27 Years Ago, 1992, I Was Returning to London From Ireland and Bought Me an Aran Islands Sweater

I was nineteen years old and, cold, I walked into a thrift store in Galway and found an Irish-knit sweater on a rack that I could afford - it was like a Salvation Army. I was a pup, and in love with the age, life, legality of booze, travel, and literature, I finally found a sweater to keep me warm.

It remains my go-to sweater, too, whenever the air is cold and I know I want to be extra warm. Yesterday, after a long run, I realized, "Today is a perfect day for the sweater." And it just happened to be St. Patrick's Day, also St. Gertrude's Day (patron Saint of Cats), so I went for my Sheppard's Pie and corn beef feeling like quite the Irish man. Of course, when I first wore that sweater, I don't even think I was able to grow facial hair.

I'm only 19% Irish according to my DNA, but with Ripley as 50% of my genes, some of my family likes to claim a lot more. I'll take it, as both times I've been to Ireland, I've enjoyed looking for ancestry and felt a connection. My Uncle Dick, a Crosby, was proud of his Welsh ancestry so when I found out that all the urinals in Whales were Crosby ones, I took a photo and said, "Every time I wee, I am thinking of you, Uncle Crosby."

I can report that Chitunga is safe in Syracuse after a week of care-free youth on Spring Break. Talking to him is remarkable, simply because he's always been mature, but the more he has world experiences, he comes back with greater wisdom. Sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a younger version of myself or I wonder, too, if he's a figment of my imagination. I just love catching up with him and learning new insights and perspectives.

Back to Ireland, 1992. I read that the Irish don't celebrate St. Patty's Day like the U.S. does, and Judy and I booked a ferry out of Ireland on, well, St. Patty's Day. Dublin was a carnival, and even though our ferry left at night, we regretted not staying for the entire evening celebration. She never forgave me for that. It was all good. I remember getting a good night's sleep on the ferry after a week of being youthful (like Chitunga) while we were there.

Now...I can't even imagine. I simply want to go to sleep in my own bed.