Another day in Cardiff

Yesterday started with sun (hurray!), became a torrential downpour of biblical proportions, and then stopped. Ah, fall is in the air...
Been hunkering down in the house, "nesting"... had a very exotic trip Thursday evening to - IKEA! So funny, I could have been in any city, except for the pound signs as opposed to dollars, and the inflated prices! Bought a few little things to help make the house more of my space while I'm here.
I miss Trader Joe's already! Oh, well. Dried fruit and nuts are incredibly expensive. A small (and I mean small) packet of almonds is something like $4-$5. Funny the things one misses...
Had a very social day yesterday. Tea at Margaret's house, one of the two deputy heads (translate: assistant principal) at my school. Went for a walk first in a really beautiful park very close to my house, around a lake teeming with ducks, geese, and swans (sorry, no photos - forgot the camera), sunshine after the rain (it does that often, I'm told - rain kind of comes and goes. Carrying an umbrella with me in my purse all the time now) then back to her house for tea and biscuits - how British! Her house is wonderful. Very green yard with a sunroom built on overlooking it made completely out of glass, even the roof. It was very peaceful and I think I'd live there all the time if it was my house.
Then in the afternoon, spent my first "girl day" downtown with my neighbor, Louise, checking out the shops, window shopping, etc. I was surprised to see many names that I knew - Gap, which seems to be everywhere, I remember seeing it open in Florence - Claire's, the cheap jewelery store in malls, Border's, and so on. It was fun. There are all of these arcades, long, narrow passageways with shops and glassed in ceilings, winding their way through the center of the city. If you walk a bit further, you can see the big castle and Bute Park, a large green space in the midst of City Center. We also went to the public library, of which I am now a proud card-carrying member, a brand-new, 5-story modern building. I was very happy to see it because books are ridiculously expensive here! And I'd already been to the local branch in Whitchurch to find a very sweet, very small space with very few books, most of them in Welsh, which will not help me much. I am pleased that I can rent at the big library and return the the local branch, just like at home. I immediately reserved the third Stieg Larssen Millenium Series book, coming out in the UK beginning of October - can't wait! - and took out 3 dvd's and a novel I'll begin teaching - gulp - next week! I haven't even seen my classroom yet because the school is ripped apart for construction. Ah, flexibility...
Stopped into a pub for a lager. It seemed to be for all of the down-and-outers in Cardiff because it was so cheap, only about $2.40 for both. After being gently (quite polite for someone you just know has been drinking all day) approached, chatting very briefly (of course, the usual "Where are you from?" as soon as I open my mouth), we made our way to the car, Louise's cute new Mini. Picked up Indian food, my first here, to bring home (we were both suspicious about being told that there were no tables, seeing many available, and watching others be seated, but decided that paranoia didn't help either of us) and ate at my house. Lots of talk.
This weekend is a bank holiday, 3-day weekend, so it's pretty quiet around here. I'm using the oven for the first time and I must admit that it took me a minute to figure it out. The things we take for granted... out for tapas later on with Amanda, my teaching partner, and Delores, a teaching aide. They said that they're up for "a good gossip". Believe it or not, I've been trying to do more listening as I feel my way around and get the social "rules".
Twmpathau, as some of you already found out, means "humps", as in road humps. It's pronounced tum-path-aye. Welsh, huh? You should see some of the really long words. I've learned to count to 5, say good morning, and now know the words for humps and road. A slow start...
Anyone wanting to comment... I'd love mail, of course, and if anyone feels like slipping in some stickers (something I forgot to bring and have been told the kids love), they'd be much appreciated!
Good weekend...

A little quiz...

Okay, here's the question for the day. I went on a little walk in my neighborhood and came upon this word: twmpathau. What does it mean and how is it pronounced? (I must admit that at this time, I only know the first part of the question...)

Ireland - Chapter 2

On my third real day of my trip, continuing on the Dingle Peninsula, I decided to visit the Gallarus Oratory, an early Christian church dating from somewhere between the 6th and 9th centuries - now, that's history! Both the stone house and the little church were charming. The church was especially unusual, and the land surrounding it was a combination of both pastoral and bleak, if you can picture that.

As I entered the church and stood inside, I had images of life so many years ago, and thought of how comparatively
new everything is back home...

