Tojo

The town of Clonakilty, in County Clare, Ireland, is famous for its black pudding and for being the home of Michael Collins. But one of the most interesting stories about Clonakilty has nothing to do with revolutionary struggle or questionable meat products.

The hero of this story is a monkey named Tojo. He arrived in Clon aboard the Taint-a-Bird, a US warplane that made an emergency landing in 1943. The plane and had first flown to South America, where its crew picked up the monkey in Brazil, named him after the Japanese emperor, and took him along as a mascot. They also took along 36 bottles of rum. On its flight to from Morocco to Europe, the Taint-a-Bird blew off course and began to run out of fuel. Thinking that they were flying over Nazi-occupied Norway, the crew prepared for the worst and made an emergency landing. Instead of enemy forces, they found curious and friendly locals speaking English (though who knows if they could understand it under that heavy West Cork accent).

The crew was the toast of the town and the reason for a three-day party. They got plenty of attention from the local ladies and had way more fun than they could have every found in Nazi Norway. The only dark spot in the celebration was the passing of little Tojo. Whether he caught pneumonia or altitude sickness or alcohol poisoning from all that rum, we may never know. But his death did not go unrecognized. Tojo was laid out in a state and buried behind O'Donovan's Hotel with full military honors. And what would you do at an Irish wake for a dead Brazilian monkey? Raise a glass, I suppose.

Today, a statue of Tojo marks the place where we is buried behind O'Donovan's Hotel. And his fame carries on now that a local beer is named after him. Fittingly, it's an American pale ale.

With Tojo's statue

to Ireland

Much life has happened since I posted last year - Christmas shopping and years spent waiting in line at the post office, a three-day cookie baking bonanza, extreme nagging of high schoolers who haven't finished college applications, Jake and Viola's wedding, getting ready for my mother-in-law's visit, hosting her and then of course the big day when we celebrate Rudolf, the birth of Santa Claus and his brother baby Jesus.

Then we went to Ireland and left all that behind. We came to visit Jason - who worked with Brian in a pub in 1998 and later found him again via Facebook - and his fiancee Jenna. Jason picked us up at the airport in Cork and a few hours later we were standing on the beach at Spanish Point outside of Milltown Malbay, County Clare. Spanish Point is named for the wrecked ships of the Armada that crashed here in 1588.

Much of Jason's family lives in Clare. We stayed with cousin Jon who owns a guesthouse in Milltown Marbay and runs a pub on the little high street. The town is a destination for surfers - thanks to Neoprene, there was plenty of surfing happening in December - and for tourists driving down the Wild Atlantic Way on Ireland's west coast. From what I gathered the Wild Atlantic Way is nothing more than a lot of coastal country roads linked together with nice signage, and is remarkable for just how un-developed and well-marketed it is. The attraction, of course, is the beautiful coast line and the pretty little towns along the way. Even in the dead of winter, most of Jon's guest house rooms were rented out.

We took a walk on the family land in the Burren, which is a rocky inland region with its own mild microclimate. The grass grows here all year round. So do the wild goats, who we ran into on our hike up the hill.

That evening, we saw many of the dozen aunts and uncles who grew up on this land at the annual family holiday dinner. And Brian and I became part of the family. The wine glass never quite went empty and somehow I ended up at the head of the table. The two aunts who ran the show were pros - four courses for fifteen people and they didn't break a sweat. Then we headed back to the pub for a few, then a few more.

Fresh starts

Goodbye, 2016. You haven't been all bad, but it's time for you to go.

On the plus side, there have been a few babies born into our lives and some great trips to the Caucases, the US, Spain... But in world events things are not so hot. Police killings, ongoing wars, the refugee crisis, terrorist attacks from Miami to Istanbul, Prince, George Michael, David Bowie , Brexit, Donald Trump (oh please, Europeans, don't ask me about Trump).

So don't let the door hit you on the way out, 2016. We're ready for a new year, full of fresh starts. For Brian and me, there's half a year left to enjoy not working too hard in Europe, and to revel a bit in just how far we've come since stepping off that plane with an air mattress stuffed into a suitcase. We will make a big move back to what we know in Minnesota, and get to know it all over again.

As for the world, I hope that in 2017 mankind can get its act together. I hope we can get up from the muck, brush ourselves off and help each other out.

It was good to ring in this year in Ireland, where the people are warm, the smiles are friendly, and the water at restaurants is free and has ice cubes. Brian and I needed a break from the grim German weather and the grim Germans' faces. Even at Christmas time, it seemed they had reasons to scowl. The Irish can even out-nice Minnesotans.

So here's what I wish for the world this year, though it may sound overly simple: I want us to help each other, to be kind, to share, not to do mean things because we are scared or we don't understand. That includes all of us and I want it to happen both in the neighborhood and in the international arena.
Yes, these are the same things your mother taught you when you were five. She was right.
This year let's all grow up together, let's learn to tie our shoes, share our toys and play nice.

Off to a hopeful 2017.