On a typical day here in rural Ireland, I go down the stairs with any clothes I need to wash. I put on the electric kettle for a cup of coffee or tea and while it heats, I fill the kitchen sink with cold water and liquid soap and soak my clothes. Then I make a cup of coffee, add a little Irish milk (that goes bad within 3 days and only the quart containers are in the market) and head back upstairs to get ready for the day with my coffee in hand. I don’t shower unless I have to. The water in the shower is either icy cold from the deep well or blistering hot that my skin is scalded. The landlady says everyone likes the hot water and there is nothing to do about it. So I take a pot of water from the shower and put it in the sink and do the old fashioned basin wash. I do have to get in to wash my hair and I have to get my nerve up to do so. I do it very quickly and eliminate the conditioner…who needs conditioner in this wind any way. Then I head back down stairs, put together a little breakfast, fruit, peanut butter on bread, and head to the computer. The internet is not live this morning, so I have to go through the house to the main stairwell where the router is located. My instructions are: “Turn both of these electric switches off (remember in the UK and all things British…same for the British Caribbean) all outlets have switches for turning on and off), then go have a cup of tea. After you have your cup of tea, come back and turn the switches on. I have no idea how this works, I just know that it works. See when all three lights are on it is perfect.” Note here, the words “perfect” and “brilliant” are overused in this area of the world. Once I have the computer running, I don’t bother to check my email because it is 2:00 EST and those of you who are sending fb status updates at that hour are all about not sleeping, just getting in from the bars, or just sad, so I don’t look at them until later. I write for several hours, rinse my clothes out and put them on the clothes line (except the lingerie, there is a pull out little rack above a little heater that is kept on all the time where the lingerie is dried). I write for a few more hours. Later, I may fix another cup of tea and walk outside among the beech trees and look out over the hills to the Connemara mountains. I may hear a moo from the other field down below. My cow neighbors are enjoying another pasture this week. Should I head out on an errand or to simply get food, I take all my garbage with me. The landlady was adamant that no organic food went into the garbage. She gave me a little bucket and said put it in there but then take it away from the house and throw it away but make sure it is not on her property and don’t let the neighbors see me do it so they won’t ask questions. There is a nature preserve across the road from her house and it was recommended that I throw all my organic waste there. When I do head out, I always am passing tractors and have to stop right before Kitartan for the cows to cross a major highway. That’s ok, I have peace and quiet to work. There is seldom anyone here at the house. My landlady works in Galway and walks the 40 minutes to the bus in the morning and another 40 minutes home in the evening. Most evenings she stays at her partner’s house and doesn’t even come by the house. The house is never locked and though I do lock the sliding glass doors leading out of my side of the house (just a mistaken peace of mind), anyone could come through the other three doors any time they want. With my hearing aids out during the night when I am sleeping, what I don’t hear won’t hurt me. During the day the post delivery driver comes up, gets out, opens the front door and throws the mail into the hallway. Joe, my landlady’s partner says, “the postman is Irish, he knows.”
In the late afternoon, I take a glass of wine and a few biscuits (crackers) with cheese and sit on the stones surrounding the “Big Tree.” I watch the birds glide in an out, and see many, many little white moth type insects flying all about. I remember to take my clothes in from the clothesline. I write until I am tired and then I go to bed when it is still light outside. A typical day in rural Ireland.
Today I did go into town to get some lunch and stopped by Yeats’ house. Here’s what we see today. It was closed so I could not go in. His patron was Lady Augusta Gregory, who lived 5 miles away.
Leara Rhodes 