Woo-hoo!

 Every summer, I count down the days to the solstice. I know there's lots of summer left, but I get a psychological and emotional lift knowing that the days where I live have stopped getting longer and will, ever so slowly, start to shorten. This year we've been so busy that I haven't had time or headspace to be quite as obsessive about this as I usually am, but this morning I woke up knowing that I didn't have to go anywhere, remembered what day it is, and felt myself smiling. Happy, happy solstice, wherever you are!

There's still a lot to do, but yesterday I took a bit of a break. I was walking yesterday morning before breakfast and had just raced up a hill when I felt my calf cramp up and there was a bit of a burning feeling. The burn left after a while, but the muscle still feels like it's tensed up. I limped around for the rest of the day. We went to Falcarragh because their market day is Friday and there's a veg man there. It's a nice ride there--beautiful scenery. I didn't take any pics yesterday, but I have some from the same route, that I took a few years ago when we lived here the first time. These were taken in December 2021 out the bus window. It looks somewhat different in the bright sunshine of a hot June day, but you get the idea. It's beautiful whatever the season.

We got our veg and a few other groceries and I hobbled back to the bus stop with my heavy pack on my back. When we got home, I put the coffee on and decided not to do too much more in the way of unpacking and putting things away. I was even able to start a new book last night, which made me very happy indeed. I've been too busy during the day and too tired at night to settle in with a good book and I've missed that. I've been reading my Serial Reader installments every day and listening to audiobooks at night and that's been great, but I do like holding an actual book in my hand and turning real pages. Of course now I'd like to sit and finish the book this afternoon, but I will get some work done first. There will come a day when all of this is done and I'll be able to plan ahead for a day devoted to some reading projects I have planned, but that day is not today. Something to look forward to.

And now, it's time for more coffee. Enjoy your weekend, everyone!

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Almost!

 We're heading towards the finish line with this move. Just about all of our stuff is in the cottage as are we. There are a few things left in the apartment--just small things and cleaning supplies. We'll be going back a couple more times to clean and move furniture back to where it was when we moved in. Yesterday, a friend came and loaded up his car. He and I came to the cottage and, while the coffee was brewing, we unloaded the car. Then we had some open-faced sandwiches with some homemade bread he'd brought with him, given to him by another of his friends. Before we poured the second cup, we walked up to the bakery where I got us some quiches for supper later in the day, some sweet treats, and a Cornish pasty for Friend, who loves the pasties from that place, and one for me to try. We came back, had that second cup of coffee with dessert, then went back to the apartment. Bill had an appointment and we got back just as he was leaving. Friend brought me to the bring bank so we could recycle our glass. Back to the apartment where there wasn't much else to pack into his car, but there was our very large jade plant, given to us when it was much smaller by a different friend. I'm glad we got to bring it. Now we have to figure out where to put it. When Bill returned, we headed back to the cottage. More coffee was made, the quiches were consumed, and the conversation continued to flow, as it had been doing all day long. In spite of the work and the disarray in the cottage, it was a fun and enjoyable day. We were quite tired by the end of it and were looking forward to today, when we could sleep as long as we wanted in the morning and could concentrate on creating some order out of the chaos, even if at a slow pace. LOL, as it turned out.

Bill and I were sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of tea and some more sweet treats from the bakery when we looked at each other and suddenly began having a conversation about the garbage in the apartment. We were both aware of the bag in the kitchen and we both intended to take it outside and bin it, but we realized that neither of us actually did it. I closed the windows in the apartment before we left and as it's upstairs, it tends to be warm in there anyway, but the weather is expected to get quite warm for here over the next few days, so it'll be unpleasantly warm and stuffy in there. We won't go back until next week and we couldn't leave it there until then. So to avoid having it smell up the place, I heated up my Cornish pasty at 6:30 this morning and had it for breakfast. It was really good and I'll probably get one again some day. We got on the bus at 8 to begin our journey to the apartment and back, using some of our wait time between buses to pick up some groceries. It was a very long day and sooooo nice to get home, even if home is a mess right now. Tomorrow, I tackle the kitchen!

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When the Circus Came to Town

 On Thursday morning, we had our large backpacks stuffed full of overnight essentials when we walked out the door to catch the bus. We were heading for our once and future village to get the keys, pay the first month's rent, and spend our first night in the cottage. Since we experienced the very late bus issue when we first attempted to go look at the cottage, we opted to take a different route this time--one that didn't involve buses originating in either Galway or Dublin and that were staying closer to the area. Fewer opportunities for roadworks, accidents, or other delays that way, we thought. This did mean that we'd have more time to hang around and wait, but that was OK--it was a pleasant day, there are nice areas to sit, and we brought books to read while we waited. We got to the small town where we used to live and settled in to wait. The bus we were waiting for was one we used to take all the time, but things were different now. The vacant hotel where we used to get the bus was now fully renovated and is no longer the bus stop. Instead, they've built a bus shelter down a short lane at the car park by the water. While we were sitting we saw other Local Link buses come and go. We also saw that the circus had come to town and was setting up in the car park. Our bus was scheduled to leave at 2:10. At 1:30, I started to wonder, because I realized that I hadn't seen the one that was supposed to arrive at 12:30 to drop people off. I walked over to the bus shelter, where a Local Link employee and the driver of another route were conversing. I asked if this was the spot where we should catch the Local Link 966. I was told that the following day, the bus would pick up and drop off in front of the hotel because of the circus. I wondered why he was telling me about the following day, but I simply asked, 'What about today?' I was assured that the bus would be at the very spot where we were standing at 2:10--probably even a few minutes early. You see where this is going. At around 2, we meandered over to the bus shelter where a couple of people were already waiting--elderly women with their shopping. More people showed up. The bus did not. Then we saw it coming. It proceeded to back into the far side of the car park, back up, and turn around, leaving the way it came and leaving us standing at the bus shelter. I left my pack where it was and started walking up the hill to Main St, figuring that if I could catch the driver, I could tell him/her that there were people waiting at the bus shelter. But as I was on my way, I saw the bus drive past. It was gone.

I went back to the shelter and called Local Link, telling them that they'd stranded several people and asking what was up. The very nervous fellow asked me to wait a minute, then came back and read what was clearly a script about how the bus stop location would be changed from midday Thursday through Sunday. I told him that there was no notification of this on the website, nor any signs in the bus shelter itself. Furthermore, I said I was told by two employees that the bus would pick us up at that spot at the regular time and that the driver was in the vicinity and would have seen us waiting before turning around and driving off. He asked if he could call me right back. Needless to say, I was unsurprised when I never heard from him again.