I had assistance from a gentleman working there who at first seemed quite standoffish, but turned out to be so helpful with directions, even calling my next hostel to help me book my bed for the night. At this point in my trip, there were not many people around and it was pretty isolated, very beautiful and beginning to rain.
I traveled on to Ballydavid, still on the Peninsula, where many of the road signs were only in Gaelic, and found my home for the night, a village consisting of a church, a small shop, and my hostel, run by the shopkeeper, Sioban. This was the spot where I decided to splurge and took a private room, 25 euros. Here, most of the people I met were actually Irish, and such an eclectic bunch. The odd little man up there to study Gaelic for the week. Two older women from Dublin traveling and visiting old churches and ruins, somehow reminding me of times past. And eleven teens from Cork, part of a youth group, with their leader, Ger. The kids were wonderful! Warm, friendly, inviting. When some of the girls heard that I was from LA, they were in awe - I was an instant celebrity for the night. I was immediately asked to join them for dinner, which I gladly accepted, having planned on packaged soup mix myself. They'd been together for 7 years and were a tight group. So polite and helpful! It was amazing. They helped cook, set up, clean up afterwards, with no squabbling. Later on, I helped them make Bread and Butter Pudding, hot and yeasty, served with custard, a creamy sauce-type topping. Ummm....
After watching them fashion silly hats from pipe cleaners, (again, I was impressed - can you picture our 18 year olds doing this?) I finally excused myself - they were planning to stay up all night and, sorry, no way I was going to do that!
Next morning, after tea and freshly made scones from Sioban, I again hit the road in the rain. Slowly, made my way away from the coast and into the center of the country, stopping in the little town of Adare for a walk in the rain and a bowl of hot soup, passing Limerick, driving through Tipperary, and finally arriving at Cashel for the night. It was a truly picturesque town with the famous Rock of Cashel (I was expecting a big rock, but learned that it meant a castle). I found the hostel easily, met a sweet young man working there, very Irish (sounds silly, huh?) and yet, born in Queens, NY! He was, again - I know that this is becoming redundant, but it's true - so friendly and warm. Had some bread and cheese and wandered out. It was Heritage Week in Ireland, so there were some activities around. I saw a great award-winning animated film about The Book of Kells. Walking back, I saw a crowd on the sidewalk, heard music, and after a moment's hesitation, entered the pub and ordered a pint. It was packed, so I found a corner, nursed my ale, and, my favorite thing, people-watched. And ended up talking to the people around me, a young couple with their little girl, and a group of kids out for the evening. I love that the pubs are filled with people of all ages and everyone is accepted and welcomed. A little old lady (no, not me) came in by herself and guys rushed to help her get someplace to sit.
Returning to the hostel, I met travelers from Spain and Germany, and my roommates for the night, a father and his 16-year-old daughter from Australia (that was a first), in Ireland for a year with their family of 7, including 5 kids. They were great. He was a historian working up at the Rock as a guide, so told me all about it and also gave me some helpful info to help me prepare to teach Victorian England in school this year.
The next morning, after meeting a harried Canadian family of 4, with 2 kids under 5 years old, strangely the least friendly hostelers I'd met in my travels , I walked up a tranquil path to visit the Rock. There was no one else there and it was fresh and gorgeous. I made my way up the hill to the castle, paid my admission, and joined a group waiting for a guided tour by a very knowledgeable and - yep - friendly docent. The place was incredible. St. Patrick had been there and the history, a royal castle from the 4th or 5th century, then handed over to the church in the 11th century to prevent rivals from claiming it, was actually really interesting. There is also a graveyard, still in use by families whose names were entered in a register by the 1930's.
Taking the advice of my hostel host, I went to a great shop, a butcher of sorts, and bought some real food for lunch - a cooked chicken, prepared salad, and Irish brown bread - delicious... Since it was raining, I ate back in the cozy hostel kitchen.
This was my last real day of my trip, the next would be a travel day, so I took my time, heading east towards where I'd take my ferry early the next morning. I stopped in Kilkenny on the way, a town that I'd heard about, a found it to be really nice, a bit bigger than the towns I'd been in the past few days, but not a real city, so not overwhelming. Strolled around, went to the Kilkenny Castle, crowded with lots of visitors - free entry for Heritage Week - so I left quickly. Spotted this great looking men's shop, looked in a few bookshops - can never resist those. Headed to Wexford for the night, on the east coast, a small harbor city, promptly got lost several times trying to find the hostel, even with directions from no less than 3 different people - very frustrating, especially when you have to go to the bathroom! (I'm still trying to get used to asking for the toilet when I need to go...)
Dinner, (my leftovers) Germans and Australians, a read, and to bed.
Uneventful trip home, pleasant ferry ride sitting opposite an English family with 2 very active cute kids, and HOME! I only made one wrong turn at the end, but managed to make it. Honestly, I think that Cardiff is in many ways more difficult to negotiate by car than the route to Ireland!

