"Wait and to hope for the promised return visit"

I love to try new things and experience new places. But sometimes revisiting regular haunts for familiar fun can also be enriching. And comforting, which is -- for some reason -- what I was seeking in the second half of 2025. Our immersion into our normal started early, with a flood of concerts at tried-and-true venues. 

A four-day whirlwind began with a Father's Day show at a favorite intimate stage: Skully's Music-Diner, where Murder by Death killed with its alt-country rock set (top left). I particularly loved their cover of The Highwayman. Two days later, we were bouncing to Band of Horses at The Bluestone (top right), where we saw the Old 97's later in the summer. During a potty break, I stumbled across the poster for the first time we saw the latter group in the refurbished church, two years earlier (bottom left). A pleasant surprise at the Band of Horses concert was that we could check out the view from the balcony (bottom right), which had been corralled off every other time we'd been there.

 

 

No such luck at Newport Music Hall, where the second floor was closed (top left), likely because of the heat-stroke risk due to a non-working AC during a mid-summer show. That was a good call, considering Jenny Lewis was so hot (literally and figuratively) that she had a fan blowing directly on her (top right). This was my second time seeing her live (middle) after a long drought -- last time, she was performing with Rilo Kiley. It was also a delayed return to the venue -- I can't recall who I saw there, but the bathrooms brought me back to the early 2000s. I had a similar deja vu at the Ohio Theatre, where I'm pretty sure I saw The Nutcracker as kid (bottom left). This time, instead of marking the season of Jesus's birth with ballet, we were belatedly celebrating my birthday; as a present, Scott had bought us tickets to The Book of Mormon (bottom right).

 

 

We didn't just stay local during our concert circuit of second chances. In replicating a trip to Pittsburgh, we skipped over the river from downtown to the North Side, so we could be within walking distance of PNC Park, where I attended my first-ever open-air arena-rock extravaganza, a nostalgic pairing of Smashing Pumpkins and Green Day (top). On our way there, we swung by the suitably named Allegheny City Brewing (bottom left). There, we sipped some craft pints to recover from the enjoyable shock of stumbling through an outdoor wrestling festival in Allegheny Commons Park (bottom right). 

  

Our revival run in Louisville was to join friends at my inaugural music festival, Bourbon and Beyond. Like a fine whiskey, I have matured -- to the point where I know myself well enough to not sign up for a multi-day pass. Instead, we spent a single Sunday night enjoying big acts on the adjacent Oak and Barrel stages (top left). As an afternoon apertif to the musical headliners, we sampled Jim Gaffigan on a side stage, as he spoke about his Fathertime Bourbon (top right). In the evening, we downed a full flight of performances, some by mainstay musicians we have seen before, such as The National and My Morning Jacket (bottom left), and others by bucket-list legends past and present, such as The Beach Boys (bottom right) and Tyler Childers.

  

  

We made our perennial fall outing to Put-in-Bay, but this year, it was so unseasonably warm at East Harbor State Park that some fellow campers were sunbathing (top left). The trees above the Lockwood Cemetery, located within the park (top right), were nearly as green as when we spent a weekend on South Bass Island with friends in June (middle left). That summer weekend, we mostly had beautiful weather, with blue skies and a full sun, blocked only by Perry's Victory and International Peace Memorial (middle right). We just escaped the island by ferry before storms hit, as signaled by ominous clouds at the dock (bottom).

 

 

 

The seasons, and temperatures, had shifted by the time we reunited with the same friends for similar hijinks, but in a new town: South Bend. Despite our efforts to pay tributes at the Sun King Brewery (top left), it was a cold, dark walk to Barnaby's Pizza (top right), where we fueled up before watching the Notre Dame game at Corby's Irish Pub (bottom left). Scott shared a toast with his Hoosier doppelganger (bottom right), before we capped off the night at The View Tavern.

 

A few concert and city redos were actually sequels: They featured some of the same characters and locations but with different plots. In Zanesville, instead of gazing on the Y Bridge from Putnam Hill Park, we grazed in the fields of McDonald's Greenhouse (top left), where Scott's band performed the sunset set for the Muskingum County Farm Bureau's Jammin' on the Farm event (top right). In Oregon, instead of hydrating at The Den after a day of GOBA pedaling, I went for a pre-dawn jog at Maumee Bay State Park before staffing at an off-site work retreat (middle). During some down time, I also got to bask in dusk by the lodge's pond (bottom left) and dip my toes in Lake Erie (bottom right).

  

  

Speaking of parks, we reprised hikes at some favorite outdoor spots but on different trails. After a spur-of-the-moment camping overnight at A.W. Marion State Park, we did a morning loop on the Bear Corn Trail, which started steps from our site (top). During another revisit, we stepped vertically up the fire tower at Scioto Grove Metro Park (middle left). Apparently, you can see downtown Columbus from the top, but I was shaking so bad from wind and cold and nerves that I only snapped one landscape photo, in the southern direction away from the city (middle right). We did discover a new repository of rambles through the Arc of Appalachia initiative. It didn't take much persistence to complete the paths at Resilience Preserve on a clear day (bottom). We hope to go back soon for a winter wander around the meadows. 

