June 15th, 2006

daily life

morning comes so *early*

Actually, morning keeps not coming as early as it should. I keep waking right up at 6 or 6:30 and for some reason I'm not getting out of bed. It's warm, it's snuggly, I'll just lie here a few more minutes, that sort of typical thing. And then it's 7:30. Hrmph. Must do better than that if I'm planning a marathon writefest over the last two weeks of the month.

I like today's kitsnaps photo a lot. My sister is so cool. :) This weekend I'm going up to Blackrock to take pictures of her for her website, and maybe to take pictures of a bunch of other Dublin yogis for a Dublin Yogis calendar. I think that'll be fun.

Um. Today's thinks to do:

1. finish up PL revisions & send it off
2. find the riding school & ask about riding lessons

Ted has already cleaned the kitchen (all hail Ted!), but I should do more laundry and fold the stuff I've done, which is currently collecting wrinkles in the laundry basket. And I should again not eat too much junk food.

Wow, I'm suddenly all tired. I better go take a shower and go to work before going to sleep sounds too irresistable.
catie_cute

unshorn fleece

I've just turned the PHOENIX revisions in. Matrice said she'd trade me COYOTE notes for the PHOENIX revisions at the end of this week.

There is a scene in FARMER'S BOY, the Laura Ingalls Wilder novel about Almanzo, her husband's, childhood, which I keep thinking of.

It's sheep-shearing season in this scene, and Almanzo is too little to help shear. His job is to run the bundled wool up the ladder into the barn's loft while his father and--uncle, or brother; I forget which--do the shearing. He's working as hard as he can, running up and down as fast as he can, but they're faster at shearing than he is at bundling and carrying the wool, and they keep teasing him about it. Eventually it's lunchtime, and they go to lunch while Almanzo has to finish carrying the wool they've done upstairs.

While he's at it, he hauls a sheep up there, too.

Then he, too, goes to lunch, and the afternoon is spent doing exactly the same thing: Almanzo running his legs off while he's teased mercilessly about falling behind. At the end of the day, they've sheared all the sheep, and are crowing over having outpaced Almanzo, who turns to *them* in triumph and says, "No! I've got a fleece upstairs you haven't shorn yet!"

Turning PHOENIX in before I've gotten the COYOTE revisions feels distinctly as if I've got an unshorn fleece upstairs, and have every right to dance triumphantly. :)

I'm going to go slather myself in sunblock and see if I can find the riding school now. In theory it's about a 3 mile walk and fairly straightforward to find, but the Irish don't believe in road signs, which may make it an adventure. OTOH, it's an island. I can't get *that* lost. :)
catie_cute

*splat*

I have the best husband. *beam* Ted came with me when I went looking for the riding school (he couldn't have me going off and getting lost without him, he said), and then we walked the loooooooong way around back down to Cobh, where we paused for an ice cream cone (they mostly only seem to have soft serve ice cream here, which is very sad, although arcaedia did point me at Ice Cream Ireland, which gives me *some* hope! :), and then walked back home again, for a total of about six miles. It's perfectly gorgeous out, in the 60s with no clouds and just a little breeze, and we're aaaaalll worn out from walking. :)

And riding school! It's €10 for a half hour lesson, and basically to have a lesson you call up and say, "Thursday at two would be good for me, is it available?" and then you turn up Thursday at two. I failed to ask about anything like equipment, but it's a touristy thing, so I assume they've at least got helmets, and if I (start, much less continue) with this I'll invest in a pair of riding boots after a few weeks of banging my ankles up. (I donno if English-style stirrups bang one's ankles as much as Western style, but last time I went riding (some sixteen years ago) my ankles were *pulped*, man. *Ow*.)

I declare it a *day*. I've walked six miles, turned a book in, and found out about riding lessons. I am so totally kicking back, maybe watching a movie, maybe doing a drawing, something, tonight. I have put on my floppy pants and I am *done*.

miles to Isengard: 109
ytd wordcount: 184,000
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