The Irish Chapter

5 days on "The Emerald Isle"... I drove and live to tell the tale! This is a photo of my favorite door from someone's home they had dubbed The Mermaid House, in Kinsale, south of Cork...
Following my oh-so-specific directions, I headed out. Surviving the dreaded roundabouts, I made it to the motor ways where it was pretty much smooth sailing.

I discovered radio! Lots of pop music intermingled with talk shows - some serious discussing political issues, many silly with lots of quizzes about music, a comedy show (made me think of old-time radio; an older woman and man, couple, doing a whole "let's put the fun back into our marriage/you don't understand me" shtick), some poetry. Some shows reminded me of page 6 of The Post - Mom would have loved it! Wales, too, is very green and very beautiful, just not as dramatic, as I was about to discover. Rolling hills, cows, sheep, lakes, streams, villages that the road ran through. Started to feel more comfortable with the driving, but went through a Twilight Zone moment when I actually thought about what I was doing and it really messed me up - had to put it aside and go into left-side-of-the-road autopilot. Decided that it would be okay if I just did it...
The port with the ferry was massive, and rainy. Queueing up in a long line of cars to wait to enter. Once parked, I went upstairs to the passenger areas. Forget the Staten Island Ferry - this was definitely not roughing it. Inside it was like a Vegas hotel - slot machines and all. Settled in to my comfy chair upstairs, purchased a cup of tea at the little cafe (heaven...) and read for the next almost 4 hours. Some rough seas, but not bad, all in all. The next lap of the night was a bit of a mess - raining, getting dark, got lost a few times, and could not for the life of me figure out how to use Gil's mobile phone to call the hostel I'd booked south of Waterford - yes, like the crystal. But you know how they say the Irish are so friendly? Well, it's not just a rumor. A lovely man working in the market I pathetically entered asking for help not only called the hostel for me, but led me there. Ah, what a welcome...
Upon entering the Beach Haven Hostel, wet, hungry - no dinner - and disoriented from driving over 4 hours with tight shoulders chanting "stay left", plus ferry time, I found myself in anything but a haven, but, oh well, I was out of the car and safe. I put my things in my room, shared with 6 other girls/women and headed downstairs to check things out. What to do? Pouring outside, I made up my mind to check out the traditional music in the local pub anyway. I was given directions, told that I could walk (I was not getting back in the car), put up my umbrella and trudged into the night. It was wonderful! I spotted a group that I'd briefly spied at the hostel, bought an ale and asked if I could join them, a motley crew, to be sure. A young German guy, a mother with her 13-year-old son from Barcelona, another group of 4 from Valencia, and 2 young couples from Italy - perfect. As you can see, it was warm, cozy, and there were about 12 people playing everything from banjos to mandolins, accordions to guitars to fiddles to Irish hand-held drums (I don't know what they're called) - great music played by this local group of townspeople, including a few kids. MUCH ale consumed by the group! It was pretty funny when they tried playing a Frank Sinatra song, but fortunately they went back to the good stuff! I got a ride back to the hostel and fell into my little bunk bed, determined to leave bright and early, bringing along the German guy, Dominik, who was "tramping" as he called it - hitchhiking - since we were both heading to Cork.
Neither of us had an agenda, or a reservation anywhere, so we meandered. The countryside was lovely, green, green, green, and the rain tapered out, so we were happy. He practised his English, I drove. We decided to go to Kinsale, a pretty beach town south of Cork - we agreed that we were in no hurry to go to a large city yet. After getting lost and circling back several times, (the roundabouts in Ireland are just as confusing) we arrived. Beautiful and full of tourists, we found the side streets and happily found a quiet, quaint town, overlooking a harbor, minus the tourists. Yes, I know, I am one, too. BUT, I'm trying not to travel too much like one...