In the meantime, a guy showed up and tried to tell me that the bus hadn't left and it would be coming. I explained to him that it was gone and all the rest of it. He was angry. He called someone he knew to complain and then called Local Link. The woman he spoke to at Local Link told him that they put a notice on Facebook. He told her he wasn't on Facebook. The two elderly ladies got up to peer at the schedules on the shelter. They were waiting for a different bus that had already left from a different location. There was a guy there who called a friend and asked for a ride and he took the two ladies, too, which I though was nice. They were all going the same way. That left 4 of us--me, Bill, the guy who insisted the bus was coming, and a frail looking elderly gent with his shopping. The latter didn't seem to understand what was happening at first and when he realized he would have to find alternate transport was looking in his wallet, presumably to see how much cash he had for a taxi. I called a taxi guy we used to rely on in the past, but he was out of town on another job, so couldn't come. The four of us discussed our destinations and it turned out that the frail gent was to be dropped off on the way to our destination and the other guy, who I will call Bob, was going in the same general direction, not too far out of the way. He suggested we share a cab and he called a taxi driver he knows, named Frank. Frank was available and said he'd be there in 20 minutes. I called the letting agent to say we'd be a little late and he said that was fine because he had to go on the Irish language radio station at 3, so we should just let him know when we arrive. 

Frank showed up and as we were putting our packs into the boot of his car, the same Local Link employee that assured me the bus would be picking us up there at 2:10 rushed up with signs he'd quickly made on notebook paper with a pink highlighter, explaining about the changes. Better late than never. We squeezed into the taxi. Frank started to drive away. Then he asked, 'Didn't you two used to live here in that little place on Main St.? Well, yes indeed we did. I have no recollection of ever speaking to Frank before, but there it is. As we were on our way, Bob and Frank, having known each other for a while, were chatting about people and places they've known. Bob said, 'Hey, remember Peter Something?' Frank said he did and asked where he's living now. 'He's dead,' Bob replied. 'Ah, he's crossed the River Jordan,' said Frank. I was sitting there thinking how strange and yet kind of funny the whole situation was turning out to be (the part about poor Peter Something being dead was not funny, but sitting in the cab the conversation and the situation seemed kind of surreal). The frail gent got dropped off and seemed very happy. A little further down the road, we got dropped off and waved good-bye to our new acquaintances. A couple minutes later, just as I hit send on the message telling the letting agent we were there, he pulled up. We went inside and did what we had to do. It was an unexpected sort of day, but interesting. And we will laugh about it all for some time to come, I expect.

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Chaotic Cottage

 Well, not that it was needed, but yesterday was irrefutable proof that our spring chicken days are long behind us. It's all well and good to laugh about buying 10 new-to-us books at the start of a move, but when hauling boxes, bags, and backpacks full of books down two flights of stairs over and over again, things get real. The yarn was easier--place in bin bags, stand at the top of the stairs, give the bag a push and watch it tumble down. Whether easy or less so, yarn, books, and almost everything else is now residing at the cottage, where all is chaos. I did get the boxes and bags of kitchen stuff into the new kitchen. Most plants are in a windowsill. The rest is in one of the bedrooms waiting to be sorted and put away. There's a little bit left here with us in our soon-to-be-vacated apartment. We'll go back to the new place for a few days in the week ahead to start getting things put away and organized. One bedroom is having a window replaced--not sure exactly when--so I'm trying to keep the area around that clear. I'm looking forward to being there, but we'll have to be here in the apartment for a few days too because we have appointments to attend. But the end of June will bring with it the end of our time in this town. I don't anticipate being back.

In spite of the seemingly endless trips up and down the stairs yesterday, it was a nice day. In between the stairs, loading, and unloading, we had cups of tea and a visit to a bakery/cafe. The time spent with friends made it seem less like work. We shared a lot of laughs. We sat at our large kitchen table and I refilled tea mugs while our friend cut slices of really delicious apple pie. I was reminded of how fortunate I am to live where and how I do and to have wonderful people in my life. 

Nevertheless, by the end of the long day we were wiped out. I dragged myself to bed just after 10 and fell asleep at once. This is extremely rare for me and usually involves being unwell. I woke up at 2:30 feeling disoriented and somewhat confused until I got my bearings--that's more my go-to-sleep time than my waking time. I couldn't fall back to sleep for a couple of hours, but eventually I did. Today we're stiff and feeling some aches and pains, but it feels good to have most of our stuff in the new place. We took today off and tomorrow we'll get some stuff done inside while it lashes down rain outside. 

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Willpower? Never Heard of It!

 At least when it comes to books, that is! We went yesterday to get the keys to our new cottage. There was a bit of drama (it was funny, not alarming), which I will tell you all about soon. Because of the bus schedules, we knew we'd be staying overnight there, so we stuffed our large backpacks with overnight essentials and headed out. This morning, with empty backpacks, we caught the bus at 8, got to Letterkenny at 9:15, and filled the time until 11, when the bus back to our apartment left. At 10, the charity shop right by the bus stop opened. We arrived shortly thereafter, since we had the time. Naturally, I was unable to prevent myself (although I didn't really try) from making a beeline to the back of the shop where the bookshelves are located. This charity shop is always asking for books and they sell a lot of them. Probably the low, low price of 5 for €1 has something to do with it! Before I knew it, my hand was reaching out for books and adding them to my growing stack. I handed one to Bill because I knew he liked that author. He found a few more. I was going to leave one on the shelf and get it from the library at a later date--The Spy Coast by Tess Gerritsen. Bill read it and was surprised that he loved it and he keeps telling me he thinks I'll love it, too. He told me I might as well just get it, so, you know, in order to keep the husband happy, I did. 😁 Between the two of us, we walked out with 10 books. You may be thinking, "But you're moving and already have piles of books to shift from one dwelling to another!" You'd be right! But what's 10 more among friends? I came home and packed them right away--except for Not the End of the World by Kate Atkinson. It's her first short story collection. I love Kate Atkinson's work and a short story collection is perfect to be reading while we're in the midst of this move. Luckily for us, a couple of friends are coming tomorrow to help us move things, so we won't have to make a gazillion trips on the bus lugging bags of books. We don't have any furniture to move, so other than the large slow cooker, the books are the heaviest items we're hauling.

We're going to be on the road early tomorrow morning. Tonight we're bringing as much as we can down the two flights of stairs and piling it in a way that doesn't block the door. That will make it easier in the morning. I think we're having a quick cup of coffee first. I'm gonna need it!

Hope you have a great weekend!

