We're going to Ireland ... I think

It's my wife's joke, but it's a good one.

For the past year or so, whenever the subject of our approaching 25th wedding anniversary would come up in the conversation, we inevitably would be asked if we were planning anything special to celebrate the occasion.

"Well, we figure we have two options, and after careful consideration, we've decided that we're going to take a nice trip," Lisa would reply, "because a divorce would be just too expensive."

Funny stuff. No, really, especially after she started taking the role of the set-up guy and letting me deliver the "expensive divorce" punchline.

But, no kidding, we really ARE going to celebrate our Silver Anniversary on Aug. 31, and we really do want to commemorate it in an extra-special way. And, let's face it, divorce really IS too expensive.

With less than six months remaining before the big day, we needed to stop joking and come up with a serious answer to the question. I'm in favor of the travel option. Taking a nice trip sounded like a pretty good way to go. And by "nice trip," I figured she meant that we'd go to Vegas for a week (or until we'd disposed of our disposable income), or maybe to the Poconos for a second honeymoon.

Yet for some reason, when she put on her serious face a few weeks ago and asked me, "So what ARE we going to do for our anniversary?" my knee-jerk response was, "Let's go to Ireland." I harbored no delusions that the suggestion would be taken seriously, and I even made sure I was smiling when I said it so that she'd know that I was, you know ... joking. That I didn't really mean "Let's GO to Ireland," or worse, "Let's go to IRELAND."

But the truth is, like most of us descendants of the Irish diaspora, I've always had it in the back of my mind that some day I would make a pilgrimmage to the motherland. Except that, in my case, Ireland is my father's land. My mother is the progeny of Wolfs and Tremels, or about as German as it gets. And, make no mistake, I am proud of my German heritage. My beloved Grandma Wolf was the most important person in my life, aside from my parents, as I was growing up. And lately when I look in the mirror, I see my Grandpap Wolf staring back at me. I was absolutely astonished the first time I realized that I have become a virtual clone of the dear old man, the fulfillment of a 5-year-old's fervent wish to some day be just like him.

But it was Dad who gave me my Irish surname, my emerald badge of honor on display to the world. "Fennessy ... so you're Irish then!" Indeed I am, and I've been to Ireland a thousand times in my dreams. Strangely enough, Germany never has been on my imagination's itinerary.

So it was with no small shock and surprise that I heard my wife say a few days later, "I've been thinking about what you said, and maybe we should start looking into taking a trip to Ireland."

That's what she said, but what I HEARD was, "Start making a list of the castles you'd like to visit and the pubs with the best music, because WE'RE GOING TO IRELAND!"

So, yeah, I'm thinking she was serious. I mean, after 24 years and six months of marriage, I'm fairly certain she wouldn't dangle that carrot in front of me and then snatch it away with a "Gotcha! Only teasing!"

To be honest, aside from that one in Blarney with the stone, I have no idea what castles are there, and my guess is that there's good music and good company to be enjoyed in any Irish pub we could happen upon. I only know that, at long last, it looks like I'm going to be able to answer both questions first-hand, up close and personal.

In the meantime, I've got a lot of research and planning to do, and I've decided that this blog would be a good way of keeping a record of my research. My journey before the journey, as it were. And if someone stumbles upon this little online diary and cares to share a tip or a thought, all the better.