Cork was actually a nice city and the hostel we both booked into was much nicer than the night before, run by an American with a bit of a snotty attitude, but manageable. As you may have noticed, I stayed in hostels - I am a convert. Ireland is very expensive, even the locals complain bitterly about it and try to go to Northern Ireland to food shop, if they can. They say that if they get to go to the US, they bring 2 empty suitcases and the clothes on their backs. Hence, hostels. They ran from 16 to 21 euros a night for a dorm bed, which was about $25 to $35. One night I actually got a private room in a hostel, a whopping 25 euros. The prices vary, depending on where you are. There are all kinds, independent, Irish Hostels, and Hostels International, of which I am a proud member, as of my night at one in Washington, DC. Also mostly "cooked" (pasta, bread, cheese, and fruit) at the hostel. Anyway, they stuck Dominik and I in the same dorm (no hanky-panky, he was 21 - but very cute and fun to look at!) and we went out to a pub where we ran into the group from Valencia! It really is a small world... More music, not nearly as good, but great sitting and talking to everyone. Lovely people...
Returning to our dorm, we were accosted (no other way to put it) by a woman who I believe was certifiably nuts and a bit scary. I had images of knives in the night, so was careful to smile, listen, and not engage too much as she proceeded to tell us more than we needed or wanted to know about herself and her life. Poor Dominik would have to deal with her for 2 nights - I escaped unscathed the next morning.
Drove the famous Ring of Kerry on the west coast and it was truly beautiful. Cliffs, ocean, green everywhere. Spent the night at a wonderful place, Peacock Farm Hostel, up in the mountains outside of Killarney, isolated and lovely, just what I wanted. It is run by a very dapper elderly man, assisted by his daughter and her family, 3 boys and a delicious pup named Odie. Look at that view! It took me 10 minutes up a single-lane, winding, rough road to reach it - I thought of Trisha often while driving, remembering her warnings about the narrow roads. Thought I was lost again, but then the farm emerged. Spent the night with 6 Germans, who fortunately for me, spoke English. I've thought quite a lot about Americans and their lack, for the most part, of bilingualism. I think that our states are like Europe's countries and because every one of them uses English as its primary language, most people don't find it necessary or feel compelled to learn another language. Too bad... of course, maybe it's a bit of chauvinism, as well?
Lots of discussions over dinner and during the evening together. Two of them were planning to start a walk the next day from Killarney to Dublin, no small feat. They were fully equipped with all of the latest backpacking gear, very organized - sorry, but very stereotypically German! I even teased them about this and they were good-natured about it.
The following morning I left for what turned out to be my favorite location - Dingle Peninsula - I wished that my sister, Susan, could have been there because I know that she would have loved it. I passed through major traffic in Killarney, learning that the Tour of Ireland was passing through, along with Lance Armstrong, but decided to avoid the crowds and headed for the coast again. I am not exaggerating when I say that it was magnificent. My photos do not do it justice. After stopping in the town of Dingle, wandering the streets and stopping for my splurge of a bowl of soup, brown bread, and tea in a little cafe, I left the once again overcrowded-by-tourists town and started out on an extremely narrow and winding road. I went along the coastline, clockwise, and each spot I passed was more beautiful than the last. This is one shot of Slea Head, at the tip, absolutely breathtaking. It was incredibly windy, cows in the fields, waves crashing. There was a sign about Ryan's Daughter - remember that? It was filmed somewhere out here. Okay, I'm going to stop for now. Stay tuned for part 2. This could be a crazy thing - I decided not to include too many details and look at this! I miss you all, already...

Well, I spent 2 hours catching you all up and now I'm in Html hell - stay tuned due to technical difficulties...

My first solo...