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Ripeness by Sarah Moss

 Ripeness

by Sarah Moss

Published by PanMacmillan/Picador

ISBN 9781529035490

This magnificent book takes readers back and forth in time between rural Italy in the 1960s and rural Ireland in the present day as we read about Edith at different points in her life. Edith is a bookish person who grew up on a farm in England and is excited to have earned a place at Oxford University. Her father and grandmother, with whom she lives on the farm, are supportive even as some of the locals consider her a bit uppity. Her mother comes and goes (for understandable reasons) and is against her going to Oxford without taking a year off first to travel first to Italy, then to France, arguing that this would not only improve her language skills, but also give her a wider experience. She makes arrangements for Edith to stay with some friends in each country. Edith goes along with this plan, which gets derailed when she is sent to a villa to be with her older sister, who is unmarried and pregnant. The sisters are quite different--Edith is into words and books while her sister, Lydia, thinks and responds to things in dance. When the story moves to rural Ireland, we're with the 70-something Edith as she goes about the life she's built there, having moved to Dublin as a married woman and going rural at a later point in her life. The chapters of the book alternate between these two settings and to some extent, two Ediths. It's not that she's completely different, but as with all of us (hopefully) with age comes wisdom, often hard-earned, and we inhabit ourselves differently at different times of our lives. This is illustrated beautifully in this book, both in the characterization of Edith at these points in her life, but also in the structure of the book.

For instance, in the Italian sections, Edith is narrating and uses 'I' a lot. It's clear that she is explaining both the events that occurred and what she felt about them. In the Ireland sections, there's an omniscient narrator telling readers what Edith did, said, and thought about. It was an interesting contrast for me as I read. I felt almost like Edith was observing herself and sharing her observations. It's particularly interesting because of her status as a blow-in to rural Ireland. As she acknowledges, she will never completely fit in, will never truly belong--her interactions are almost all performative in some way. The latter is true for everyone to some degree, but as a blow-in to rural Ireland myself, and having been here for over a decade now, I've had time to see how much more it's the case now for me. I can also say that Sarah Moss captured the dynamics of a village in rural Ireland brilliantly, in my opinion. She was spot-on in her descriptions of the kinds of interactions that occur.

In addition to this being a gripping story, I could relate to so much in the book. Themes of belonging or not, who gets to be part of a community, what it means to be a family, what it means to be an immigrant, gender expectations, generational trauma, finding solace and joy in books, and so much more are woven together throughout this excellent book. I highly recommend it. 5 stars  

This book was recently published, which is why I'm posting this now. I read it back in January and I'm thinking that it's definitely worth a re-read at some point. I thank NetGalley, the publisher, and the author for a DRC.

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Isn't It Funny?

 Isn't it funny how life unfolds? Forty years ago (!!!) when this video was released, I was in my early 20s, Bill and I were living in New Hampshire, we'd been married for 5 years, and MTV was a cool new thing. We would have seen this video back then, not paying much attention. Little did we know that a few decades later we'd be standing next to Bad Eddie (the boat that gets struck by lightning in the video) on 'our' local beach, living in the area where it was filmed, and looking at Mt Errigal as we walked to the library or the grocery store. I don't know what I thought my life would be like back then, and I've been surprised many times. I did know what I didn't want my life to be like and happily, I've been mostly successful in that regard. I wonder what will happen next.

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Nearing the End

 Here we are with just one day left in May. Last year, May seemed to be endless. Not so this year as it zipped right by. Now we're just a few weeks away from solstice, which is always a happy time for me as we start losing daylight after that. Just a few seconds at first, but we're far enough north that it picks up speed before too long. I always feel better after solstice, even though there's plenty more yucky summer to come. The fireweed should start blooming soon and I'll watch it bloom up the stem as we get closer and closer to autumn.

It's a bank holiday weekend here and the bar has a noise pollution event scheduled for tomorrow. Last weekend we had some pretty heavy rain off and on through the weekend, so the party people weren't outside and it was fairly quiet. This weekend will have the possibility of rain, but probably not enough to keep the drunk people inside. 

As I shove my ear plugs in, I'll remind myself that our time grows short and we're nearing the end of our time here. We go on Thursday to sign the lease and get the keys to the cottage. We'll most likely be going back and forth until the end of June, taking a little at a time. We've done three visits to three different charity shops over the past couple of weeks while we were doing other errands, making donations at each one. We'll be doing one more Donegal town library run on Tuesday to return the books we have checked out and while there we'll stop at the Animals in Need charity shop to drop off a few more things. I'm reading some books that I bought in previous charity shop visits with the intention to re-donate them. Yesterday I finished The Colony by Audrey Magee. I wasn't sure whether I'd like it, but for 20 cents it was worth a try and I loved it. It was definitely a happy surprise. The Animals in Need shop only wants novels, so I'm focusing on those. After Tuesday, our next library visit will be at our once and future local library, only a walk away.

I borrowed the e-audiobook of The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens so I would be sure to have something I know I'll like on my mp3 player as we're going back and forth between old and new dwellings. I've read it before and adored it, so I know I won't be disappointed in the plot. It's over 32 hours long, so I won't run out of listening material. I'll be finishing an audiobook tonight and starting another one, which I may well finish before Thursday, so I wanted to have something long and enjoyable to listen to. And Pickwick Papers is funny, too, which will be just the thing when I'm tired and ready to relax. 

I'm trying to use up food from the freezer because one of the drawbacks of the cottage is the small under-counter refrigerator with a tiny freezer compartment instead of the large (for Ireland) fridge/freezer. When we've been there a while we'll decide if we want to get a small tabletop freezer or whether we can make do. I still find it amusing that when they have a huge fridge/freezer, often with an ice maker, they call it an American-style fridge/freezer. Appliances tend to be smaller here. 

So we're both looking forward to getting there. Still a way to go yet, but at least we'll be on our way soon! I hope your weekend is peaceful and pleasant.

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The Disrespected River

 I woke up to a beautiful grey sky this morning. Before long, I saw sprinkles on the skylight. It's cooler than it has been and I was able to close a window, which helps keep some of the noise out. All of this makes me enormously happy. The weekend is supposed to be a few degrees cooler still and we can expect heavy rain. We need the rain. It's been unusually warm for the time of year and day after day, week after week of bright blue sky. The risk of gorse fires has been high and the river on one side of us is running very low. Now all the garbage people throw into it is more visible. Bill saw one of the women who works at the bar cleaning up the area where the smokers hang out. She picked up a plastic cup and tossed it over the wall into the river. It probably got stuck in the greenery on the riverbank, but will make its way to the river eventually. The poor river is so disrespected. 

