Ireland 2009...Day FOUR...Driving on the North Coast...

Well we woke up on Day FOUR in our little stone milking house, said our goodbyes to Clare and Ivan, and headed out to see the North Coast.

The North Coast of Ireland is absolutely stunning. The rolling hills, the quilted landscape, the beautiful cliffs and deep blue ocean make the north end of County Antrim one of the most beautiful places I've been to.

On the way to the very top, you pass by Slemish, which is the hill that St. Patrick was enslaved on as a boy and tended sheep, which I think is kind of a cool little "oh by the way" sight as you pass by.

As you get to the coast and are enjoying the scenery, it's always a fun little thing to stop off at the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge.

Carrick-a-rede is a very cool, but also nerve wracking suspension rope bridge that exists for, well, no real purpose I don't think. There is an old fishing house on the cliff side down below (I can't imagine what their homeowners insurance is on that thing), but other than that, the bridge is there just for amusement.

It's about a 1 mile hike to the bridge, and when the weather is nice (which it was absolutely PERFECT for us about 95% of our 10 days there) it is a really nice little walk.

Once on the island, we relaxed a bit, checked out the jellyfish way down below, and peered Sheep Island, named so because it was home to a few dozen sheep for quite some time...they would just eat, sleep, and reproduce with no way off the island. Very bizarre and yet, so randomly Irish.

Continuing on the highway we came upon a place I had passed by before but had never visited: Bushmills Distillery.

Bushmills is the name of the town, and the Distillery is where they make Bushmills Irish Whiskey, the oldest whiskey in the world. It actually holds the very first grant to distill, which goes back to 1608, so yes, they just celebrated their 400th Anniversary (though no doubt whiskey was being created on this land for many, many years before the grant to distill). it's a pretty phenomenal little piece of history. We got to check out parts of the distillery, and they even had a free little whiskey tasting in their store, which was pretty cool, because they brought out their good stuff. :o)

Whiskey, funny enough comes from the Irish words uisce beatha, which literally means "water of life." Irish monks found that whiskey was safe to drink during times of plague and disease, simply because it was a distilled beverage. But you know there was that one monk who was subsequently ordered to a vow of silence by the other monks when he made mention that you could just simply distill water and there would be no after effects. Poor guy.

From Bushmills we drove a little over a mile to Dunluce Castle. Dunluce is one of the cooler castles for a few reasons. Firstly, it's in quite good form for its age (and location, on the tumultuous north coast) and it's quite an impressive structure. Because of its location, on the coast it has a great surrounding: a beautiful view of the northern Atlantic Ocean.

However, another one of its unique features is the large cave underneath the structure. You can hike down below the castle, sort of like you see where I took the picture of Katie, and if you walk toward the castle, you can climb down into a huge cave. Inside the cave, which is pictured here, there is a good sized inlet you can row a boat into. Cargo and supplies (and sometimes would-be invaders) would go from larger boats into the row boats through the cave. I have to say that being in there makes you feel like a you're in some kind of pirate movie of sorts. Cool stuff.

Additionally, the story itself of how it became abandoned is quite interesting as well. Built in the 12th Century, it was inhabited for a few hundred years until sometime in the 17th Century when a storm caused part of the cliff it rests on to collapse, bringing the entire kitchen into the sea. Unrepairable of course, and now potentially dangerous to the rest of the structure, the castle had to be abandoned, and it lay in ruins ever since.

I had a strange run in once at Dunluce back in 2004. I was walking around, just snapping photos, and I heard someone say, "Jobey?" Amazingly, it was a girl named Hannah who I went to Bible College with in Murrieta. Here we are thousands of miles from home in a random country in Europe in a random castle on the north coast on a random day in the year. So crazy!

Even stranger is that a few weeks later back home, I was actually at the Bible College visiting and someone comes up to me and says "weren't you just in Northern Ireland?" "Yes," I said, "how did you know?" He replied, "I was at Dunluce Castle and I remember seeing two Americans running into each other that knew each other."