As I'm leaving for Ireland tomorrow, and I still hadn't driven alone, I decided today was the day. Not only into the village of Whitchurch (a 5-minute drive), but all the way to Cardiff, Canton to be exact, the section of Cardiff where I'll be teaching in about 2 weeks. I needed to take care of some paperwork at the insurance agent's (no matter how prepared and thorough you think you are, there's always something. I now know that AAA is not reciprocal with AA here in UK, and so - breakdown insurance. Watch as more money flies out the window...) Using my directions from David and Liz, I embarked on my mini-journey. I was so excited you'd think that I was discovering new land - well, for me it was . Of course, as I passed my first landmark, TESCO, I realized that I was almost out of petrol (are you impressed with my English?), so made my first pit stop. Hurray! A harried woman with two screaming kids in the car, yelling at them in an American accent, was right in front of me, so I asked her for directions without feeling too stupid. She'd been living here for 13 years, so was very understanding and helpful. I realized that I had to move, drove into another pump area facing the wrong way, was asked (kindly) to move by an employee and finally managed to fill up. My car is tiny and still it cost me over 32 pounds to do so. By this time, I'm wiped out, yet triumphant (it's the little victories) and head back onto the motorway.
Winding my way over various twisting roads, I managed to STAY LEFT and made it to Canton, with only one small wrong turn. Not bad... Avoided the dreaded "meter maid" at left by parking in the lot behind the agency.
Took care of business (everyone is so friendly!) and decided to walk the 20 minutes to City Center of Cardiff. (I needed a car break and City Center driving is that much worse than what I'd already accomplished.) The city, it turns out, is manageable and interesting with its very own castle (see left), arched and covered ways with shops, streets blocked off to cars, etc. I went to seemingly the only bookstore in the city, Waterstone's and purchased (nothing like last minute) a book about Ireland. Bought a chicken, mango chutney, and mayo sandwich to go from a shop and made it back to my faithful "Roc".
Full of confidence, I began my return trip. Piece of cake... you can see where this is going, huh? Almost made it home (actually saw TESCO's on my right) when I made a very wrong turn somehow and ended up in an industrial park somewhere. After asking directions from no less than 3 different people, with all of the accompanying wrong turns on my part, I finally made it home about 20 minutes later - exhausted.
But, of course, I decided to get back on the horse after eating my exotic sandwich at home and booking a bed at a hostel near Waterford (crystal, anyone?), and drove into the village to tackle opening a bank account here. That, my friends, is a story for another day, as I had to make an appointment for next week.
Tomorrow, the road to Ireland...

Night of the living dead...

What was I thinking? Yes, change is good, but I must have been out of my mind. Just beginning to acclimatise myself to everything and now, Bam! I'm off to Ireland for 5 days. Crazy... Hence, my living dead night - anxiety strikes when one is at her most vulnerable, around midnight. So, rather than lying rigidly in bed, I was up scanning the internet for hostels, B & B's, and maps of Ireland. It helped a little, but honestly, not much. Ever notice how middle-of-the-night craziness is always so much more crazy that daytime? Then, I wrote a list (always a useful standby) and called my sister, my wonderful always-there-no-matter-what go-to-gal. Ah, why isn't the US as advanced with phone plans? Thank you, Gil, for having a cheap international plan. Still, I wasn't completely out of my schiziness. My book definitely did not help, all about a gruesome murder with way too many details. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, I fell asleep and did manage to sleep until 9.
Sunshine always saves the day. Made phone calls, lined things up. Voila! I'm almost human...
Made it into Cardiff proper today, to the harbour, as it's spelled here. That large golden building is the Millennium Center, the arts, theatre, etc. space. They call it the "armadillo". We had lunch at the Norwegian Church, no longer a church, but a combination lunch cafe and little tourist spot for Roald Dahl, who was born in Wales and used to attend the church. It was an absolutely beautiful day, which really helped to finally bring me back to earth. That and the incredible kindness and graciousness of all of the women I've met here from work so far.
To top it all off, another teacher from my new school, Liz, came by, helped me with mapping out my next intrepid voyage to downtown, the auto insurance agency. I even drove her over to her house in "The Roc" for further mapping assistance from her husband, so more driving practice!
He is amazing! David gave me precise directions to Pembroke Dock, where I'll catch my ferry to Rosslare, Ireland, on Wednesday - including which specific exits from all of the roundabouts that I'll do battle with on the journey.
I am currently sane, drinking a glass of that chianti and trying out a Brit reality show, if one considers tv sane.
Good night...

Driving...

