Wednesday, July 27
Wicklow Mountains, Ireland
The trip into the mountains might have been less enjoyable if not for the traffic jam. Mostly, it wasn't bad driving that was causing the backup. It was the rubberneckers, slowing down to get a good look at the ...
sheep in the road.
I sprained my ankle on Tuesday. It wasn't horrible, but it was bad enough that I spent the next two days clumsily hobbling around and in quite a bit of pain. I can't believe that I hiked to the top of craggy cliffs, crossed a rope bridge, and scaled a 40-foot slippery granite slope with two boys in tow, only to trip and sprain my ankle stepping off the deck in the backyard. I knew before it twisted that it was going to, and it was one of those instances where real-time stopped and everything began to play in slow motion. My ankle popped 4 times as I came crashing down on the grass. My first reaction was to look up and see if anyone was watching. When I was sure I was alone, I rolled around for a bit (now I know why football players roll on the ground when they go down hard...somehow, it helps ease the pain!), grumbling at my stupidity and releasing a string of bad words. Then I eased myself up, wiped away a rogue tear, and hopped to the house. For awhile, I was afraid I had broken it.
Because of the injury, I decided to skip the hike we had planned on Wednesday at Glendalough. Instead, Nancy and I shopped at the base of the trail while Darren and the kids went up. This is one of the shots Dani took with my digital:
I bought the boys each an Irish instrument: a tin whistle for Aidan, and a drum for Ian. They've already entertained us several times with "concerts", and even played a tune for Grandpa John on the phone.
The Wicklow Mountains were lovely, and the peaceful calm of Glendalough was just the medicine that we all needed.