The Adventure Begins: Part One - Tarmac Tremors

This will be the beginning of a series on J and L's  three week adventure to Ireland during the summer of 2013. We truly hope all our viewers will enjoy the pieces placed here.

As with any travelling, especially aboard those large hollow thin-skinned birds filled with humans, there is a bit of anxiety engulfed with trepidation. It's not that J of J and L fears flying, but as his traveling partner Laureen takes to flight like the proverbial duck to water John clasps her hand and silently prays the jet liner will stay in the air long enough to reach their destination.

J knows he is not the only traveler who would rather Star Trek it by breaking into microscopic particles and beam seamlessly to another planetary location within seconds. As long as the final result would ensure his head was attached properly to his shoulders and not his rear, which would be hard to explain.

The flight reached it's cruising altitude within the anticipated time and Los Angeles was soon to the west as the Air Bus 319 darted east-bound toward O'Hare in Chicago where the travelers would change planes for the final leg across the Atlantic to Dublin International.

As with any exploration there has to be some angst and ours started with TSA - as do many such moments.

J had some concern that he may find himself on a 'no fly' list since he had just spent the last year and a half completing research for his newest novel, Soft Target. The plot revolves around a public school takeover by an Islamic Fundamentalist group (no further details at this time so not a spoil the anticipation) so there had been many 'Google'  searches for jihad this and jihad that.

That is where the nagging back of the head thoughts came from when J approached the queue to start the bothersome but necessary procedure of taking off the shoes, the belt, the watch, and anything else which could hide something that could take down an airliner. J kept wondering which of the stern and serious TSA officers would approach him and advise him that there would be no flight for him on this day to the Emerald Island.

"We don't allow guys who do a lot of research on Jihad this and Jihad that onto our planes!"

But alas there was no 'no fly' list and J walked through unscathed. What nearly cost the intrepid adventurers was lurking within L's carry-on baggage. The bag went twice through the x-ray and raised eyebrows with a large woman behind the screen. She gave J a look and he innocently pointed at L as she was waved through the scanner.

"Is there something in here we should know about?" the woman questioned as instantly another TSA person showed up and took possession of L's carry-on.

J was minding his business retying his shoes but the focus of his ears were on the conversation between L and the TSA agent. He didn't feel the need to get involved - the image of the agent suddenly forgetting the carry-on and focusing his attention on the 'guy' who had spent 18 months researching Islamic terrorists still had J on the wary path. And besides, it wasn't his carry-on now was it?

At this point people were starting to stare over at J and L, especially L since it was her bag, with looks of worry. What line had they gotten into were the thoughts probably running through their minds? These people look just like the rest of us - what were they hiding to garner such a thorough investigation by the officials from the TSA? Why did we choose this day to travel with people like that especially the guy who is taking forever tying his shoes - he probably spends his time searching the internet for insights into the jihadist mind-set.

Within seconds, after two more TSA agents showed up and asked if they could open L's carry-on, as if she was going to deny them that privilege, and proceeded to do so.

A laugh. A chuckle. And a simple nod came from the three officers as they found what had caused all the consternation in the first place.

A large dark brown oblong shaped object was the villain on this day. A rather mild sausage that had been given to J and L by their daughters as something to eat on the long flights ahead.

     

The afore-mentioned culprit!

"It's just a sausage." grinned one agent.

"That's a relief," said another.

"Looks like a good sausage though," agreed the third.

One more pass through the x-ray machine for the sausage and we were cleared to travel with J wondering if the sausage had now been fully cooked and ruined from three separate trips through the machine.

It turned out that Mr. Sausage had been so cleverly wrapped to seal in the flavor that the machine only saw an oblong object which could have been a C-4 explosive device.

J and L thanked the officers for their diligence and made the final walk to the gate where their plane was waiting. Thank goodness that moment was over - J made sure that L continued to hold onto that carry-on.

Unfortunately, LAX didn't inform O'Hare about the disguised sausage looking thing in L's carry-on and the whole procedure happened again when once again the call to go through the TSA check-point came up. This time people in line with us actually physically moved to other more crowded lines to get away from the people with the suspicious package in the carry-on - L's not J's, I must continue to remind the reader. Within minutes J and L were again walking to their airline gate smiling to each other knowing as L is prone to state:

"We never go on vacations. We take adventures."

And isn't that the way traveling should be?

