My predetermined goal of acquiring a big wooly Irish sweater has been realized. There is a neighborhood craft fair on Sundays, and one table is run by an old woman with a jack russell terrier, a 4-year-old granddaughter, and a pile of sweaters that she knit herself, by hand. Her name is Ann Rebecca, and she lives here in Ballyvaughan. This is us (blurry picture)
Meanwhile, something truly unprecedented in the history of Ireland has occurred. I believe it is called "sun." 'Tis true! All weekend, we experienced actual sunny days. People were actually sunburned. From too much sun. But fear not, gentle reader! Order has been restored, and we can all breathe a sigh of familiarity at the return of the default "soft day" (an Irish term for the freakish lovechild of rain, wind, fog, mist, cloud cover and altogether shitty weather that has inspired so many of the fathers of classic poetry to slit their wrists).
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