Weird thing is that he wasn't with her group (both Hannah and I had long since been out of Bible College) but he just happened to be visiting Dunluce at the same time and just happened to also be going to the same College we went to, though he didn't know that at the time because he didn't eavesdrop on the whole situation. Very weird.

Anyway, he recognized me randomly as I walked on campus simply because I had long dreadlocks at the time, and he probably just took extra notice of me at Dunluce since there aren't a lot of dreads in Ireland.

Very bizarre, I must say.

From Dunluce Castle we made our way to the Beech Hill Hotel in County Derry, which was a 17th Century luxury hotel on beautiful grounds, complete with a water wheel and a sweeping, almost southern US "swampy" kind of a landscape. The interior was elegant, and the whole place had sort of a Disneyland Haunted Mansion vibe (in a good way). Bill Clinton had even stayed here before while he was president. We dropped our stuff off and headed out into Derry city.

Derry is interesting, to say the least. My first desire to see Derry is because the Irish on my mom's mom's side are from County Derry. Secondly, Derry has quite a bit of both rich ancient and modern Irish history to be seen, most interesting to me being the modern history.

The thing is, Northern Ireland has been torn in two for quite some time. In 1912, as I wrote about in Day ONE, the country gained its independence from England, however a portion of it, 6 counties in the north to be exact, wanted to remain part of the United Kingdom and so it is now known as Northern Ireland. This is why in the North you see Northern Ireland flags and British Union Jack flags, but no gold, white and green Republic of Ireland tri-colour flags. Kind of think "American Civil War" type thing (See a movie called "the Wind that Shakes the Barley" if this part of history intrigues you).

So the North has been home to the most conflict in all of Ireland: Irish Catholics against British Protestants. It's very sad, and both sides are at extreme fault for going too far on too many occasions. Derry has been caught in that crossfire on many occasions, the most notable happening in 1972 on an event that has since been called Bloody Sunday (of which the song "Sunday Bloody Sunday" by U2 is written about and is incredibly powerful when they play the song in Ireland).

Bloody Sunday was a day when Irish Catholics in Derry decided to peacefully march in the town for their Civil Rights. Catholics at the time were treated nearly identical to blacks in our south in the 60's. Segregation, unequal job opportunities, racism, you name it. Signs on windows would say "Help Wanted: No Irish Need Apply" (they were called "NINAs"). This particular group of Catholics in Derry admired the ways of Martin Luther King, Jr. and followed his peaceful practices, rather than the practices of the notorious IRA. This was their Civil Rights Movement. Think of 70's Ireland as being identical to 60's America for blacks.

On this day, during this march (during which ironically the 1971 film "Sunday Bloody Sunday" was being shown at the local cinema, though the events were unrelated, of course), for no apparent reason, British police opened fire on the crowd, killing 14, some at point blank range...women, men, and children. None of the police were indicted or disciplined. Bloody Sunday occurred in what is called the Bogside, the poor Catholic section of town just on the outside of the old city walls (which you can see in the picture and happen to be 400 years old and is one of the finest examples of a European walled city). Watch the 2002 movie "Bloody Sunday" directed by Paul Greengrass for a very intense and realistic view of this event.

Since then Derry has been a hotbed for friction, which can be plainly viewed by their descriptive building sized murals, such as the one in the picture of the Catholic girl called "Death of Innocence" and the many Irish national tri-colour flags (no British Union Jacks anywhere) and gold, white, and green painted lamp posts and curbs. You see, since Derry isn't a part of the Republic of Ireland, displaying Irish flags and colors is a bit of a, well to speak in the kindest way possible, spit in the face to the British.

So we walked along the ancient city walls, and before leaving took a drive through the rough and tumble Bogside to get a close up view of the heated animosity and ancient British/Irish tension. Quite an incredible, overwhelming, and sad experience.

After the drive through town, we headed back to the Beech Hill Hotel and called it a night.