The guilty sausage was a thing of the past once J and L reached Dublin, along with the crackers and cheese nestled innocently beside the sausage within L's carry-on.

Though this was the beginning of a long trip, we from J and L have to give a round of applause to the TSA agents as they did a marvelous job and actually were pretty good natured with both of us at either airport. They were professional, respectful, and courteous which always makes traveling easier.

So, the journey begins minus the sausage but hopefully other tasteful treats will be awaiting our readers.

Forty Shades of Green

Why is this difficult to understand?
Thanks to Howard Wolowitz of the Big Bang Theory -- it's so clear now, even for us Americans!

Why visit Ireland?

Most Southwestern Native American tribes do not have a word which distinguishes the color green from the color blue. It is an unnecessary differentiation that never required the creation of a term. The weather here in the High Desert experiences little rain, giving rise to very little "green." In Ireland, it rains. It rains in the winter. It rains in the summer. And for good measure, it rains in the spring. Did I mention the autumn rains? It is a joke, well, maybe not a funny one, that you can tell the season by the temperature of the rain in Ireland. Cold rain:  winter. Warm rain:  summer. But, it's raining and that is why the Emerald Isle is green. So green in fact that those who care about such things have categorized forty different shades of green on this tiny island. We're leaving the desert to see something green.

But are there any other reasons to go?

1. Because the Irish have always been industrious builders:  When Newgrange, perhaps the oldest prehistoric monument in Ireland was in its planning stages, most of the rest of the planet was peopled with humans trying to figure out why their mud-hut wouldn't stand. These monuments are a few hundred years older than the pyramids at Giza, and their precision alignment to the cosmos is just as remarkable. No where else in the world will you find so many prehistoric monuments in such a small territory: an island roughly three hundred miles in length and a hundred fifty in breadth.
2. The history, and the future of Dublin, Belfast, Kerry, Cork. Names of cities which resonate in ancient and more modern history. From the time of the Vikings through the current "Troubles," these places have endured.
3. Natural wonders such as few will ever see. The Giant's Causeway, the Slieve League (the tallest cliffs in Europe) and the views from the cliff-faces.
4. Preservation of historic heritage: in both Heritage towns and the preservation and restoration of early Christian churches, monasteries, and medieval monuments.
5. Writers are drawn toward the arts. Ireland is famous for its unique Celtic song, inimitable dance, and for its literature. English was a language thrust upon the Irish. so they took perfect revenge. They mastered the word, crafted the phrase and produced several Nobel Laureates in Literature. You cannot deny there is simply something about that accent, nor can you forget the way so many Irish have turned an English phrase:  Bram Stoker, James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, Liam O'Flaherty, Geroge Bernard Shaw, William Butler Yeats, and Morgan Llewellen. And, I could be mistaken, but I'm fairly certain the name Reagan, is Irish. Now, if politics is an art, that man was an artist!
6. Witness the birth of peace as two countries merge not so seamlessly into one. From North Ireland's six Ulster counties and British currency and all the many large and small differences between the north and her southern sister, Ireland, there are indications, reflections of Ireland's troubled history as well as signs of hope and restoration as the partition closes.
7. Irish pubs. Do I have to explain?
8. It is indeed the old country for so many of us who have the privilege to claim Irish roots.Nearly thirty five million Americans are Irish or partially Irish, a number which is seven times the current population of the island itself at approximately four and a half million.
9. The Gathering.  This year, 2013, seventy million Irish from around the world are invited to return home. There is a nationwide welcome home party. How do you pass up that invitation?
10. Loyalty. If I've discovered anything about the Irish people, and my own roots, it is that the Irish are nothing if not loyal.  Oh, they can joke, cast sarcastic barbs, and have refined self-deprecating humor to an art. Story-telling? Pretty sure, this was where it was invented; and each time the story is relayed, it becomes more fantastical. But while you are jesting, feel free to make light of your own foibles, because though they may joke about their own country, family, religion, etc., it is not your place to cast aspersions. As my sister once said, "My husband may be a jerk, but he's my jerk."  And my daughters? Irish to the core. They would sometimes fight like cats and dogs growing up, but if someone came against the other from outside the family -- they would have hell to pay. Fierce loyalty. How else could a people so besieged and oft conquered, never bowed, never gave up being Irish. 

Erin go Bragh -- Ireland forever!

