THE RATCHFORDS

This is Davy pondering something deeper than the pub grub and sausage rolls we were about to eat downtown. Looking reminiscently and longingly over the balcony at the Mish mountains that he is seeing for the first time in his life in Killarney. Looking like he's thinking about something silently magical and ancient, but really just posing because he was there and Stephen was still in his knickers right behind me and wouldn't have made as good a model.

Of all the pubs for three Irish brothers to head into while they were away from their missus for week..."Husseys" was one that might have gotten us in a bit of trouble...I never found out if the pub was owned by a gang of Husseys or just a pub designed for and in behalf of the common Hussey that might be walking by. Either way, we played it safe and went to the other pub up the road...Sluttz.

Downtown Killarney. The towns all look like this in Kerry. Small, old, quaint, and reeking of Guinness, smart cars and tourism, always ready to make deal. Like the old dodger in the hotel up the road from here, who, when I asked..."what are your nightly rates?" he replied "well, how much have ye got?". I told him 50 euros for three blokes in one room and he said "you must be joking me son, go on now, go out" Very friendly land of the haggle and barter my eye.

You can't really see it this picture but I am actually removing a sword from the stone below me to unleash the magic contained the the ancient loch behind me...Loch McChoclochaladhochloch or something. Anyway, I think that's what I was doing, because nothing else could really explain a grown man making a pose this noble and gay.

Stephen had just finished declaring that the sword from the above picture had finally been removed and that the 1000 year old hex that had bewitched Loch McChoclochaladhochloch had now been broken thanks to Sir Garreth and the Knights of the Southern Alabama Baptists Klan. The villages were finally freed from tyranny and woe and all of the children that had been stolen finally ran out of a cave at the end....oh wait...crap, that was at the end of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Nevermind, anyway, it was brilliant.

Davy, not brilliant, just posing again.

This is the part in the blog when I am wondering why Erin put these all these pictures of the same frickin place knowing full well that I can only be funny for one, maybe two at best in a series of similar pictures....sheesh Erin.

I mean, c'mon...give me something to go with.

Ah, like this one. See this a picture where, with the background on it's own, looking like it does would be enough to stir a spectator's heart to images of Darby O'Gill and the Little People or to see John Wayne (from the Quiet Man) strutting past down below in the heather with long strides as he drags Maureen O'Hara by the hair to their new lovely thatched roof cottage beyond yonder thicket of bracken. But NO, instead, I thought I looked really cute in my new wee Paddy cap and impish smile.

Ok, so no joking on this one, it kind of makes me cry...brothers you see, together again, home.

We stayed on these cliffs for a good 20 minutes scoping out whether or not one of the brothers would die if he did jump off the cliffs into the Atlantic. The one brother in case you're wondering was me. Not because I was feeling especially brave around my brothers but because it is ALWAYS me that does the stupid dare devil stuff and usually ends up getting hurt. Like when they first convinced me to do the back flip off the diving board at the Municipool in Logan and I cracked the top of my head so hard off the diving board that my baby skull soft spot came back. "Go on, Garreth, Go on, You'll be fine they said". Or the time they said, yeah, that snowboarding jump 2/3 the way down old main hill is fine for snow tubes, go on = unconsciousness + concussion, you're welcome brothers. Anyway so I said ok, let me go down there and swim out to see if it's deep enough. Turns out it's a wee cove and was only about 8 feet deep there. Good thing I didn't jump. Bear Grylls would have been proud. Stupid thing was I really was chicken not because of the jump or the height, but because of how cold I thought the water was. So what do I do, swim out to see how deep it was in the freezing water.....brilliant really.

The Ring of Kerry. Ah yes, those green hills behind dotted with sheep and thatched roof cottages are real, not just planted there for the tourists. I can't do this place justice with words. It was seriously that gorgeous.

Old castle / abbey ruins off the side of the road. These are all over the place. This one had turned into a graveyard and jutted out into the middle of the bay. Is jutted a word? I just made it one, anyway later on, Stephen called me a mean name and I jutted him for it. See it works...

If wonder if the original people that built this knew that it would later be described on blogs as the jutting abbey?

That is Inch Beach behind me and this place is so beautiful. It's called Inch Beach because it was founded by an American organization called Pennies by the Inch (not to be mis-spelled) that measured it out one weekend because they got bored tracing their ancestors that day.

Hmmmm. Truly if there is a reason that Ireland is not ruling the planet, it is best explained by the above picture. Guinness had been used in almost any application in Ireland, cleansing agent, a trade proposal for land, a cease-fire, explaining why there are so many kids, or another excuse to sleep in on Sundays, it really is a powerful drink.

Now I know what you're thinking, wait a second, that's Davy posing there like he's really throwing that one down...well you'd be wrong, because the head of the pint is still intact (always a telltale sign for a true Irishman, which me and Davy are not because of the blackhole vortex that we created in the universe by deciding to be the only two Irishmen in the world who don't drink). We were careful not to mention that at customs, but I swear those Irish border agents still knew when they looked at us. Some of them could just sense it.

Our old house. We planted those trees when we were kids. They are huge now, so are we I suppose, big not like Biggest Loser big, not that huge.

My aunts Lizzy (green shirt) and Sandy (red). Sandy lives in Australia and we hadn't seen her in 15 years.

This is my nephew Breen in his TaeKwonDo gear. He has the hardest kick in his class I am told. There are two people in his class. Him, and his sister.

Again, kind of choking up here...U2 songs starting to hum in my head. Move on quick.

Long flight home, still have some digital pictures left....ok then.

Let's see who can look the most like Bill O'Reilly?

Ok,ok, I win, I look the most like Bill O'Reilly here, but Davy definitely wins second place for Glenn Beck.

Two drink minimum? Alright , we'll go for Shawn Hannity?

READING is FUN-da-MENTAL

Some good ol' family night pumpkin carving.

Sam's preschool field trip to a pumpkin patch:

Sam and his best school friend Lucas, who we got to take in the van with us. I so wish I'd have had a way to record the cute four-year-old boy conversations coming from that back seat.

And Declan, because he just loves having his picture taken. (And wouldn't you if you were that really really ridiculously good-looking?!)

Riding in the tractor trailer at the farm. Thank goodness for that gorgeous sunshine.

In typical Sam-fashion, he bypassed all the cute, normal-sized pumpkins in search for the biggest and best.

This was the monster pumpkin he picked. I nearly threw my back out trying to lift it into the trailer.

Riding in the caboose.

Having a yummy fall snack - apple slices, apple cider, and popcorn balls. This was the first time my kids ever had a popcorn ball - they didn't even know that it was a real thing and not just made up for a cute Primary song.

Today was Sam's costume parade and preschool program. The kids all came marching into the room where the parents were waiting to see all their cute costumes. Sam Cullen made the best entrance of all, flapping his cloak, baring his razor-sharp vampire teeth, and growling at the people he passed.

And the most exciting new development at the Ratchford house?

This guy:

Our new little 18-month-old foster baby, Evan. He has been with another foster family, so we have been able to make it a slow transition for him. He will spend some afternoons with us this week before moving in officially on Monday. And let me tell you, we could not have custom-ordered a better fit for our family. This kid is tough, funny, and about the cutest thing ever. We are excited to get to know him better!