Excuses

It could be that I’ve been incredibly busy. After all, I’ve travelled hundreds of miles, acquired a passel of stamps in my passport and receipts from airport restaurants. I have a stack of wedding programs and menus, from a high mass to civil union, garden party to formal buffet for one hundred—and we still have the highpoint of the trip in front of us, my Darling In-laws’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. So it might be that I could say I have a good excuse.

But the real reason I haven’t posted to the blog is simply that I haven’t written. I have started several essays in my mind: about my like-minded Scottish friend (to be entitled Two peas in a pod); something to celebrate witnessing the birth of a cria (that’s a baby alpaca to thee and me); possibly something about being chased by small children armed with latex balloons at not one but two weddings (summarily dismissed to not offend the brides.) There might even be a short ode to having long fingernails on my left hand because I’ve been away from my violin for so long.

I wanted to pour out words of joy about our whirlwind day trip to France, where we filled our pantry and travel wine cellar; lament how much I missed hearing Number One’s cello and even his whining (the former much more than the latter). Somewhere in my heart is a soaring ode to the German breakfast (worthy of a king) and Käsespätzle (the Swabian equivalent of mac ‘n cheese). I actually started a drafted a pretty good piece where I dissected this trip by the numbers (I think I may finish it some quiet morning on my return).

But I seem unable to write about what is occupying a large slice of my mind share these days. Even if it the gift of Blarney isn’t flowing, Ireland weighs on my mind—and not just because that Limerick wedding is shaping up to be one of the more pleasant of this trip (thought the one we stumbled on today in the town square was awfully sweet, with the bride and her policeman groom handcuffed together and serenaded by incongruous Swiss Alp horns.) The reason is simple: we will be living there for a year, beginning in September. Darling Husband’s employer made us a good offer, and the adventuresome spirit that led us to each other in the first place moved us to accept it.

Our handful of days in the west of the Emerald Isle gave us a wee taste, as we strolled mehodically and attentively through supermarkets, trying to envision a yearful of meals. For we recognize that even though the relocation agency assigned to our “case” will help us with finding schools and keeping stamp-happy bureaucrats content, the task of sourcing our nourishment falls to us, and will likely be our most immediate of needs. And so, in addition to long lists of broadband providers, car rental options and furnished apartments south of Dublin (with decent guest quarters), I scour the Internet and solicit referrals for farmer’s markets and good rice noodles.

So it seems that I have picked a good name for the blog, as we will be living the Irish life for the year to come. We may not eat the full Irish every morning, but we will find a way to weave it into the fabric of our lives.