Next Post: Day FIVE...Driving the west coast of Ireland and on to Galway...

Ireland 2009...Day THREE...Northern Ireland

So upon arriving in the evening on Day TWO, we came into the far outskirts of Lisburn, Co. Antrim in Northern Ireland to a little pub called Clenaghan's.

Cleneghan's was the site of my very first real Irish Guinness back in 2004 when Katie and I made our first trip to Ireland. It's a cozy little place, and it's my favorite pub in the world. When planning this trip, I wanted to stop by for a pint, and I was pleased to find that they also had accommodations. Would I, Jobey, pass up an opportunity to stay the night at a 250 year old pub in Ireland? Nay, says I!!! Two please!

First, I have to say, that the pub keepers, Ivan and Clare, are amazing. Upon our arrival they made sure that everything we needed was at our disposal, even to the point of knocking on their door at any hour right there on the property.

The building we stayed in used to be a milk house for milking cows going back to the 18th Century. It had been amazingly restored to be the quintessential Irish quarters and really, a mini version of how I picture my dream house.

With its original rough hewn rock walls, slate floors in the front room, and aged barn reclaimed wood flooring in the bedroom and bathroom, it had the perfect setting for our first couple nights in Ireland. This is by far a place I would HIGHLY recommend for anyone who ever wants to visit Ireland. It was absolutely perfect.

Even down to the modern amenities, like the flat screen TV, attention to taste and tact was well executed. The TV didn't distract from the old world, original feel of the place because they did such a great job making it "work" with the room. The huge headposts over the doors and the vaulted ceilings really made the place feel, I don't know, sort of kingly in a 17th or 18th century kind of way.

The map of Ireland over the bedroom doorway, the old fashioned (and working) radio, the old style fridge (stocked with Irish breakfast, milk, juice, beer, wine, cheese, chocolate, bread, butter, you name it, and all on the house) were perfect accessories.

I included a picture of the bathroom, which is kind of odd, but I just loved the stained glass window and the great lighting that was incorporated throughout. Can you tell we loved this place?

So as we prepared for dinner, we walked into the pub, which is all candlelit, and ordered our first Irish Guinness in 5 years. The waitress - the owners' daughter - served us and shortly after brought us to our table.

"What table?" I asked. I thought we were at our table. I had only ever been in this tiny room before.

"In the back, of course," she answered back. Katie and I looked at each other confused, and as she led us through 200 year old maze of these rock walls, we entered into a charming back room dining room, that I had no idea existed.

We had an unbelievable dinner, the food was absolutely amazing, and it filled us nicely.

We hung out for a bit, as it doesn't get dark until about 11ish (the photo of the outside garden at Clenaghan's is at about 10pm).

It was a great start to our trip.

So, as we got into the ACTUAL Day THREE, we drove around the North, going to various historical sites for both the Irish and my own family.

We first stopped at Inch Abbey, built in 1180AD. We visited Inch before, but in its surreal environs, it deserved a second visit. It was, after all, a place where we renewed our vows together back in 2004, only this visit would be sunny and warm.

Inch is a peaceful place, with swans in the pond which is overlooked by the church tower at St. Patrick's in Downpatrick, the church where St. Patrick himself is buried under a large boulder with the name "Patric" engraved on it.

From Inch we did visit Patrick's grave, and from there made our way to the Ards Peninsula, a little stretch of land on the east coast in Co. Down where some of my family comes from.

In a fun little surprise, we happened upon a relatively old and isolated cemetery, where I found gravestones with last names that matched my ancestors (McMullen) from the area.

Further up the Ards you come to one of the coolest 12th century abbey ruins: Grey Abbey. Grey Abbey is home to one of the creepiest cemeteries I've ever seen (and I have seen my share). But it's surroundings and ruins are absolutely fabulous. The dining hall alone (or what's left of it) is absolutely incredible.

Seeing the architecture of these places is awe-inspiring. The detail, the ruggedness, it's simply unfathomable to even try to picture what it must have been like and how they went about constructing these works of art.

