I flew to London for a meeting and then took a train to Birmingham to meet my Dads brother for the first time. An intriguing story filled with misunderstandings and regret for the actions of another generation.

A funeral took place in 1980 in London where among hushed whispers and commotion a drop of truth began to unravel. A distraught Aunt who had carried a secret for forty-plus years says “his other sons should be here, they should know their father had passed”.

Secrets that would impact generations filled with the deceit of who they were, their culture, and their surname.

Ireland is abundant with its simplistic beauty. Wildflowers perched along the crusts of the sea, expansive fields of green with families of sheep, beautiful mountains on the west coast, and stunning and precarious cliffs.

Still, as I enter into this time of year, I often feel the moodiness of Ireland as the days get shorter, the sun seems rare and the chill from the rain can be felt in my bones.

Luigi picked me up from the hotel this morning in Bellagio. He was tall, dark, and very charming on our one-hour ride to Milan airport, Luigi talked with his hands moving them as though he was directing a symphony.

His voice would intensify as he shared the moments of his divorce, girlfriends, and his 12-year-old son. And when he pulled my bags from the trunk of his car he kissed me on both cheeks exclaiming he would not forget.

Farewell to Bellagio Italy.

As I hiked up the cliff path in Howth Ireland I came across the home of W.B. Yeats. The house was called the Balscadden House, and the plaque, which noted that Yeats lived there from 1880 to 1883, read, “I have spread my dreams under your feet; tread softly because you tread on my dreams.” The quote comes from one of Yeats’ poems, entitled “Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven.”

It’s easy to see how the Irish Sea may have brought much creativity to Yeats.

Howth is only a couple of villages over from where I live in Malahide and is quickly becoming my favorite spot in Ireland.