Irish coffee

Irish coffee personifies everything about my honeymoon to me. One of my favorite moments in Ireland took place on our second to last day in Dublin. Jeff and I had spent the entire day trekking through the city in the absolute pouring rain, my hood squinched up around my face and both of our jeans soaked up to our knees. The first ten days of our trip had been been absolutely beautiful, but of course we had to experience a torrential downpour at some point or it wouldn't have felt authentically Irish. Since it was late October, of course the rain was freezing cold as it pelted our heads and sloshed up against our sneakers...we had to seek coverage under random buildings where homeless people huddled in their blankets among their belongings.

We found McDaid's pub on Harry Street just in time--a longtime literary hangout of some of Ireland's writers and playwrights from the 1940s. It was the coziest little bar with such an intimate feel. Dim lighting, candles flickering on the tables, five or six tables pushed up against the side of the wall, and my warm Irish coffee. I recall sitting there with Jeff's arm around me with the rain and wind crazily howling outside and thinking, "This is it. This is love."

Tonight we went to Hanafin's, the local Irish pub in New London. I ordered an Irish coffee and Jeff ordered his standard Magner's hard cider. He put his arm around me and we quietly observed people and sang along to the music as the band played loudly. The Tullamore whiskey warmed my throat and I thought back to Ireland and how content we were then...and I realized that I love him even more now. Whether we're in Ireland or Connecticut, it doesn't matter, because when I put my arms around him, he feels like home.