From the Ards we made our way into Belfast, an intriguing city due to its diverse culture as well as political history. I really enjoy Belfast, it has some amazing pubs, such as Kelly's Cellars, which claims to be the oldest pub in Belfast, going back to the 1600's, as well as Crown Liquor, an incredibly and ornately decorated Victorian style pub.

From Belfast we drove back to Clenaghan's for what became a highlight for us. We got to meet up with old friends who we had met way back in 2004. Fra, Andrea, and Damien came out to have a couple pints, a cigar, and have some craic (Irish for "good times") until the wee hours of the night. It was an incredibly fun time hanging out with them, and we really, really hope to see them soon somehow.

Day THREE...complete.

Next Post....Day FOUR...Touring the North Coast

Ireland 2009...Day TWO...Arriving in Ireland...

So after we finally departed from New York City and spend the night time hours over the Atlantic, we finally caught a view of my favorite site on this planet. As we descended slowly beneath the cloud cover, the quilted patchwork divided by ancient rock walls, filled in like a stained glass window of varying shades of green, only to be dotted by tiny homes, farms, and trees. For me...there is nothing like it.

We arrived at the airport and after quickly getting our bags, went down into Dublin to spend a few hours exploring. Dublin is a great town in many ways, but in some...well it's a big city, so it doesn't quite have that Irish charm, as it's such a hub for industry, tourism, and metropolitan living that it sometimes doesn't seem all that terribly Irish. Nonetheless, it does offer quite a bit of great sights, such as the River Liffey, the Guinness Storehouse, the Jameson Whiskey Distillery, Trinity College...the list really goes on and on.

We passed by the General Post Office and even went inside for a minute. This is where the Easter Rising of 1916 took place, when a group of Irish Republicans holed themselves up in and took hold of their country and declared independence from the Brits. Picture this is as their Boston Tea Party in many ways.

We walked in the courtyard of Trinity College, where we visited before and admired the Book of Kells, and also walked through the courtyard of Dublin Castle, which funny enough, is where I stole my design for the front door cabinet of my TV stand.

After a couple hours in Dublin and a long night in the air, we were ready to grab our car and make our way to Northern Ireland where our first accommodations were. As we jumped in the rental car, the adventure began. You have to understand, driving in Ireland is a feat in itself for us Americans. The roads are tiny, mostly "shared lane" roads, so if you come upon someone in coming in the other direction, it can be a chore to find a spot wide enough to let them pass. It usually entails cramming into the shrubbery on the side of the road.

Additionally, the cars themselves are tiny. No SUV's here, folks. No mini-vans, not even a whole lot of pick-up trucks. Mostly little guys, like Mini Coopers, Fiats, VW's (no bugs though), Prius, Ford Focus...many of which are the 2 door hatchbacks. Also, I'm sure you are aware that they drive on the left side of the road. And oh yeah, did I mention that 95% of all cars in Ireland are manual shift? This wouldn't be so bad if you also weren't on the right side of the car and SHIFTING with your LEFT hand! Thankfully, however, the clutch is still on the left on the floor. :o)

So like I said...the adventure begins. It took a good half day for me to start feeling comfortable driving, but you would be surprised how quickly you adapt. I have to say, it was in many ways sort of a highlight for me. I love to drive, I love road trips...it's just all fun for me. Driving on these little roads with hairpin turns, no visibility due to 10 foot tall shrubbery and trees on both sides with 100 km/h speed limits with a little zippy stick shift car makes for, well...a really good time. It makes you feel like you are in the Monaco Grand Prix or something. Imagine coming upon a little 30 foot long one lane bridge (originally built for horse carriages and carts) with a very high arch so that you can't see what oncoming traffic is coming from the other side. You're doing a scant 80 km/h, crossing your fingers and JUST as you make your approach a car FLIES over the summit of the bridge. You swerve off to the left, he squeezes out the mouth of the bridge to his left and you barely miss a head on collision.

