathroom red-faced, and Army Boy immediately knew something was wrong. He offered to bring me back to the ER, but I wanted to make sure we had finished our packing and were ready to travel. It turned out that I had a fever from pain, so off we went for our second visit to the ER in as many days.

After another set of X-rays (and staying in the ER until 2am the day we were scheduled to leave for the honeymoon), the doctor admitted that he couldn’t rule out a stress fracture. I was outfitted with some crutches and far better pain relief, and we were sent on our merry way.

This time? I had the constant companionship of Das Boot, who would come with us on our travels. He allowed me to both walk fairly normally, and help to carry the massive amount of luggage that we were taking with us. We decided to check a third bag, because doing so was cheaper than paying the fine for overweight bags, AND would give us the option of stashing some extra souvenirs in there. Of course, that meant that Army Boy ended up with TWO suitcases until we arrived at the airport.

The excitement that I felt standing on the train platform and waiting to begin our trip was akin to the best Christmas mornings that I could remember. I was FINALLY going to get on a plane and leave the United States. In a matter of hours, I’d be touching down on Irish soil! We were taking a train to Philadelphia airport, grabbing a connecting flight to Newark and depart from there on a red-eye to Shannon.

Only… FATE had other ideas for us. The train to Philadelphia airport was uneventful, and we were able to check our bags, get through security and find (hobble to) our gate fairly easily. Once there, we waited! And… waited. And…. Waited?

Finally, our flight crew made an announcement over the PA system. Something had been detected during our pre-boarding check of the plane, and they wanted maintenance to be sure we were ready to fly. They even went as far as to board us on to our flight… And then the flight attendant informed us that they were grounding the plane for the night. We would not be making the trip to Newark… with only an hour until our flight to Ireland.

Army Boy got in line to discuss our situation with the airline staff, who were very helpful but simply couldn’t make sure that everyone was able to get to their destinations on time. We would miss our flight, and the next international flight that we could make was the next night. There wasn’t much that we could do, so we gathered our luggage and off we went for the first night of our honeymoon at an airport hotel in Philly. This also meant that we would miss a full day of our Ireland trip, due to the time difference.

Fortunately, I hadn’t hit the pain killers, so there was booze.

The next morning, we checked in once again and the desk staff was the same as the night before. Pay close attention, because this moment is where our luck began to change. The woman working the desk took a look at our flight number, and frowned slightly.

“I don’t like the way the weather is looking today. I want to make sure that you two get to Newark to make your red eye today… I’m bumping you up to the flight that leaves in 25 minutes. You should be able to get through security no problem, and you’ll have quite a layover when you get there, but at least you’ll be sure to catch the international flight.”

We agreed, and did the security routine again. We just had enough time to grab a quick breakfast, and we were called to board. Alas, we were seated in separate rows. Fortunately, one of the seats we were given was in the front row, and perfect for Das Boot and I.

I ducked in next to a businessman, giving a shy smile and apologizing for stepping over him. I got my book out and was ready to pass the flight in silence, when he gave a gruff cough.

“So, uh… What happened to your foot there? Kick the TV after the Phillies lost?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but grin mischievously. “I’ll top that. I got a stress fracture dancing at my wedding.” He looked incredulous for a moment, and then let out a laugh.

“Ok, that does win. That would mean you’re… on your honeymoon?” He raised an eyebrow, and then gave Das Boot an exaggerated stare.

“Yes, and this is our second attempt to get to Newark… our flight last night was cancelled.”

“Oh no, tough luck!! Where are you two headed??”

“We’re going to Ireland,” I replied, unable to keep from smiling the way I did EVERY time I told someone our honeymoon destination.

“That’s awesome, I’ve been there loads of times! Where are you staying?”

And with that, we launched into a conversation that lasted the entire brief flight to Newark, and somehow ended with him introducing himself to Army Boy and insisting that we accompany him to the President’s Club. He felt badly for our “excitement” thus far in our married life, and felt that me spending eight hours in the terminal with nothing better to do than sit was a very bad idea. We were introduced as “my cousin Brooke and her new husband,” and the President’s Club staff took wonderful care of us for the day.

For some remarkable reason, his generosity didn’t end there, and by the end of our few hours of acquaintance, he’d also used his airline miles to upgrade our flight home to first class. Then, as quickly as he’d entered our story, he departed, continuing his trip to Florida. We had no way of contacting him to thank him for his kindness other than his name and employer.

We sat there in the quiet of the lounge, pinching ourselves at our luck. Who does this happen to?! We had plush furniture, wi-fi, and complimentary drinks at the bar. We were able to leave as we needed to go get some food throughout the day, (Crumbs cupcakes, FTW!) and stock up on necessities for our overnight flight.

Before we knew it, we were boarding the plane for Shannon, and enjoying a smooth flight across the Atlantic. Our first day of our honeymoon was officially over.