The rocky road to Dublin

What I learned on the way to Dublin:

1. It is possible not to have a bad time in the Atlanta airport, provided you consume enough cocktails at the fancy restaurant in Terminal E, a strange amalgam of sushi bar and Southern-upscale-down-home kitchen run by some guy from Top Chef.

2. There is something even worse than sitting in front of a screaming thrashing toddler on a transatlantic flight, and that is listening to the toddler’s mother sing the Barney “I Love You” theme in a futile attempt to suppress the screaming and thrashing.

3. My ability to sleep in a non-horizontal position continues to decline. I might need to skip the dozing-off-in-a-recliner phase of late middle age and go straight to the never-getting-out-of-bed phase.

Despite the banal difficulties of transport, we did eventually arrive in Dublin! It looked like this:

You can tell it’s Ireland because the bottom half of the mist is tinted green.

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