We are at the airport with plenty of time for lunch. Henry is waxing poetic about his time in Ireland and is convinced his ancestors traveled to America with the Irish immigrants of the last century. (He does have a very vivid imagination.). Any way, we are a happy, somewhat weary, band of Celtic travelers with so many great memories packed securely in our luggage.
(“ I know I have Irish roots. Look how I’m rocking my shamrock! Mom shared a Boston donut, I take that as a good omen and look at the fetching barista! “ - Henry)