Yeah, that happened a couple times.

Anyway...as we made our way north, we were heading towards our first stop, and a very important stop for us: the Hill of Slane.

Slane has a lot of importance, both for the Irish and for Katie and I. You see, St. Patrick wasn't exactly Irish. As a matter of fact, he wasn't at all Irish. He was from Great Britain, and was kidnapped by Irish pirates when he was about 14 years old and taken to Ireland as a slave in the 4th century. Here, he tended sheep near the north of Ireland.

One night in a dream, the Lord told Patrick to flee to the shore and that there would be a boat there waiting to take him back to his home. The next morning he awoke, went to the shore, and there was the boat, ready to take him home.

Upon arriving home (this is a couple years after his capture, the poor kid), he decides to commit his life to the work of the Lord. He had met God in a powerful way on that hillside, and it consummated in this dream and his escape. He became a priest and eventually a bishop of the fairly newly formed Roman Catholic Church.

Late in his life, he got another dream, this time he saw the Irish crying out, and the Lord spoke to him to tell him to go back to the land of his captors and preach salvation to them. He obliged, and when most men were ready to retire, Patrick was just starting his legacy.

Upon arrival with a few other missionaries, he climbed to the top of the Hill of Slane. The day was the vernal equinox, when the pagan high priest of the land would light a fire on the Hill of Tara (visible from Slane) as worship to their pagan god. It was the law of the land that on this day NO ONE was to light ANY fire, not even a stove fire. Well Patrick, wanting to make a grand entrance, decided to light his own fire to declare to the island that he was back. He lit a HUGE bonfire, which of course caught the attention of the high priest as well as the King of Ireland.

Instead of instant death, however, they were so intrigued by his tenacity, that they interrogated him upon his arrest. He told them of Christ, and they were so enamored, that very day the declared it legal to preach only their pagan religion, and now Christianity as well.

From that point, faith in Christ spread like wildfire. And so the Hill of Slane received its name, which in Irish means "salvation." The Irish have a term they use in place of "cheers" when clinking glasses that is "slainte," pronounced "slawn-chah," which is more or less "to your salvation" or "to your health."

So fast forward to July 2004, my second trip to Ireland. Katie and I are pregnant with our first, Micah (who happened to be "made in Ireland" on our first trip in February, hee hee), and we were trying to think of names. We liked "Micah," because it was the Hebrew version of Michael, which is my middle name, Jeremy's middle name, my dad's first name, and my grandpa's name. We just couldn't settle on a middle name. We liked the sound of "Micah Zane," but it bore no meaning for us...and if you couldn't tell already, I get waaaaay into the details, and I'm quite a bit a hopeless romantic, nostalgic kind of a guy.

Anyway, on the last day of my July 2004 trip, I told my friend G, who lives in the North, that I wanted to stop at Slane before going to the airport, because I never had been there and I thought it would be really cool to visit the place where Christianity started in Ireland. Well, we ran out of time, so we had to skip it, which was a bummer.

Then, on the airplane, I thought I would at least read about it in my tour book. As I was flying over Ireland, getting in my last view of the country before heading into the vast expanse of the ocean, I was reading the book, and it hit me like a ton of bricks: "Micah Slane." It bore the "sound" we liked of "Micah Zane," but with infinitely more meaning to it. To top it off, the meaning of Micah's name, combining Hebrew and Irish, would be "Who is like the Lord of Salvation?" Pretty cool.

Subsequently, upon the birth of our second son, Liam, we decided to continue a family tradition (the fact that Jeremy and I have the same middle name as brothers) and also middle name Liam with "Slane." Liam (of course a good old fashioned Irish name) means "helmet" or "protector" in Irish, and so together his name in Irish means "Helmet of Salvation" or "Protector of Salvation." This, of course, is a reference to Ephesians 6.17 speaking of the armor of God.