It's been quite a show over there in recent weeks. One evening, I was making tea and while I was waiting for the kettle, I was looking out the window. I did a double take then sputtered to Bill, 'Droopy is taking a piss over the wall!' Droopy--no idea what his actual name is--is the guy who runs the bar and lives above it. We call him Droopy because there is always a risk that his pants will end up around his ankles at any time. I've seen more of his rear end than I'd like, I can tell you that, and on this night, he was displaying the other side. I get it that sometimes nature calls at inconvenient moments and one must take the call, but was it really necessary to do this outside in view of Main St, near an entrance to a business where people are going to eat and drink? Presumably there are bathrooms inside and the guy's own apartment is just upstairs. The tourists have started arriving--can you imagine being a tourist and deciding to stop in there only to find some guy pissing into the river? Personally, I'd be turning around and going elsewhere. Then again, I live here and I'm turning around and going elsewhere. 

Not long after that, it became clear that they were having wastewater issues once again. A few times over the past few months, a tanker sort of truck with hoses and things dangling everywhere has backed into the driveway, guys have jumped over the wall and peered and poked into an opening in the riverbank which provides access to the wastewater pipe. They've run the big hose there and turned on the water at high pressure. This time there were no professionals in sight, just handyman types who have been around doing various odd jobs. They poked. They prodded. They peered into the depths. They wiped their brows. They stood there. They poked, prodded, and peered some more. Then one guy donned a cloth mask, like those we used to wear during the pandemic. He pried up a manhole cover in the driveway, got on his knees, stuck his face very close to ground level, and with a small spade, began to shovel up mounds of white stuff--shovelful after shovelful. I was thinking that it would be a good idea for him to have more than a cloth mask on his face, but what do I know. The other guy stood on the riverbank and watched. They left for the day. The next day, they were back. They started digging a trench on the riverbank to expose the pipe. Then they got to the concrete cube that's part of the bridge. They had a jackhammer and some kind of saw to cut through the concrete. One guy wore goggles. The other had his cloth mask on again. Clouds of concrete dust were billowing into the air. We went out that day and when we returned, they were messing with the pipe. I shudder to think about the quality of the job they did. I'd expect wastewater leakage from the pipe, which is still exposed. I don't know about these kinds of jobs, but I do think that if it was me, I'd want professional people doing the work. Yes, these guys were probably cheaper, at least in the short term. But when there's more trouble, Droopy might wish he'd had a more professional job done. Or maybe he just doesn't care.

All I know is that it's depressing to watch people disrespecting the river the way they do. Smokers toss their butts over the wall, people throw trash into the river, and who knows what kind of wastewater is entering the ground and eventually the water. When we first came to Glenties, someone joked with us that we'd see salmon leaping out of the river. If there were salmon, I'm sure they'd be far too ill from human pollution to leap anywhere. It's sad.

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An Unexpected Turn of Events

 It's been a strange week and a half here. It all began last Tuesday. We were planning our usual trip to Donegal town to return and pick up books at the library. I had a heavy pile to carry back and I was all packed and ready to go when I checked the 'real time information' page to see what time the bus was expected. I tapped on the map and there was no bus icon on it. Back to the home page of the website. I scrolled down and saw that the service for that day and time had been cancelled due to an incident. That's all it said. So I unpacked my backpack and went back to the task I was engaged in before all that happened, which was a discussion about a property for rent. The letting agent sent me a video. We felt it was worth looking at, so I clicked around, found the bus times that would work to get us there and back, and made an appointment for Thursday. We'd be going through Letterkenny with a little over an hour between buses so we decided to take the opportunity to bring books and a couple other items to donate to the charity shop right by the bus stop. We each had a backpack full of books, so when we got there the charity shop was the first stop. Our bags now empty, we headed for the bookshelves. The backpacks did not stay empty for long, but at least we donated more books than we bought (on this day, at least).

Then we went outside, ate the sandwiches we'd brought, and waited for the bus that would take us to our destination. We hoped it would be on time because we were only going to have about half an hour in the village before we'd have to get back on the bus to Letterkenny. If we missed that one, we'd miss the last bus back home. There we were, eagerly looking at the roundabout to get a glimpse of the bus we were waiting for. It was 5 minutes late, then 10, then 15. The bus we rode into Letterkenny on was due to leave in 10 minutes by that point, so we started talking about what we should do. There was another bus to the village that was due at about the same time, but there was no sign of either of them. Twenty minutes late. The bus we rode in on appeared. We decided to get on it and go home. When it pulled away from the bus stop, one of the buses we could have taken was 30 minutes late and the other 25. Presumably, they showed up at some point, but given how late they were and with the potential for further delays along the way, we simply wouldn't have had any time to look at the place. 

On the bus home, I messaged the guy we were supposed to meet in two ways, but there was no response. I sent messages to friends who wanted to know how it went after we'd looked at the place. One of them was out of town, but replied immediately, saying that he was coming back that day and he'd drive us over the weekend or Monday. I was chatting with another friend. Still no reply from the letting agent. Then we were in the middle of nowhere and I lost my phone signal. When we got home, it was the same time we were supposed to be at the cottage starting to look around. I called. The letting agent was very nice and immediately asked me when I wanted to reschedule. I explained about our friend's offer. The letting agent chose the Monday and said to just give him a call to let him know what time. I worked it out with our friend later that day and confirmed with the letting agent on Friday morning.

On Monday, our friend came for pastries and coffee, but we left in plenty of time and were there early, as expected. I'd brought the heavy pile of library books I'd been unable to return the week before and dropped them off in the book drop at the library there. Then we went to look at the cottage. Letting agent had to rush off to do a slot on the local Irish language radio station about the insanely difficult rental market, so Bill and I stood in the front chatting with our friend for a while about the place and what we all thought of it. Then we came home. Later, I sent the letting agent a message saying we'd take it. 

We've been wanting to find another place to live for quite some time and have been actively looking for months. We were close to viewing a tiny apartment in a town that looked great, but the owner told Bill that some guy had contacted him and offered 'crazy money' so he was going to come look at it. Given the tight market, finding a place is difficult even with insanely high rents, so this opportunity came completely out of the blue. This is a letting agent that we've dealt with before and the cottage we'll be renting is in a village we've lived in before. The rent is not obscene for what it is, because it's in a rural area which isn't as desirable to most people as other places are. However, the bus service there is excellent and far better than what we have in our current town, so we'll be able to go places much more easily than we can now. There's a library, which is a big deal for us. A beach is just a few minutes walk away. It's a more scenic area. I love the cottage. There is no bar nearby and no obvious place for people to hang out and party. Our days of hearing bad covers of bad country western music performed by talent-free individuals at live noise pollution events is coming to an end. The very last straw was when someone--perhaps the Tidy Towns committee--placed benches on the bridge over the river. They wisely bolted them down. If they hadn't, it was only going to be a matter of time before someone tossed them off the bridge and into the river. These benches happen to be right under our window. I told Bill at the time, 'There's the new hangout/party spot. There are going to be even more drunks out there yelling, shrieking, laughing hysterically, and being obnoxious.' And so it is. Last weekend I was giving thanks for good friends who send ear plugs as I shoved them into my ears to try to get some sleep. The party went on until after 2 am.

