Another dinner party?!

You know the old saying, "If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes"? I have decided to amend it for the Irish climate/mentality as follows, "If you don't like the weather, leave." Everyone who can afford it spends their summers in the south of France or Spain. I even had someone tell me that if I wanted a colder winter Scandinavia is an easy plane ride away. I do enjoy a bit of icy weather, but something about chasing it down seems just plain wrong. It's been raining, misting, or overcast for about the past two weeks by the way.

Even so, spring is definitely on itsway. I've seen hundreds of daffodils poking their way out of the mud, but despite brave attempts at outdoor frolicking, Keith and I have lately been housebound. So, we have dinner parties-- usually with Keith's friends and families. They have been pretty fun and stress-free for the most part. Keith does the main course and I'll usually do a side and dessert. I really wish I could show you some pictures of the amazing desserts I've made, but I always get too excited about serving them and cut them up before I can take any photos. Just picture a flourless chocolate cake, a blackberry and meringue roulade, a strawberry galette with basil whipped cream. I think I'll make apple pie next because the Irish have it ALL wrong. Aside from the clean-up involved, I'm glad I'm the one hosting the parties because it gives me an excuse to hide in the kitchen away from the guests, which as Colleen can attest to, is probably my favorite part of having people over. It might not go over well to try that out at someone else's home.

Non sequitur. The other day Keith and I have a picnic by a river and we saw this.

What do you think is wrong with this duck? Is it a glandular thing? Did a mallard breed with a goose?

Beaches

I have made a solemn vow that when the temperature reaches 60 degrees I will go for a swim. There are too many gorgeous beaches around here not to take the opportunity when it arises. I did actually see people swimming in Dublin in December and January, but the hypothermia song has convinced me that my doing so might be a bad idea. Aside from working on my golf swing (which Keith says looks more like a baseball swing), walking on the beach has been my main form of exercise. Yesterday Keith and I did 9 km at Curracloe Beach, which is where the opening scene of "Saving Private Ryan" was filmed. The beach itself reminded a bit of Cape Cod, although lacking the same sort of charm. Or maybe I was just feeling grumpy. The sun was shining, the sea was sparkling, racehorses were galloping in the sand, and Baz was frolicking in the waves. I mean, could it get any worse?

How about if we throw in an adorable baby seal? Keith and I were chatting and walking along when we saw Baz run up to investigate a shiny black trash bag, which promptly hissed and snarled at him. At this point we all realized out mistake; Baz kept his distance and Keith and I went for a closer look. Luckily mother was out hunting, so I got a decent photo out of the adventure. I think these little surprises are the best part of my trip here so far-- like when we met a distant cousin-in-law in a pub, or came across an ancient standing stone in a plowed field, or broke into a yew maze and got hopelessly lost. Not too shabby, I think.