When meeting another new artist, chatting with a stranger or just observing passers-by, I recognize faces... My mother, gone 31 years now. My Aunt Pat, gone many years, my Uncle Art, gone several years, my nephew Kevin, my early childhood friend Maureen. There's a familiarity to almost every face I encounter. I feel a vague sense of belonging here.
A few things I forgot or did not realize about Ireland:
They do not pronounce the th sound. It's tree tirty here. Arthursville is Artursville.
They are very soft-spoken. I have to lean in close to hear what they're saying. Often, even if I do hear, I don't understand a word they're saying.
Irish men are very nice. Twice men have taken my heavy carry-on bag from me and walked me several blocks to my hotel. They weren't coming on to me, they were just being nice.
The cream here is so thick it oozes slowly into my coffee.
Here's a view of my walk home from the pub last night, where I had tree pints.
Did I say home? I meant to my hotel.