Reflections on Memorial Day while living in Tangier The trail in Bray, Ireland While my family and friends back in the States celebrate another Memorial Day, where, honestly, people congregate to spend time together and open the summer season, especially in Maine and New Hampshire, I’m here in Tangier, looking for a well-deserved reprieve. Unlike my family, I worked on Monday but will be celebrating on my own later in the week. In a day or two, while the locals celebrate Eid, which I believe is the celebration of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son to God rather than a sheep, I’ll be in England, rebooting and recharging. I’m confident, though, as I look across the Irish Sea, squinting towards Bray and Dublin, that I will remember my first trip to that area, the one I want to share now. While the original travel vlog is gone, the experience, the shared moment, and the reminder that we can all impact others in positive ways remain strong to this day. In honor of the those who have gone before us, especially my fellow veterans who paid the highest price on the field of battle, here’s a blog about making a difference, not because I necessarily wanted to, but because I could. That’s the truth,  Bull Island in Dublin, Ireland (Taken from an old blog I wrote on my first trip to Dublin in November 2022)
There was a point in the walk to Bull Island where I intended to share a short story, but between the wind and the run-in with the Easter Island statue, I dropped the ball entirely. You’ll notice as much when you watch the video. My apologies. With the holiday season underway, especially Thanksgiving, I can’t help but think about how important giving is in all our lives. Many struggle this time of year, far more than at other times. Some lack basic necessities, and others lack emotional or physical support. I don’t need to jump into war-torn areas, where we know the need is great, but as I look outside the door and those I pass on a daily basis, I have no other recourse. As a teacher in New Hampshire, I saw firsthand how school districts support those who don’t have enough food, clothing, or even shelter. Here in Poland, it’s a bit different. I know there is a need, but I don’t know what channels they have to provide. The number of Ukrainian refugees living here clearly shows that Poland is a country that embraces a giving mentality. Many Polish families welcomed Ukrainians into their homes with open arms. They allowed them a place to stay until a suitable arrangement could be made during this trying period. Even now, the country continues to support Ukraine in whatever way it reasonably can. Back in the States, many live in a bubble. I know I did until sixteen years ago when I transitioned out of the Navy and went back into education. I remember gathering the belongings I did have in Maryland and, to my surprise, finding that my favorite fleece blanket was gone. I looked around the house, in every drawer, closet, and box. The unicorn blanket had been a keepsake since middle school and a favorite of mine. I didn’t take it to South Carolina or Florida for fear of it being taken or lost, let alone knowing the blanket couldn’t be brought to boot camp or training command without ample ribbing. To say I was bummed was a bit of an understatement. When it came up in conversation at the dinner table, I found out why the blanket was gone and how. Stephen, in his overly generous nature, had given it to a homeless man in Washington DC. My first thought was you gotta be kidding me. Why did he take my favorite blanket? He didn’t donate his Grizzly Bear fleece, but I guess anything that wasn’t my twin’s was fair picking. That’s exactly what happened. All said, some clothes, a second blanket I overlooked, and the unicorn fleece were all thrown into Stephen’s truck and delivered to a homeless person he saw near the Days Inn in downtown Washington. I couldn’t be mad since it was for a good cause, but I found it fitting that my twin had only given up my belongings. I can hear his voice, “You weren’t using them.” From what I gathered, he did this multiple times. It was sort of a funny joke in the end because Stephen had passed eight months earlier, and I could hear him rationalizing his giving even without having a formal conversation. This was the same guy who, after the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004, said he was changing his life because if the Sox could come back from down 3-0, then he could do anything he set his mind to. Sadly, his own personal quest ended far too soon, but his legacy and the lessons he provided continue to this day. At the very least, I know my blanket found a good home. In Dublin, this specific memory popped into my head after I passed an old woman. Let me backtrack: this memory didn’t show up until a few hours later, on the return walk to my Airbnb. The first time we crossed paths, she was up against a derelict building door. She mumbled something, probably in Gaelic, and held up a paper cup. I waved slightly and carried on, more focused on finding Bram Stoker’s Park and his childhood home. A typical American, I blew by her, but not fast enough to lose sight of her condition or see the whites of her eyes. She was barely sitting up, and if not for the wall, I’m not sure if she wouldn’t be on her side. How she got to that spot, I couldn’t fathom, but at that moment, I also put her out of my mind. In Riga and now here in Dublin, seeing people in hardship pulled at my heartstrings, but I knew I couldn’t give to everyone I saw. There was no way to tell who was truly in need and who was putting on a show. Maybe that’s jaded, but it’s also the truth. Three hours passed, and I was cutting back after my tour of central Dublin. There was the old woman with the squinting eyes still against the wall. A light blue fleece blanket was wrapped around her legs. I’m confident there wasn’t one the first time we crossed paths. Again, she spoke, and I gently shrugged and smiled. Several seconds passed, and I kept walking. I felt for my wallet and wondered how much cash I had. I knew I didn’t have change or anything less than a significant bill. About that time, when I was rationalizing why I shouldn’t stop, Stephen and his unicorn snatching deeds came to mind. Possessed by Stephen’s memory and what was the right thing to do, I turned around. She didn’t see me coming as her back was turned. I tapped her on the shoulder. She lifted the cup, and I shook it off. Slowly, I knelt down and handed her the bill. Tears filled her eyes, and she spoke in Gaelic. I’m pretty sure I know what she said, but we’ll save that for another story. We didn’t have to exchange another word. I saw the angel looking back at me, a woman who hadn’t always been this way, who had a long life up till now, but had fallen on a rough time. I felt what she felt and knew this small gesture would help her more than it would help me find another place to stuff my mouth and fill my stomach. I walked home hopeful for the old woman. More importantly, I was thankful for Stephen, his memory, and the lesson he taught me years earlier. In this season of Thanksgiving, it doesn’t matter how much you give, but that you put yourself in the right place to help those in need, in a way that truly serves. If you happen to see a unicorn fleece blanket, do let me know.
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Meet Mr. Jon- a traveler at heart who loves a good story and walk. Jonathan has over twenty years experience in independent publishing. While he prides himself on crafting a good story, nothing truly beats an adventure and a camera. 
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