Howling winds shaking the windows, then sleeting rain, gloves, hats and boots. A cold front camped in our lovely Listowel. It was a good day to paint.
Sadly, it was also the last full day for my sweet guest, writer Avery Caswell (aka Leslie). She made full use of the time, visiting the Seanchi and walking in the footsteps of the great writers from County Kerry. And then she brought me vegetable soup from Lynch's Bakery, which went nicely with Penguins and Jaffa Cakes. The Stackmobile kidnapped Leslie for another whirlwind tour (this one local) to be sure she saw every last thing possible before heading home.
I've been reading When Fear Falls Away by Jan Frazier. It was recommended by artist Dotty Seiter, whose daily blog delights me like no other. I sit in the coffee shop each morning, watching window theater from the other side of the street, reading this book and contemplating my surreal life. And then this passage, which helped me reconcile the feeling of home I have both here and there: There is just one word that comes to me: dwell. I have always loved that word, and that name for a place one lives, a dwelling. Life as a dwelling. A welling. Well up, spill and spill, until the whole world is spilled over, swollen, swelling. Dwelling. Life as a dwelling. Brilliant. I can be at home wherever I am truly dwelling (and welling and swelling and spilling). Like a turtle with its shell, I am dwelling.
A random ice event sent passers by ducking for cover today. Tiny snowballs hurling from the sky. Someone up there has a strange sense of humor.
The day ended with empty plates, full bellies (thanks, Damian and Joan!!!) the ceremonial carving of a name in a table and a trip in the darkness to the cliffs of Ballybunion and up to the top of the mountain...the twinkling lights of Listowel far below.