It was then became a dream for me, since I missed out on visiting Slane myself, to make my next trip to Ireland with my wife so we could visit Slane for the first time together.

And so here we were, driving there. It was so awesome. You enter into the village through a cool little one lane bridge (which I photographed because my dad wanted bridge photos for painting ideas). We drove past Slane Castle (home to many great concerts), and approached the Hill of Slane and what is the leftovers of Slane Abbey.

The abbey itself is from the late 1100's, there was never a church Patrick started here, but all the past churches were built here to commemorate. This one had been defunct since the 1600's. The architecture is amazing. The courtyard, the tower, the spiral staircase that would never fly under any American building code. The surrounding environs were beautiful, a view stretching to the Irish Sea and across the Boyne Valley, which was the site of Battle of the Boyne, where the British, led by William of Orange, defeated the Irish in the 1600's and effectively then subjecting the Irish to essential slavery in their own country for the next 300 years, until the aforementioned Easter Uprising of 1916. A very historical place, Slane is, on many Irish levels.

This was a great start to the trip, something I am so glad to have been able to do with my wife. And here we were...it was just Day One!

NEXT POST: Northern Ireland

Ireland 2009...Day One...New York City

This summer, for the first time since we had been married, Katie and I went on a vacation ALONE...no kids...no one else...just US! And what better place to go for such a momentous occasion than the Emerald Isle, Ireland.

Ireland is a tremendously special place for me. It's more than just a vacation, more than just a beautiful country. For me it's, I don't know how to describe it...spiritual, emotional, introspective, mysterious, inspiring, humbling, and at times, even heart breaking. Our first trip was back in 2004 with friends that we were on staff with at theMovement. I went again that same year in the summer with a group of college students from our church, though that time without Katie. It had now been 5 long years, and I was more than ready to get back there.

I'd like to share our trip with you, day by day, to see if I can somehow, in a small way, bring some sort of justice to why Ireland is what it is to me.

DAY ONE: New York City
(For an even more in depth visit to the City, and more pictures, check out my last trip by clicking here and then scroll all the way to the bottom, then work your way back up through the following days)

Well Day One for us is actually a span of two days, technically, since we were up for the whole of 31 hours (give or take a 20 minute nap or two on the flight), but I'm going to split up what we experienced as Day One into two parts: New York City layover (actual Day One) and arriving in Ireland (actual Day Two).

We had a nice long 6 hour stopover in New York City that afforded us 4.5 hours in the City (once we got on the shuttle and dropped off from the airport), which was very nice because it gave us plenty of time to cruise around Manhattan. This would have been my 6th visit to NYC, but only Katie's 2nd. It was nice this time around because I was able to show her around much easier than the last time we were there together, which was the first time for both of us.

We started off at Grand Central Station where we got dropped off went inside to peer the grand rotunda, which is absolutely amazing in its architecture. From there we walked up 5th Ave. and made our way over to St. Patrick's Cathedral in Midtown.

St. Patrick's Cathedral is the largest Catholic Cathedral in the U.S. and it is absolutely amazing. This was a great little "appetizer" for more of what we would be seeing (but much older) in the days to come. The Gothic style building with unreal spires and high reaching vaulted ceilings are made complete with the incredible pipe organ in the back of the cathedral. The Stations of the Cross are all carved in marble and are massive. There are various statues throughout with candles that you can light as an "offering" to the church. I always make sure to light a candle at St. Brigid, an Irish saint. There is also a Pieta sculpture that is mesmerizing in it's perfection and detail.

After this, we cruised through Rockefeller Plaza, checking out NBC Studios, Radio City Music Hall, and all the flags of the world in the courtyard. Then we hopped on the Subway and headed down to Washington Square, near NYU in the Village. The Square is a fun place to hang out. It's a great mix of college students doing homework and drinking coffee, the urban vibe of people freestyle rapping, older folks playing chess, roller skaters, people playing in the fountain, and a homeless guy peeing in public showing no shame (ask Katie all about this story).

