I'm beginning to think that I should just start off every blog with an apology.. as I do with this one. Rick has grown up hearing about kissing the Blarney Stone and always dreamed of going to Blarney Castle, so it was extra special for him to be able to do this.
I'm going to liken kissing the Blarney Stone to Gefilte Fish- you really have to grow up with the idea to like it and even then it isn't for everyone. I just have to say, the thought of kissing a spot that thousands kiss every day - blech.. as my Nana would say "I could just brecht!" I mean seriously people- germs?? I was assured that they cleaned the stone nightly.. oh gee and that only helps the very first person who kisses the stone in the morning and not even - as who knows what has happened during the night! And seriously upside down?? Why can't folks just lean over and kiss the spot that is directly across from them? Ok, I'll stop. Just because I'm aware of generational neuroses doesn't mean that it isn't being carried forward in me. And seriously, if kissing the Blarney Stone gives you the gift of gab, what might it do to me. I barely shut up to breathe as it is.. can you imagine?
I wasn't humbled by Nasty Lady, however, (the only person we have met who we don't want to pack up and take home with us). We were driving through Portmagee - a great place to stop if you want to hire a boat, (but sort of not so much if you are just driving through). So here we are hunting for a parking spot and we see a space without a double line and I dashed into the store behind the spot to see if it was ok for us to park there. I asked the proprietess and she immediately begins yelling- "No! No! You cannot park there! Go park up the street!" Good grief "Ma'am no need to be nasty, that's why we asked." I have a feeling I'm not the first one to mention that. We went on our way in search of the illusive parking place which we did in fact find. After a yummy lunch at Moorings, we headed back to the car and I spotted a post office and wanted to get postage. "Isn't that the place with the cranky lady?" Rick asked. "It looks like it is next door, I'll be quick."
I head inside and sure enough Nasty Lady is sitting behind the counter. I take a deep breath and ask for postage. She huffs (I kid you not) and points to the sign that cleaerly indicates that the post counter is the counter to the left of where I was standing. "Oh, I'm so sorry." I move to the counter to the left of Nasty Lady and - wait for it.. sure enough, a paper thin door opens and in walks Nasty Lady. I mean seriously you just can not make this stuff up.
The story gets better, as today we visited the Blasket Island Museum, about an amazing island where a small community of people lived for many years without electricity or running water. It gave birth to a number of notable Irish writers. In honor of their spirit there was a quilt show - and yes, the owner, of my little quilt shop, Nikki Foley, had curated the quilt display.. and hers was extraordinary. If only we lived on the same continent I can tell we would be fast friends.