 

  

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Churchill, Claire Warner. “The Journey to Oregon—A Pioneer Girl’s Diary.” Oregon Historical Quarterly, vol. 29, no. 1, 1928, pp. 77–98. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/20610407. Accessed 27 Dec. 2024.

"Under the influence of the nameless but potent magic of Ireland"

Although the first half of our Ireland trip was marked by wet weather, it didn't dampen our spirts -- or our attitude toward the country. Still, we brightened at the fact that, as we headed south from Sligo and the clouds dispersed, the gemstone colors of the Emerald Isle emerged. It was a disconcertingly tight and technical hike up to the Caves of Kesh Corran (top left), but once we found flat ground within their confines, we were able to admire the pastoral patchwork below (top right). By the time we hit Galway for lunch, it was nothing but blue skies (bottom left) and drips of glass perspiration as the sun glowed golden on our pints at Dew Drop Inn (bottom right).

 

Although we had a room, it would have been a perfect night to camp at the caravan compound where we stayed outside Cong. A desire to stretch my legs after a long drive led me down a gravel road to Lough Corrib (top left). And the sun's inspiration to keep strolling spit me into a verdant loop on a peninsula jutting into the lake (top right). With no campfire culinary fixins, we had to head into town for dinner. The village, famed as the backdrop for The Quiet Man, offered still serenity at its abbey (bottom left) and adjacent forest (bottom right). If sunset had not been nigh, we would have taken more time to explore the caves along its trails.

 

 

We were in bed by dusk because we had to get up before dawn to get to Ballyvaughan, where we got in step with some locals for the Clare Burren Mini Marathon (top left). Even though our short route didn't take us into Burren National Park as we had thought, it still was spectacularly scenic -- from idyllic donkey-laden cottage pastures at the starting line (top right) to inspiring hill-filled coastal marshes along the final stretch (bottom left). By the time we crossed the finish line, the clouds had recommenced (bottom right), so we scarfed down our complimentary post-race soup from Monks and raced to take shelter elsewhere.

  

 

We found refreshing fireside respite inside at Flanagan's in nearby Lahinch (top left). Outside, the drizzle didn't deter students of the beach resort's surf school (top right), where we watched wave devotees brave the bracing waters for a while until we could check in at our country cabin (middle). After washing and resting up -- and giving scritches to the friendly farm dog -- we shared the craic with some fellow runners patronizing the exquisitely renovated Eugene's Bar in Ennistymon (bottom left), a country town cut in half by the Cascades (bottom right), before filling our bellies at Pot Duggans and falling into bed.

 

 

When we were figuring out our Ireland itinerary, many resources recommended Doolin, because it lays claim on being the home of traditional Irish music. We weren't too enamored with the coastal outpost, which seems to have lost charm due to the tour-bus onslaught for access to the Cliffs of Moher (top left). Despite the fact that it wasn't yet peak season, the ferry we took to the Aran Islands was packed with badged travelers (top right). Luckily, the smallest island, Inisheer, was large enough to escape the hordes. We broke fresh sand on a boulder-sheltered beach (middle left) and were the sole pilgrims to a buried medieval church in the island graveyard (middle right). Due to the similarity in names, we thought the island was the setting for The Banshees of Inisherin, but it turns out the movie was made on the largest island, Inishmore. Still, the whitewashed homes and stone fences would have fit right into any of the film's scenes (bottom). 

  

  

For the finale of our "failte" tour, we headed across the island to say our final farewells in Dublin. About halfway there, we stopped in Athlone to see what is purported to be the country's oldest pub (top left). The clouds outside helped darken Sean's Bar, so it wasn't so blatant that we were imbibing before noon (top right). After driving the rest of the way, dropping off our rental car, and resting, we didn't reach the capital's downtown till late afternoon, so we mostly just explored by strolling through St. Stephen's Green (bottom left) and the main square of Trinity College (bottom right).

  

 

We didn't have much of an agenda planned, like we did in the countryside, so we somewhat arbitrarily picked to visit one of the city's free museums. We landed on the National Gallery (top left), whose many exhibit rooms were interwoven possibly even more complexly than the cobblestone paths of Temple Bar. The collection was impressive, but somehow didn't compare to the archives of the outdoors. With the weather finally cooperating, I was craving fresh air, so I took a walk around the west end, past two other national institutions: the Guinness Storehouse (top right) and Kilmannon Gaol (bottom).

 

With that walk, we were done sight-seeing, but there were a few Irish tourist traps that we needed to get caught up in. We were tempted to stereotypically throw back one at the Temple Bar Pub (top left), but instead, we opted to head to an open-mic night at Whelan's on Wexford, which ended up being a highlight of our trip (top right). We found a tucked-away wooden bar at The Stag's Head to match the hue of an Irish coffee (bottom left). And finally, to help transition back to American tastes, our last meal was pizza -- with a whisky sour -- at The Circular (bottom right).

  

 

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An Irish Apologia : Some Thoughts on Anglo-Irish Relations and the War. JSTOR, https://jstor.org/stable/community.29825553. Accessed 31 July 2024.