From there we walked through the Village with all of its chic shops, pubs, ristorantes, and bistros (and enjoyed some tasty frozen yogurt) and then walked into my favorite pub in NYC (and quite possibly my favorite pub in America), McSoreley's Old Ale House.

McSoreley's has been around since 1854. It was frequented by Abraham Lincoln and other noteworthy historical figures throughout its long life. Virtually unchanged, it's a must-see stop for some old fashioned Manhattan history. And let me tell you, the ales are phenomenal (I recommend the dark ale, and by the way, they only serve 2 drinks: dark ale and light ale). They are brewed on site and are amazing...and cheap, about $2 per glass.

From the Village we got back on the subway and headed up to Times Square to hang for a bit before getting back on the bus to the airport. Yes, it was a brief little 4.5 hour stopover into the City, but a fun one. I absolutely love NYC, and I enjoy every minute I get to spend there.

NEXT POST: Day 2: Arriving in Ireland, Dublin, Slane, and Clegeghan's in Lisburn...

Liam's First Dodger Game!!!

Dodger Stadium, now the third oldest stadium in the MLB, is the Mecca for all things Dodgers. And now with its own zip code (letters addressed to the stadium simply need to be addressed "Dodgertown CA, 90090"), it has arguably the best stadium location in all of baseball, as it's situated amidst Elysian Park perched up in Chavez Ravine overlooking downtown Los Angeles.

As a Dodger fan, of course, this is one of the many reasons I love being part of Dodgertown, however last night Dodger Stadium got one more reason for it being one of my favorite places to visit: it has now become the place where both of my boys saw their first baseball game.

Of course, as the Dodgers are off to a great start this season (even without Manny), Katie and I have been itching to get to a game. As we've been watching them via our MLB Extra Innings cable package, I've been noticing both Micah and Liam pull up a rug in the living room to watch the games as well. Micah is in T-Ball and Liam is taking an interest in that, and of course I knew how much Micah loves going to the games, but as they watched the games together, and now that whenever Liam sees anything blue he says "Dodger!," the question from Micah finally came: "can we go to a Dodger game?"

So what better night to go to a Dodger game with both boys in tow and you can get $9 tickets on Casey Blake Bobblehead night? Seventy degrees outside, a backpack full of candy and pistachios (the boys' favorite), and a potential 3 game sweep of the New York Mets. Perfect.

As we pulled up, Liam, like Micah the year before, was enamored by the amount of people wearing Dodger gear. "Dodger! Dodger!" he would exclaim as he pointed to various people. He was in his own personal heaven.

We got in, took our seats, and right away, the boys were right in the game. Micah was cheering at the top of his lungs and was the biggest fan in the park. Liam, though a little tired at first from the car ride (and the fact that the game actually starts at his bed time), soon perked up as the excitement of the game, chants, and cheers continued. He actively took part in yelling "CHARGE!!!," "Let's Go Dodgers," and cheering on whichever Dodgers we told him needed cheering. I'm pretty sure his favorite to cheer for was "O-Dog," Orlando Hudson.

It was a good, solid game with solid pitching and decent hitting as Russell Martin (one of Micah's favorites) knocked in the go-ahead run finally in the 8th, and "Three Strikes" Jon (as Micah calls him from a previous game last year) came in to bully the Mets into a sweep.

So there we were, watching the Dodgers go 17-3 in their first 20 home games (a shared Major League record for first 20 home games), both of our boys decked out in Dodger blue and 4 Casey Blake Bobbleheads in hand.

So yeah, as a kid who grew up watching and loving the Dodgers and going to the games, there is nothing like hearing Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" after the bottom of the 8th inning, and even more than that, hearing Randy Newman's "I Love L.A." blare in the Stadium after a victory. To share that with my boys, well I hope it's one of many memories to come for us at Dodger Stadium.

Oh yeah, and the icing on the cake? Somehow it only took us an hour and twenty five minutes to get home from the Stadium...weird, huh?