Wonderful Waterford, and Kilkenny Castle

All right, dear ones. We're back in Ireland for a brief visit to Waterford and her people, as well as Kilkenny Castle. And then, it is sadly and weepily back to the U.S. of A.  Which, actually, I was glad to return to if for nothing other than reliable street signs, single taps which ran both hot and cold water, vegetables, and wide roads. And of course my children, whom I was missing. Needed to return to the mom-gig. But oh! What a lovely life-and-perspective-altering trip this was. And Oh! How I intend to do it again. Hopefully with all the kidlets in tow. They'd love it. 

So, a shout-out to my fabu kids for sacrificing, comporting themselves with the utmost responsibility, being brave and strong and fearless, not destroying the house (indeed, cleaning it), and above all: Not Killing Each Other. Huzzah to you, I say. Huzzah.

Speaking of Huzzah, we decided to go to church in Waterford on our last Sunday in Ireland. We went to this tiny little congregation of the LDS Church (called a branch). There were about 50 people there. And they met in this little warehouse that they've leased and made lovely inside:

Yep. There I go. Catching me some religion. See that sign on the right that says "Assembly Point"? These were all over Ireland. I believe they mark the spot you're supposed to gather to in case of an emergency. Like, if suddenly all of Waterford got converted to the LDS church–which, I am sure would cause a state of emergency, given that there would be a sudden and serious Guinness overstock–they would meet at the assembly point. Or maybe the pub-owners would.

Or the assembly point could be, like, in case of fire or something. Just a guess though.

Anyway, we went there and met some totally awesome people, some of whom invited us over to their house for dinner. The Moylens. Who are amazing. He is an Irish history expert and does historic reenactments in the schools and other public places (he was on television while we were there), and she is brilliant at handling and feeding sudden crowds who show up at her door. I say this because half the congregation decided to join us at the Moylens that evening. And let me tell you, it was a mighty fine cacophony and whirlwind of cooking going on in that kitchen. And the repast was magnificent. Here are some of us with our mouths full:

And that is not Coke on the table. Or Pepsi. Those are recycled bottles which were sterilized and reused here for . . . okay. They were Coke and Pepsi. And no one was excommunicated. *gasp* I drank apple juice. In case you're wondering.

I just noticed that my hand is blurry. Yeesh. I gotta learn to talk without my hands flapping like a windmill. Or maybe just not TALK SO MUCH. Just a thought.

Here's where the "Huzzah" part comes in. After dinner we all retired to the living room where we yammered and got to know each other. Here is another guest visiting from England with his wife and children. He was telling me about his life and answering a bazillion nosey questions from me. He had lost his voice completely and had to whisper in my ear for me to hear it. SERIOUSLY. That is what is happening here!

See? Here's his wife, joining in on the convo:

Look at that gorgeous woman!

And then it just got crazy.

Michael Moylen, our host, expert, and purveyor of all things Irish-History, started dragging out medieval paraphernalia, and before we knew it we'd all turned into Knights of the Shamrock:

A tiny sampling.

Man in the Iron Mask. Sir Bruce, the Bruce-inator.

(Can you see his blue eyes peeping out of there?)

And then . . . 

Oh, no, no, no. I'm fine. I'll just watch. I'm talking to this lovely English gentleman here. No, no . . . 

Oh. Um. Okay. I guess . . . okay.

HaHAH! I am XenaNiel! Warrior Princess of Kilkenny! And I shall defend you! As soon as I sew my fingers back on!

(Clearly, I was meant to live in the 20th and 21st centuries.)

No idea why these things haven't caught on. You can see the admiring looks I'm receiving from the gentlemen behind me.

My hero! With a WWI helmet on because the armored helmet wouldn't fit over the maille. (Mail? Male? Maillelele?)

Here's something for your Gee-Whiz file: In full armor, knights often weighed around 500 pounds. The horses were armored too (serious Clydesdales, right?), and it required a crane to lift the knights onto their horses. If a knight fell and landed in even 2 inches of water and didn't have assistance getting back up again, he'd drown.

Seriously. Why don't we still use this stuff? All you'd have to do to win a war is push someone over.

The Clan Bamforth Guard. And Retainer.

Well, we partayed long into the evening. Relatively. And then parted ways fast friends forever. At least for me. I'll never forget these great people who took us into their home and treated us like they'd known us all their lives. What wonderful folk.

And now my dears, I really must show you Kilkenny Castle. And the best way I can think of doing that is simply by posting the video clips we took of our walk on and around the grounds. It is gorgeous there. I'll start with a few pictures of the environs to give you a feel for the place, and then off we'll go:

Ahhh. I have a million more. But I'd probably exceed your brain's (and desire's) bandwidth if I posted them. Might have done already.

So–On to the Movies! Sit back. Relax. Pop some popcorn. 

The Butler House

The STABLES, woman! The Royal Stables! Not the "horse house." Yeesh. Where was I born, in an animal resting place?

Really gorgeous grounds, smack in the center of town. And no, I never got my camera focused because it is a piece of truflais. 

(That's Irish for "garbage." I know because I've been to Ireland. Also I use online translators. Which are generally not truflais. They're not truffles, either.)

I'm not kidding. If I say "Kilkenny Castle" in all of it's alliterative glory one more time–or use a bad Irish accent–I'm going to slap myself.

*slap*

How wicked-cool is this tree? I want one, don't you?

Apologies for this next video. The ubiquitous wind completely overtakes it. Ah well. It still shows the cool grounds. And my husband reclining on a bench. 🙂

And then . . . we left! Drove to Dublin, caught a flight, and headed into the western horizon that becomes the United States.

But, I can't bring myself to post about the departure just yet. Maybe on Sunday.

What a glorious vacation. Thanks for your patience as I dragged you through my Irish Odyssey.  

But before you go, please. Solve this mystery for me. It's keeping me up nights:

Slán, my people.