So we've paid our security deposit for the cottage and given our notice here. I can't quite believe it--it's all so sudden. I'm grateful.

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Subjective

 Here we are, one week into May. My usual issues have arrived right on schedule, so many days aren't pleasant, but I know to expect the stuffy head, scratchy throat, brain fog, aches and pains at this time of year and prepare myself as best as I can. Thankfully, most days I've been able to read. I've also got a couple of library e-audiobooks downloaded and a fairly mindless crochet project on the go, so I can listen and stitch most nights. I've been crocheting for over four decades and I think I could do it in my sleep--and it helps with the ache in my hands. 

Last week, I had a pile of books to pick up at the library, one of which was a novel that both Bill and I were looking forward to reading.

I read about it in a bookish blog post several months ago and knew I wanted to read it. I sent the post to Bill and he wanted to read it. The library didn't have it and I wondered whether it was published here yet, since the blog post I read was written by a US based blogger. I kept checking and a few weeks ago, there it was in the list of new books. I placed my request and it arrived surprisingly quickly. Since I had a stack of other books to read, Bill went first with this one. He was immediately disappointed, but hoped it would pick up for him. It didn't. He grumbled about the book a little as he was reading and finally gave up at around the halfway point. I immediately took it, started reading, was hooked, and after a couple of hours was beyond halfway. By last night, I was deciding between going back to the book and finishing it or listening to some of my audiobook and crocheting. I chose the latter and finished this book early this afternoon. I loved it. 

The book is narrated by Nonie (Norah) who lives with her sister, Bix, her father, and assorted others who have created a community in New York's Museum of Natural History, in what they call The World as it Is, after climate change catastrophes. Nonie has a sixth sense about water and storms and keeps a logbook, excerpts of which are presented at the beginning of each section. These and her memories of stories her mother and others told her about The World as it Was give readers a sense of how the situation came to be what it is. As events unfold, it becomes necessary for Nonie, Bix, Father, and a family friend, Keller, to leave the home they've built in order to get out of the city and make their way to a farm jointly owned by Nonie's mother and aunt. Most of the book is about their journey, with memories filling in some of the backstory. 

This is my kind of book. People are thrust into new ways of life and have to figure things out. New societies and cultures are created. Lessons are learned. This is the kind of dystopian novel that I love. Perhaps this has something to do with my frequent puzzlement about people thinking that the way most of us in wealthy nations live will just go on and on, not being able to imagine anything else. In these novels, denial is no longer an option. At one point in the novel, Nonie's parents are telling her about a photograph of her mother on one of their last trips together before planes and cars were no longer in use. One of them commented that deep down they knew it would all end one day, but they tried to pretend otherwise. Bill said the book was too slow for his taste and that 'nothing happened.' After he set it aside, he found that many people who reviewed the book felt the same. I did not have that experience at all. I never felt things were moving too slowly plotwise. The pace felt quite appropriate, in fact. After all, in a world where electricity and motorized locomotion are no longer things, the pace of life will be slower. Also, the characters were dealing with new situations every day and trying to figure out new ways to do things. That doesn't happen at breakneck speed. As for nothing happening, I could not disagree more. Everything was happening. The ground they built their lives on was disappearing, both figuratively and literally. New communities were being built. People were dying. New people were being born. People tried to preserve knowledge as they could even as they were relying on old knowledge that previous generations had preserved for them. 

In any case, I thought the book was a page-turner and never felt like it got bogged down at all. I wanted to know what was going to happen. I was happy to immerse myself in both the plot and the writing. So there you have it. After waiting for months, Bill was very disappointed with this book while I thought it was definitely worth the wait!

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Days of Light

 Days of Light by Megan Hunter

Published by Pan Macmillan/Picador

ISBN 9781529010183

This beautifully written book begins on Easter Sunday in 1938. Ivy is 19 and unsure what comes next in her life. She lives in the family home, Cressingdon, with her mother and her mother's partner, who has other relationships as well. Her father left a long time ago, living with various other women, but is still involved in family life, as is longtime family friend, Bear. There's excitement on this day because Joseph, Ivy's older brother is home from Oxford for the holiday and everyone is looking forward to meeting his girlfriend, Frances, for the first time. On this Easter morning, no one knows that before the day ends, tragedy will strike, changing everyone's lives in profound ways. The book continues from there, telling Ivy's story through the decades, with each chapter a day in her life.

Ivy is clearly a seeker of something, although even she isn't sure what she's looking for other than a place to belong. She is surrounded by artists of one kind or another, but she herself doesn't seem to have any spectacular ability or interest in any artistic pursuits. Her education has been quite poor. She thinks about God and has fond, comforting memories of going to church with her grandmother. She feels most at home outside and indeed, it is outdoors on the family estate where she first 'sees the light' which will be with her for the rest of her life. As we follow Ivy on particular days in the decades to come, seeing the light, whether metaphorically or in reality is a recurring theme(thus the title of the book).

This is a wonderful book. The writing is exquisite. The structure works well as we see Ivy growing into a more secure sense of who she is. We also see the society around her changing. It's a coming of age story of a sort because even though Ivy is 19 when the book opens, she is very naive and acts much younger. This book was my introduction to this author's work and I enjoyed it so much that I'm now reading her previous books. If you enjoy character-driven narratives, books about women's lives, the search for self and a place to belong, and/or historical fiction, I can enthusiastically recommend this book.

Thanks to NetGalley, the publisher, and the author for a DRC.

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A Little Extra Bookish Excitement

 It's Tuesday--our usual day to head off to Donegal town. The library is only open Tuesdays and Thursdays. We try to get to Aldi to pick up some groceries while we're in town. We have about an hour on the ground to get done what we can and the library and Aldi are in opposite directions. Thursdays are usually more crowded because it's the first day of the new special buys, so we prefer Tuesdays. This is especially the case this week when the kids are out of school for Easter break and the upcoming weekend is a holiday weekend. Thursday should be crazy. We weren't sure if we were going to go until this morning. Everything depended on whether or not I had library books in. Bill had one in transit that was possible. I had three that I was expecting--more are on the way but I didn't expect them this week. You never know about the timing, though. I checked this morning and the three I was hoping for were there, so off we went. Bill's book was in, too. This is his, but it looks good, so I think I'll read it, too.

translated by Agnes Broome

I was extra excited about my books this week. I've been eagerly awaiting their arrival for weeks and in one case, months. I could have read this one from Project Gutenberg, but it's over 900 pages and I don't really care to read longer books on a screen. I've read Burney's first two novels and am looking forward to getting stuck into this one.

