Return to America-- how I failed to make Ireland my home

Maura Mulligan's travels to Ireland and back to America

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Maura Mulligan embraces New York as her home after revisited Ireland.

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 My fire-gazing reverie was interrupted by the voice of a radio announcer: “An elderly woman sixty-two was found…” Elderly?

 “I may be in my sixties but I’m not elderly,” I said as I braved flooded roads where trees rose up out of rivers, and stonewalls appeared down the middle of newly formed lakes. I picked a good time to “test the waters,” I thought when I finally reached my sister Bridie’s home near Shannon.

I hosted a dinner party, went to the theater and danced at a céilí. A friendly bus driver said, “No rush,” when I searched for change, and a well-mannered youth stood to give me a seat on the train. But I was feeling… well, elderly. 

My dance students in New York e-mailed asking when I was “coming home.” The head of the North American branch of Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Eireann asked if I’d be available to teach a dance class at the spring convention in New Jersey. I jumped at the chance.

When I returned, the city gleamed its youthful welcome. I didn’t get a seat in the subway, but the lights put a spring in my step.

When my dance students embraced me in a group hug, I said, “I’m h-o-m-e.”

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