I finally took a break from stressing out about the world of grave events (sometimes reading the newspaper has adverse effects on me!) in the open-sewer of this rough and rotten town Ballincollig and I went to Cork yesterday with L and met up with some truly wonderful friends. We drank leisurely shandies in the unusual warmth and sunlight with Irish people, a Canadian, and even a fellow American from LA in for a visit! They fed us, liquored us up, and gave us some desperately needed craic (craic= Irish for good times, not drugs). Due to being wicked poor, we haven't been out in ages. It was so nice to have a break.
It's a strange feeling, living in someone else's house while they aren't there. It's been so long since L and I have had our own place I forgot what it was like to own one's own spoons and chairs. We've been living out of a suitcase for well over a year. In some ways I think it's good though-- we've discovered how much people care about us because of their amazing generosity by letting us stay in their home and slipping us some $ and food every now and then, and we've also come to really appreciate what it means to have work, a solid income, duvet covers, etc., so when we have those things I think it will feel beautiful. I already feel good without them. When I'm not looking for work or writing, I spend a lot of time outside just looking at the house-owners' garden. A flying ant leaving a chemical trail toward breadcrumbs for its fellows, a rose that burnishes a vibrant carmine that I've only seen in the jungle along the Napali Coast, a bird cracks a snail shell open on a rock wall and feasts. There is overwhelming life in Ireland-- nature here is far gentler than anywhere else I've ever been.