Next up is some women's literary history. I learned of this book when I read a soon-to-be published mystery novel with a bookish theme that the author has written. I enjoyed it very much so I placed a request for this one.

And finally, the one I've been breathlessly watching as my number in the queue kept decreasing:

It's a beautiful book with lots of photos and much text. My expectations are high for this book. I'm thrilled to be able to spend lots of quality time with it.

Here's hoping you have some excellent books on your pile of possibilities, too!

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Collaborations

 The other day as I was headed to the library, I stopped on the bridge for a few minutes to enjoy the scenery. I was particularly drawn to the swirly patterns in the flowing water. Afterwards I was thinking about how I'd use a photo I took (of the water) in a collage--either paper or fabric. This brought back memories of a time a couple decades ago when Bill and I used to collaborate on art projects, which we displayed and sold in art galleries and other places in one of the towns we used to live in. We'd print Bill's photos onto fabric and I'd create collage-like wall hangings using hand stitching with fabric, yarn, and or thread.  I still have a few pictures of some of them.

Unfortunately, this is not a great photo as the details aren't sharp, but it gives an idea of the overall piece

We also used to make photo collages for people with their family photos. Bill would scan their photos and create a collage that we would then print out onto the fabric and I'd create the wall hanging. People really liked those back in the day when digital photography was just starting to be a thing and not everyone was carrying phones with cameras. 

I should find out if there's a place online for me to get photos printed on fabric--or a place to get just the fabric because there's a place in town where I might be able to get the printing done. I know there are other ways to do photo transfer on fabric as well, so I'll have to investigate. I'd like to do some fabric/photo collage again, although I suspect it'd be in a completely different style than these were. Now that I'm thinking of it, I remember a few I did with felt that I made. Felt would work with regular photos printed on photo paper, possibly backed by card stock or watercolor paper. I can get photos printed here and I have lots of wool roving scraps for needle felting. Hmmm. I'll let this percolate. 

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Rewards

 Bill had an appointment at the dentist yesterday morning for a 6-month check-up. This required us to get up early so we could catch the bus. I am not a morning person. As usual, when I know I have to get up at ridiculous o'clock, I didn't sleep well, so when, after less than three hours of slumber, I awoke with a start and saw that it was 6:20--20 minutes later than we'd planned to get up--I didn't have time to mumble, groan, and talk myself into getting up and facing the agitatingly bright, sunny, unseasonably warm day. I just shot out of bed and stumbled around getting ready to go. Once I was out of bed, I kept reminding myself that I would be rewarded for this unpleasant start, because while Bill headed off to the dentist in one direction, I'd be going the opposite way. Destination library for me. As I was walking over the bridge, I stopped for a few minutes to enjoy looking at the view. The patterns in the flowing water, the lines of the trees that are partially in leaf, the beautiful breeze, and the birds hanging out there were all very pleasant indeed. There were mostly seagulls, but there was also this lovely heron.

I just watched for a few minutes and then decided to try to take a picture. I dug out my phone and struggled to see the screen, so in the end I just tapped a few times and hoped for the best.

Then I continued on to the library where I picked up my books--an activity that always puts me in a good mood, no matter what. 

When I read the description of this book, about how the author was inspired to write it after reading an article stating that women are drains on society because they take too much time engaging in unpaid caring labor, my first thought was about the sheer stupidity of such an argument. I wonder how the idiot thinks society would function without this labor? Then I thought I might as well see what the author has to say. I'm not sure how new her arguments are, but I'm curious to find out. The book is translated by Sherilyn Nicolette Hellberg. This information doesn't appear on the cover, but it should.

The other two books I picked up are novels. The first one is a novel in short stories. I'm not sure where I found out about this book. I saw the other day that it's been shortlisted for the International Booker Prize. 

And finally, a book which, when I read the description, brought to mind the Simone de Beauvoir quote that fits me like a glove--'I was meant for another planet altogether. I mistook the way.' This book seems like it'll be slightly weird, but hopefully in a thoughtful and enjoyable way. I like misfit/culture shock stories about people trying to figure out what the hell is going on. This may be because I am a misfit who is always busy figuring out what on earth people think they're doing. 😁😂 To circle back to the first book, it seems blindingly obvious that our economic system is unsustainable and harmful to many. But people go on as if it's just the way it is. When I used to ask uncomfortable questions as a child, that was the (unsatisfactory and incorrect) answer I always got. That's just the way it is. So I'm particularly looking forward to this book. I will probably read this one first. The oddities of Earthlings, indeed.

And so I collected my rewards for leaping out of bed hours before I wanted to do so. Bill's check-up resulted in no problems. This is supposed to be the last day of this crappy weather and we get back to more seasonable temperatures and cloud cover starting this weekend. I'm looking forward to it! I'll let you know my bookish thoughts. Hope you have an abundance of good reading material within easy reach and happy weekend.

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Bookish Thoughts

 Last week, I posted about my library haul. I said I'd let you know what I thought of these books, so here I am to do that.

I returned two of the books unread. One wasn't what I thought it'd be, so I DNFed it. The other still seemed like a good book, but I was no longer in the mood to read it. This isn't a one-off for me. I am so grateful to have access to all the libraries in the country. But I'm very much a mood reader and it's often the case that I request a book because it seems really interesting or like something I want to read, but by the time I get it, I've moved on and have turned my attention elsewhere. This is most often the case with non-fiction. It's not the kind of thing that happens with the majority of the books I request, but it does happen sometimes. So it was this time. 

I did read the other three I'd picked up and here are some brief thoughts.

Territory of Light by Yuko Tsushima is a small novel, considered a classic in Japan, that was serialized there in 1978-79. It's a short novel about a woman who finds herself a single mother when her marriage breaks up. The novel follows her through the first year of this part of her life. It's a realistic, sometimes painful description of the struggles she experienced as the mother of a daughter who is, like her, strong-willed. There are times she questions herself and times she is ashamed of her behavior. This isn't a saccharine sweet novel about the joys of motherhood, but more about the sometimes brutal reality of the role. I've read that it's a very autobiographical novel. I liked this book. I didn't love it, but I found the cultural aspects of her motherhood interesting, both because I'm a mother myself and because I did research on the ideology of motherhood in grad school. 