A Haunting We Will Go

"There are some human beings who are dimly aware of their own deaths, yet have chosen to stay on in what used to be their homes, to be close to surroundings they once held dear." - Hans Holzer, legendary paranormal researcher who passed away in 2009.

What does a rational logical person do when they are visiting a city where there is supposed to be one of the most haunted houses in America?

Explore it of course.

That's exactly what J and L did recently while in San Diego for another matter which dealt with being Hunted and not Haunted. Okay that was a cheap shot at self-promoting the novel Hunted and I hope our readers will forgive that dalliance.

We had heard about the number one rated haunted house in America according to Travel Channel's America's Most Haunted and knew we had to walk those spooky grounds. We wanted to tread along the wooden floor boards and hear the creaks and moans of folks who hadn't decided to go 'to the other side' and perhaps convince them perhaps they should or at least to get them to be quieter and not scare the tourists.

After purchasing the entrance tickets for the Whaley House located in Old Town San Diego in lieu of  New Town which is actually downtown San Diego where another haunted location exists called the William Heath Davis House. We had visited that haunt (if you'll permit the pun) earlier in the day without a whisper in our ear or even a tug on our clothes by invisible forces - wouldn't you think there should be a refund policy for not even having one single hair on your arm rise after spending forty minutes going up and down stairs in a ghostly inhabited place?

No such luck.

Determined, we sauntered into the Whaley house which was a rather large and comfortable considering it was built in 1857 on a slight hill looking south west out toward the bay of San Diego. The docents where wonderfully attentive and one fine gentleman grabbed onto us in the main hallway and explained all the paranormal happenings that had occurred within the walls of the house since it had been built.

It seemed Thomas Whaley had purchased a vacant lot which once what the location for the hangings of some of the lower elements of early San Diego but not being a believer in visitors from the afterlife he pooh-poohed the ideas and constructed the two story brick house for his family. One of the most notorious men to have been hung on or nearby the property was one Yankee Jim (James Robinson) who had been convicted of numerous crimes and received a death by hanging decree in 1852. The only problem was that Yankee Jim was a rather tall fellow and when the wagon was forced away from him with rope around his neck the tips of his boots touched the ground. Instead of the usual snap crackle pop of the neck the poor man swung around and chocked to death. Records stated it took nearly 30 minutes for poor Yankee Jim to give up the ghost.

Or perhaps he didn't.

Soon after Whaley built the house and moved his family in the spooking started with the nightly creaking of the ninth step on the inside stairwell. The 'cold' spots where the Whaley's were certain someone from the other side was standing. In fact, it got to the point that Thomas Whaley became a believer in the supernatural (it should be noted he was there when Yankee Jim was executed and believed not in spirits revisiting) especially after hearing the footsteps moving about the entire house at odd hours of the night and not just on the ninth step any longer. He was spooked but it would get worse.

In 1871 being despondent over a failed or troubled marriage the Whaley's twenty-two year old daughter, Violet shot herself in the outhouse and her father carried his dying daughter into the salon where she soon died. It has been reported over the decades one can hear someone crying in that room when there isn't anyone there. As typical with any such a haunted place there are stories of the caretakers, visitors, and other such folk who heard and felt strange occurrences within the Whaley House. There have been children reporting a man waving at them wearing a strange looking outfit - it has been thought that young children are more in tune with ghosts than older folks and clothing from the 1850's would surely look strange to a little one now wouldn't it?

After a rather lengthy description of the house we thanked the Docent and wandered about the interior and exterior of the place for an hour, even haunting (probably wrong term) around a bit on the ninth step bouncing up and down.

Nothing! Or was there?

Not a tingle, not an itch, not a tug, and no cold spots except walking by an upstairs open window and feeling the wonderful cool breeze from the San Diego Bay.

But when we returned home and checked our photos, in the room where the young lady breathed her last, there was a strange lighting effect. (See the comparisons photos). Was there something, someone, after all?




Again, it was a bit of a bust for ghost hunting but worthwhile all the same with the marvelous and tantalizing history that Old Town San Diego has to offer.

But don't expect a refund if you don't get spooked - that should be changed according to this writer.

Whaley House Museum

whaleyhouse.org/

Old Town San Diego Guide

www.oldtownsandiegoguide.com/

William Heath Davis house San Diego, California - GoThere

gothere.com/sandiego/Ghosts/DavisHouse/default.htm