A good friend has suggested that writing this blog in the third person voice is too weird – and I agree. I thought maybe if we used that voice Claude & I could both add to the blog without distinguishing one from the other, but it’s clunky and unnatural. And really hard for me to write that way. So today marks another change.
By the way, the stove top is called a “hob.” New term to me, perhaps not to others. Our stove and oven are electric but you have to turn it on via this big switch on the wall and then hit a couple of buttons and pretend to set the clock before it will work. Quirky!
The oil men came in the early afternoon and supplied us with kerosene for delicious, life-giving heat. (I ran outside to ask how big the tank is and then panicked thinking we didn’t have the money on the credit card to pay for that much oil. The men were very nice and cut it off before I had a chance to really plotz. One of them had just returned from a 4 week vacation in Kissimmee, FL during which he and his family had a wonderful time. They had saved for 4 YEARS for this vacation; I was relieved to hear that they had a great time. I’m always so worried about being perceived as an ugly American so feel relieved to interact with an Irishman who likes us.) Oh, I cranked that baby on and let the heat run all afternoon. Radiant heat is very different from forced air; it is subtle and slyly pervasive. But once the room catches up, oh my is it lovely.
Speaking of quirky… Electric showers are one hell of an experience too. The box hooked to the wall makes a tremendous noise, and getting the temperature right is a bit of a trick. Combine that with a shower stall that is the size of a phone booth and a shower head that sprays everywhere and it’s like an amusement park ride. You have to laugh, you have no choice. At least when I stepped out of the thing I didn’t freeze to death on the spot.
Claude learned a lot about the bus system in Galway today – not always correct but ultimately successful. Tomorrow I attempt to get from the house to the store and back again via bus. Worse comes to worst I can always walk home, but lugging groceries while tramping up and down hills is not my idea of fun. We shall see!
PS: Hello, Irish cooks, it’s called salt! Ancient spice, used for centuries, can get it right out of the ocean! You know, that body of water your lovely island is totally surrounded by? Use it! Thank you.