This is a new book and quite timely. In it, Rees draws on his decades of historical research into the Nazi era and delves into the psychology of the people who were part of the regime and those who supported them or who simply went along. He examined the literature and interviewed psychologists for this work. I found this book well worth reading, although I would have liked a bit more psychological insight. To be fair, he's a historian not a psychologist. It's a timely book, of course and throughout there are so many similarities to things that are happening today. Rees concludes the book with a list of 12 warnings for people today--things to watch out for in today's world. It's important to remember that while specifics will be different according to culture--no fascist movement can be successful unless it builds on whatever culture it's part of--there are overarching themes that are evident cross-culturally. I'm very glad I read this book.

Finally, the book I loved the most from that haul was this one:

Love, love, love! The author is a rare book dealer and Jane Austen fan. One day, she was picking up a collection when she discovered a book by Frances Burney. She'd never heard of Burney, even though she is mentioned in Northanger Abbey as well as Austen's letters. Romney realized she'd taken for granted the misogynist opinions about what constitutes 'the canon' and the idea that Austen was the first great woman novelist. A small bit of investigation showed Romney that Austen read, loved, and found inspirational the work of many women. She felt a bit sheepish that, as a rare book specialist, she knew nothing about these women, so she embarked on a project to learn more about them and to add to her book collection. She organizes the book around several of these authors--Frances Burney, Ann Radcliffe, Charlotte Lennox, Hannah More, Charlotte Smith, Elizabeth Inchbald, Hester Piozzi, and Maria Edgeworth. She looked for books, she read works by and about these women, she got angry at the dismissal of their work, and she recognized the ways in which they drew on and were constrained by their life situations and the societies in which they lived. She didn't love them all--neither did Austen, apparently. As for me, I've read short stories and/or excerpts of longer work by Edgeworth and Inchbald and read a novel by Radcliffe (via Serial Reader) as well as two of Burney's novels, which I loved, especially Cecilia. Needless to say, I've placed some requests at the library and sent myself some links to download books from Project Gutenberg so I can read more work by these women. I also went through the bibliography--as you do--and put a hold on another work of feminist literary history and one that's an early gothic reader. I'm quite interested in both and I suspect that interest will remain for the time it takes the books to get to me. Another fun aspect of this book was her description of the rare book dealer world. She weaves together this, the discussions of the authors, their lives, and their work, and the ways Austen was inspired by them extremely well. This was a very fun book to read.

I had nothing in this week, but I'm hopeful for next week. I currently have 5 things in transit and more could be coming soon. I hope you have plenty of great reading material to enjoy!

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All There and Ever-Changing

 

“The flower, when it wilts, becomes the compost. The compost can help grow a flower again. Happiness is also organic and impermanent by nature. It can become suffering and suffering can become happiness again.

If you look deeply into a flower, you see that a flower is made only of nonflower elements. In that flower there is a cloud. Of course we know a cloud isn’t a flower, but without a cloud, a flower can’t be. If there’s no cloud, there’s no rain, and no flower can grow. You don’t have to be a dreamer to see a cloud floating in a flower. It’s really there. Sunlight is also there. Sunlight isn’t flower, but without sunlight no flower is possible.

If we continue to look deeply into the flower, we see many other things, like the earth and the minerals. Without them a flower cannot be. So it’s a fact that a flower is made only of nonflower elements. A flower can’t be by herself alone. A flower can only inter-be with everything else. You can’t remove the sunlight, the soil, or the cloud from the flower.”

― Thich Nhat Hanh, No Mud, No Lotus: The Art of Transforming Suffering

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Be More Dandelion

 

Several months ago, a friend--a retired florist--asked me what kind of flower I would be. I replied that I've always thought of myself as a dandelion. She was taken aback--not the answer she was expecting. But dandelions really are my favorite flower. They're tough. Knock them down and they keep coming back. When they pop up in the middle of a manicured lawn or flower bed, they remind us that we can try to sculpt everything into the form we want, but nature will have her say in the end. They're unruly and don't conform to human constructs and expectations. For those that appreciate dandelions, they can have a lot of benefits. For those that don't, they're just annoying. I've always felt connected to dandelions. And as I get older, I'm even more dandelion than ever.

a friend sent me this card over 20 years ago--been carrying it around ever since

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Replacements

 Several years ago, I made Bill a pair of fingerless gloves using some yarn I had left over from a giant cone a friend brought back for me from a thrift store in Boston. It's thin yarn with thicker slubs scattered throughout. I wound some off and used it double stranded to crochet myself a big cozy sweater. I had lots of yarn left. I still haven't used it all and that's a good thing.

Although I've made Bill a few other pair of fingerless gloves, he wore the first pair most often--on a daily basis for most of the year. We both wear them. Both of us get cold hands and I end up with aching wrists, too. I've found that wearing the gloves prevents the ache. Bill likes them because they keep his hands warm. He has thicker ones for wearing outside on chilly/cold days, but for indoor use, he liked the thinner ones. One day we were out on a mild day and he lost one of them. Since I had more of the same yarn, I told him I could make him a replacement. But when he gave me the remaining glove, I decided to just make him a new pair. The glove was showing its age and parts of it would have needed redoing anyway. Also, after all that use, it was a bit stretched out and it would have felt funny having one broken in glove and one new one, I think. So I rummaged around, found the appropriate double- pointed needles, pulled out the bag with the yarn and knit away in the evenings whilst listening to various things. I wove in the ends the other night and now he's got a new pair.

There's no pattern, I just made it up as I went when I made the first pair and noted down the numbers. It's an easy project. I use double points because I prefer them, but magic loop, 2 circulars, or 9-inch circulars could also be used. I held the yarn double, which I would say resulted in something between sock weight and DK weight. I used US size 2 needles and the resulting fabric is quite firm, so sturdy enough to wear well. I tend to be a loose knitter. If I had thicker yarn and bigger needles, I would cast on fewer stitches. This is easily adaptable. For these, I cast on 48 stitches, separated them so that I had 16 on each needle, did several inches of 2x2 rib, and then plain knitting around until I reached the base of my thumb. I just measured by trying them on. To make the opening for the thumb, I started working back and forth, alternating knit and purl rows and turning after I'd done the stitches on the third needle. I did 10 rows this way.  After that, I went back to working in the round until they were just about long enough and ended with an inch or so of 2x2 rib. To make the thumb, I crocheted a few rounds around the opening--it's too fiddly to be dealing with the double pointed needles on so few stitches. I did US half double crochets through the 3rd loop around and around until the thumb piece was as long as I wanted it. Weaving in all the ends was the last step and they were ready to go. Just in time for it to warm up next week. 

