The dailyness

 a treatise on why it’s difficult to get any work done in a small town

This morning, on my first day back after the Belfast trip, I made a list, packed up the computer, cleared the Ford of the rest of the aftermath of the longish car trip, and headed into town.

 9:30AM. Miriam and Martina are both in the library, my first stop, so of course we exchange pleasantries about our various weekends, which in the Republic had been a three-day weekend, called a bank holiday weekend here, possibly in celebration of something although I never heard what. I sit at my usual spot in the back corner of the small library that I am increasingly thinking of as my office, and begin the slog through nearly two days of email.

10AM-noon. Over the next two hours I do the banking, answer mail, look up reference questions, request some library books, and check on my bills—all of the work that I would have spread throughout the day in those heady times back in the US when internet access was taken for granted.

Noon. I pick out a DVD from the very small selection in the library (with no TV and no internet at home and one outrageously expensive DVD rental place in town whose selection ranges from action films to action films, the library DVDs will be my evenings’ entertainment this summer) and begin to head out the door. Martina stops me, suggesting that I might want to meet members of a book club that gathers monthly on Tuesday mornings in the library; they are just coming downstairs from the meeting room.

12:30PM. I find myself with a fat family saga novel, which I would never read in other circumstances but have somehow promised to finish in the next month, and a lunch invitation to Larkin’s, the closest pub, where I join two women named Margaret and one named Ilish for tuna sandwiches and tea.           

1:30. I leave the pub and head back to the library to rescue my car from the lot there.

1:35. As I am getting into the Ford I hear someone call my name. It’s Deirdre C., a stained-glass artist I had met last year, and one of the people I very much took to during my stay. We talk for a few minutes—her husband is starting a new business called Base Camp, a boot-camp-type exercise regime--and arrange to meet up for coffee later in the week.

2:00. I drive to Tesco, where I buy clothespins, towel hooks, a pencil sharpener and a few groceries. Since the store is large and I am still learning where things are, this takes awhile.

2:30.  Gas (Anyone buying petrol here or for that matter anywhere in Europe would never complain about gas prices in the US again.)

2:45. Back into town to buy bread and a treat at my favorite spot, the Eden Deli. The treat is for a friend who is just getting out of the hospital. Niamh is behind the counter, so of course we chat for a bit.

3:00. When I come out of the deli, Donal, my realtor (auctioneer, as they are called here) is standing in front of his office next door to the deli. I remind him about the desk he is going to loan me, and we end up talking for half an hour about two families I had gotten to know last year, one of whom is currently in a great deal of difficulty.

3:30. I head for Ballindoolin House, a ten-minute drive, with the treats for Esther, who has just had a shoulder operation. When I arrive only the dogs are there to greet me, a rather odd circumstance as usually the place is teeming with people, including the three young men from France who are helping in the walled garden. I don’t dare leave the treats because of the dogs, so after roaming around the place to see if I could spot anyone, I realize that I do not have Esther’s phone number and have no way to get it except to drive back to the library and look it up online. I remind myself to get my mobile phone numbers organized.

4:00. My second trip to the library, another brief visit with Martina, and one more internet search.

4:30. Back in the car and heading for home.

4:45. Home. Tea and some reading about the Troubles, a book I bought in Belfast.

6:00. Esther calls. I need to return there to pick up some boxes I had mailed to her address from both California and New York. One of the boxes contains the hiking gear I need for a ramble that is happening tomorrow.

6:15. Back in the car, headed for my second trip to Ballindoolin.

6:30. My boxes are waiting for me. Esther loves the treats. We stand and talk in the drive in front of the house.

7:15. Home, this time to stay.

7:30. Una phones, then I return Deirdre M.’s call.

8:00. Time to fix dinner. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get some work done before 2, when I leave for that Irish ramble (except that I have to pick the granary loaf I couldn’t get this afternoon at the deli, and of course I have to check email at the library . . . .)