T.

There is a horse show today down the road
in Louisburgh, but we shall not make it.
Opted instead (in a passionate burst of rain)
for an Irish coffee at Matt Malloys. The pub
was pleasantly crowded, some Irish pipes
and a concertina on the i-pod. We sat and read
the Herald Tribune, an editorial about our
lovely president's autocratic system of ruling.
Curses all around.

At the Westport Saturday market today there are
oh, perhaps eight booths. A cheesemaker (we love
his nettle cheese, aged only 6 weeks), a jam-maker
named Patty (American), a potter (one of whose teapots
graces the shelf of the hutch back at the house),
a plant-seller (basil, parsley, a few flowers),
a woodworker whose coffee-table-on-display we are
going to buy as soon as we finish here, and a few
others, not much to boast of. In September there is
a horse fair here. They close off the street along
the river (site of street market) and farmers bring in
their Connemara ponies and draft horses and Shetlands
and sell 'em off. When we went in 2005, there was a mild
gale blowing through, but it didn't stop any of the locals
from coming out for the event. They are no strangers
to rain and wind here.

A shopkeeper from whom Paul bought me a necklace and bracelet
used to live in Bellevue. And a couple at the tourist office
with whom he struck up a conversation were from Bellevue and Yakima.
O tiny, compressed earth!
And, of course, just about everything is made in China.
Labels on goods will say, 'Designed in Ireland.'
Local authenticity is tricky these days.
We like to patronize a local jeweler-couple
who have a shop here in town. Lovely silver pieces.

I made pizza last night. Ahhhhh.....it felt great
to plunge my hands into that dough. Grounding.
I'd make a pie but don't want to consume it all.