Happy June to you. I hope your summer gets well spent, and come September, you have a stack of fond memories to add to your ever-expanding album of life. As someone that generally relies on deadlines to motivate their work, I am writing this column several weeks before it is to be published, because I plan to be out-and-about adding memories to my summer stack.

Part of what makes a relationship work is knowing each other’s needs and wants. Knowing them, sometimes providing them, and other times, selflessly encouraging their pursuit.

On May 23rd I crossed the pond to spend a few weeks in Ireland. I’m fortunate enough to have had the opportunity to make this trip twice before, several years ago, once with my wife, and once with two of my good friends, Paul and Bubba. This time around I’m flying solo the first week, and my good friend Paul is joining me the second week.

Did I “need” to go to Ireland again? Of course not, but tickets were cheap. Did I “want” to go to Ireland again? Dumb question. I’m never opposed to dumb questions. As a teacher, I’ve learned that one never knows where a dumb question might lead. A dumb question is better than no question. No question goes nowhere. A dumb question just might find you in Ireland. So it goes.

Way back in January I was clicking around on Google Flights, most likely wasting time while putting off doing something that needed to be done, and a wee leprechaun presented me eyes with very low airfare. I shared the bargain basement gift that the wee one had presented me with my wife, and off-handedly said, “How would you feel about going to Ireland in May?”

My wife enjoyed our trip to Ireland over 10-years ago, but it’s not the island destination of her choice. Less inclement weather that allows for layers of sunscreen, rather than water-resistant clothing, is much more to her liking. I know this of her, and I look forward to exploring her tropical “want” with her.

So how did she feel about going to Ireland in May? She said, “no thanks”, but selflessly encouraged me to take the kindly leprechaun up on the offer. So, at the time of this column’s publication, I should be somewhere in Ireland. I should be rambling around the Dingle Peninsula by day, and hoisting a pint with my toes tapping to Irish music by night.

I should be chilled and soaked to the bone with the soft rains of spring and the Atlantic spray. I should be warm and dry gazing at the turf fire burning in a pubhouse fireplace. I should be thankful. I should be missing my wife. I should be pondering my first 50-years on earth, and hoping for another 50 of equal enjoyment. I should be singing…

“Oh the summertime is coming

And the trees are sweetly blooming

And the wild mountain thyme

Grows around the blooming heather

Will ye go, Lassie go?”