Feeling like a brand new driver, Bev and I forayed out into the world this morning, me at the wheel, and we lived to tell the tale! "Wrong" side of the front seat, "wrong" side of the road, manual, not automatic, with the extra touch of a left-handed shift, plus a wicked British invention called roundabouts (created just to confuse me further, I'm sure) where I had to stay left around a circle while watching for oncoming traffic from my right, and a chance to merge - whew, I'm overwhelmed just writing it. BUT I managed it all with flying colors, only once scaring us both when Bev told me to go right, but not that far right, into oncoming traffic. She sat like the mother of a new driver, you know, clutching the dash, white-knuckled, stomping on her nonexistent brake, but all in all, I think we both did quite well. I even parallel parked! The Roc came through splendidly... trying it on my own to follow, but that's for another day.
Next came a visit to TESCO EXTRA, our mega- supermarket. You have to put a one pound coin into a slot to get a shopping cart, which is returned to you once you return it. Not a bad idea when you consider all of the abandoned shopping carts scattered throughout our fair neighborhoods, hmm? After perusing the aisles I reached the conclusion that yes, it is true: the UK is expensive. Who would have thought that tissues would cost so much? I am already preparing a list of things to request from my US visitors. But I did find wash cloths for 19p!
Home to deal with the outcome of my first etiquette dilemma. That lovely lasagna I wrote about? Well, of course, it contained beef, which you all know, I don't eat. What to do? Ask Bev, the kind lasagna giver? Pretend I'd eaten it and throw it out? Give it away and return the dish empty? Of course, Bev would find out eventually that I don't eat red meat and it would be even more awkward. So, I asked Lisa, another of Gil's lovely friends, for advice. "Be direct and tell her," was the advice. So I did. It was perfect because this elicited a confession on Bev's part: she didn't even make it! It was given to her by a neighbor and her family couldn't eat it because of allergies. All solved. I brought it over to my next door neighbor, whom I'd met that morning in my pj's, over the side fence (can you picture it? think washing line with towels blowing a la Billy Elliot again). I've been rewarded with a roast chicken dinner invitation for this evening. And being told that one of my new mantras is "Yes, thank you, I'd love to" in response to any invitation (the other being "Stay left" while driving), I accepted. So, later this afternoon, I'm off to Louise and Glenn's for Sunday dinner.
Now, on with relish to The Sunday London Times... hope they have sudoku.

Day 1 (2 really)

You know how a dog pisses all over to mark its territory? Well, I spent my day figuratively pissing all over my new home. After unpacking most of my things last night in a haze of exhaustion, sleeping until 10 am, with a brief interruption by a phone call from my beloved Barbara at 6:30 am, I awoke in my new bed. A cup of tea (how apropos!) and toast, but with Trader Joe's peanut butter dragged across the ocean, and I was set for my day. Decided to walk to the village of Whitchurch, visited briefly yesterday for lunch with the ladies.
It is all that I would have stereotypically pictured: images of Billy Elliot and Hugh Grant danced through my head as I walked the route, all the while trying to wrap my head around cars driving the "wrong" way down the street. As one car drove by I wondered, "Why is there a baby passing by in a car with no driver?" until I remembered to look on the other side of the front seat. A bit disconcerting, especially since my first "driving lesson" is tomorrow... Then there's the whole crossing the street without getting killed thing. Which way do I look first? Stay left while driving is my new mantra, I was told, but it doesn't always work as a pedestrian. I have to think way too much.
Passed by the green (here "Bend it Like Beckham" was playing, the soccer scene with the boys), followed a very picturesque stream with requisite little girl on dad's shoulders oohing and aahing at the water, reached the first pub at the outskirts and knew that I'd arrived. Rain threatened but never showed up, beautiful breeze, cool and brisk, sun peeping through occassionally: perfect.
Stopped in a pet store considering a pet turtle until I remembered my world travel plans. Meandered through the shops, speaking a word or two to shopkeepers or your average man (or woman) about town, just to guage the reactions. Friendly. Okay. Checked out the library, books in both Welsh and English. For a small town, there are a million thrift stores, here called charity shops. I bought a book for 30p. Ate a sandwich in the park, bought a few things for dinner, including a lovely chianti (no fava beans). All the while, converting money (how much is that in dollars?) and watching out for cars.
Made it to Violet Place, blasted my ipod, and attacked the kitchen. Once one makes a kitchen one's own, it's truly home. So, I started small, and ended up pulling apart all of the cabinets, moving the spices, rearranging, cleaning, etc. The refrigerator is now mine - a few well-chosen photos, cartoons, magnets brought from LA, grace it. A framed photo of Jean-Luc and Cayal on the mantel (I finally have one!), a wind chime hanging in the patio out back...
Dinner. I christened the dry house with a toast to myself, my new home, my year. Life is good.