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Last Straw

 When we moved to Ireland, it was both sudden and something we'd been planning, albeit very loosely, for a long time. We knew we were going to go, but we had no idea when. Life went on. Then, very unexpectedly, the opportunity was suddenly upon us. We had a couple of months to get things in order and go. There was a lot to do, including getting rid of almost everything. We didn't have anything large worth shipping and because we knew we'd want to make this move, we didn't acquire a lot of nonessential things, but we still had household basics to pass on, which we did in various ways. On the Freecycle page, someone asked for anything that might be useful for someone setting up a new apartment. A woman had left an abusive relationship and she was starting over with almost nothing. We were able to give here everything she needed to outfit her kitchen, along with some plants and a piece of artwork. I listed other things on a buy-and-sell Facebook page in our local area. I didn't want to spend time haggling as people often did on the page, so I put really low prices on things and they got snapped up. This was good, but it did mean that we had to schedule meeting times to hand things over. When we met the woman who bought my bread machine, she said I hadn't asked enough for it, so she gave me more. While all this was going on, our broadband was iffy and I ended up having to plug in my laptop to the modem in the bedroom to ensure a connection, which I needed for all of these donations and transactions--cell phones weren't as ubiquitous as they are now and we didn't have one. I was still volunteering two or three times a week at the local food bank/food pantry/soup kitchen. We were looking at rental properties on Daft.ie and trying to figure out what we could expect. We learned that almost all rentals come fully furnished right down to the kettles and teaspoons, so that was one less thing to think about. If we found a place, we'd be able to settle right in. Since we knew we wouldn't be getting a car, this was one thing off our minds--no furniture to acquire. We were trying to find a B&B to stay at for a time once we got to Ireland, and arrange for transport from the airport. We'd thought about taking buses, but decided that wouldn't really be practical, because in the end, we went with 3 suitcases and 3 backpacks. It was cheaper to pay for 2 extra bags than to mail things. But this limit on space and weight meant that, with a handful of exceptions, our books would not be able to come with us. We donated them to the local library for their book sale.

Upon our arrival in Ireland, our driver met us at the airport and drove us to the B&B we'd booked for a week. I never sleep on planes and for several years before that, long plane rides caused me to be ill the following day, so I was tired and I knew I was going to be nonfunctional the next day. This proved to be the case. I felt queasy when I woke up, but we managed to get to the local Tesco to buy a pay-as-you-go phone and get a few groceries before I went down. I was not at all coherent, had a headache that felt like someone was inside my head trying to stab their way out, shivering, and unable to keep any food down. Later I learned that Bill was trying to figure out how to set up the new phone while I was out of it. By the middle of that night, I knew I was on the mend, with just the aftermath to deal with. By then it was the weekend, and we went out for walks each day and down to breakfast in the dining room to chat with other guests and the lovely owners, but the rest of each day was spent with both of us on our computers. Bill would look up possible rentals and I would investigate bus schedules, towns/villages, etc. I kept lists. Finally, we saw that there was one town that had three different possibilities--we could get there and back on the bus in one day and it seemed to have everything we'd need. We figured we'd start there. On Monday morning, the co-owner of the B&B offered us a ride to Galway as he was going there anyway, so we rode in with him. When it was 10 o'clock, I called the letting agent who had listed all three places and left what must have seemed to her like a strange message to start a week. I tried to fit everything in, telling her that we were new to the country, were looking to rent a place quickly, saw her listings and we were fairly certain that if she could find time to show them to us we would choose one of them. I gave her the phone number. I was cut off in the middle of this and had to call back to continue. Then we went off to explore a little bit, not knowing if she'd call back. She did, within the hour. Then we had to call her back to confirm date and time after we'd gone to the tourist information centre to check on bus schedules. The following day, we went, looked at a couple of places, chose one, filled out an application, gave her a deposit, and caught the bus back to the B&B, all within 45 minutes. She said she'd confirm with the owner and call me on Wednesday. By Wednesday evening, I hadn't heard from her, so I called her. The call was dropped. I called back. Voicemail. She called me. We could move in the following day, which was perfect because it was the end of our week at the B&B. The next morning, our host drove us an hour away to our new apartment in a different county, helped us carry our bags upstairs, showed us how to use the storage heat and explained the immersion water heater and the off-peak electricity system, and left us to it. We walked to a store and bought sheets, towels, and groceries. The next day began the other stuff we had to figure out--opening a bank account, trying to get broadband, etc. I was very tired. From the time we knew we were making the move to then, I was just putting one foot in front of the other and completing the next task as it arose. In the US, people commented on how I didn't seem excited at all. Who had the time? There was a lot going on. Really, I was just tired. Sometimes there was a glimmer of unreality that I would notice--a feeling of amazement at what was going on, but mostly I was just thinking about the next thing that had to be done. 

Of course, we were using the library for wifi access while we waited for it to be connected in our apartment. I did get excited when we had proof of address because we could get our library cards. The day arrived and we did what we needed to do online, then went up to the librarian who was there at her desk in the one-room library that was an old church (this is fairly common here and I love it!). She was a lovely woman named Mary. I said we wanted to get library cards and held out our proof of address. And then it happened. I know she was trying to be helpful, but her words were the last straw. She said that it cost €5 per year for Bill to get a library card (because he qualified for a senior card) and that there was no reason for me to pay for one as well because we could check out up to 8 books at a time on the one card. She said the 'eight' as though it was a huge number. Obviously, I wasn't going to argue, so Bill got his card, we checked out books, and went outside. The dam burst. I could hold back no longer and I burst into tears. Bill stood there, stunned, as I blubbered on about how 8 books was nothing for two people and we had to leave all our books behind and I need books. Finally he said to me, "It'll be OK. She just doesn't know who you are yet. But she will." And she did. Now, there really was no reason for me to be upset. The library was a very short walk away and it was open several days a week, so returning books and checking out new ones was not ever going to be a problem. We got books at charity shops and replaced some of the more special ones we had to leave behind. We never ran out of reading material. But in that moment, everything I'd been pushing aside in order to complete the necessary tasks came rushing back and I lost it for a few minutes.

We moved to a different county the following year where the library was run differently. I got my first Irish library card there. Although I would have paid the fee, there wasn't one. Then they revamped the entire library system so while we have cards from our home counties, we have access to libraries nationwide. I love my libraries. And on my way to one yesterday, I was chuckling at myself once again as I remembered that moment when I stood outside the old church which had become a library and wept. 

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