Why an Irish Inn Keeper and His Cat built an Inn after Retirement.

Building an inn is what some of us do after retirement. When all the books are read, and all the coffee is cold. When Monday's just like Saturday, and you know, in your heart of hearts, you never could have been a golfer, even if you had played all day, every day.

Besides, somewhere in some third story attic of my mind, lingered memories of warm fires and small country inns;...of red wine and redder roses and mellow people, and quiet evenings by the fire. Was it in Vermont?... Or maybe in the Black Forest or the Aulde Sod of Ireland? Or, maybe just an old TV sitcom? But then, perhaps it was, just in some dusty back room of my mind, some long forgotten fragment of some distant memory.

But those inns were all such bastions of peace and solitude, such wonderful places to spend a dark rainy afternoon, or even a bright sunny one. And after a time, the dream became real, more real than reality. As the dim edges of that illusion we all share began to blur, as clearer and brighter images began to replace dim, dusty memories, The Inn began to take on a life of it's own.

It was about warm fires and mellow wines: of country gardens and gentle green lawns. It was a place to heal the mind... the body and soul; where people came back again and again. A place with that "coming home" feeling, where old friends met old friends, and together they made new ones. Where new lovers got to know each other and old ones found each other, all over again.

So fields became gardens and lawns were planted where berry vines grew. The banker said "No". The attorney said, "You're crazy" The accountant just watched and was very quiet. The innkeeper just kept on dreaming. But then, a daughter said quietly, "Dad, build it and they will come" and old friends offered encouragement. A building grew out of the ground... then another... A little bigger here... a little wider there. As it began to take shape, friends brought plants for the garden and books for the library. Strangers stopped to look.

Then people started to come. A few at first then more and more, as bread was baked and grass was mowed and fires built. Lovers came, and old friends returned. And new friends become old friends. And the Inn Keeper got a little grayer, but felt younger all the time.

So, that's how the inn keeper and his cat, became innkeepers. A dream that wouldn't sleep; a dream with-in a dream, and you are part of it. After all, what's a dream without someone to share it.

So, even if you can't stay over, stop, as you pass by. The cookie jar is full, the tea is hot and the milk is always cold. And with the last guest already asleep... and this Old Inn Keeper needs to go to bed.

Duane
Your Inn Keeper

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