What a trooper!
ople give many clues that I’m not the young chick I used to be. This morning is an example. “You are such a trooper,” the owner of the hostel said as I walked down the fifty-five steps to the reception area from the room I was given at the top of the building.
The comment was the prize for making it up and down the steps at my age, I assume.
My trooper-goodness continued throughout the day when I swore, even in the days’ difficulties I would never give up.
It was the trip to Blarney for the flower festival – a fund raiser for dogs-for-the-blind that put my age to the test.
I was told to catch the bus down the road from the Hostel and that it would be there at every 15 minutes.
But didn’t come in 15 minutes or even for one and one half hours.
Meanwhile people came by and each time I asked the question, “is this the right stop for the bus to Blarney?” And, “when does it come by?”
Every single person had a different response, and then a couple stopped to help me using their technology. The woman looked up the website for the bus company and got the phone number so the man could call and get the correct time.
“It will be here at 10:15. But if it doesn’t then you should walk to the bus station,” he said.
By now my legs and feet hurt so bad from waiting from 9 a.m., and at 10:15…no bus. Another lady stopped and called on her cell phone and got another answer.
“The bus will leave the station at 10:30 so I think it would be better for you to get the bus down there,” she advised.
By this time, three buses had stopped, including one on his second round, but none of the drivers had the correct answer either.
So, I walked to the station, got on the bus, and the driver advised me that he would come by again in Blarney at 3:20 p.m. But that didn’t happen either, instead it was one whole hour later that I waited on tired, sore legs.
Not to worry, however, because the rest of the time was enjoyable. The flower show was nice with various activities and good people to speak with.
A couple makes jam from fruit and a liquor that was once illegal. I bought a small bottle to give to my next hostess in Macroon, Ireland.
A field of birds tethered to their posts were on display by a man who trains the birds for rescue. Big owls, a turkey vulture and other friends of the sky greeted people who oohed and awe’d at them. Then there was an animal petting area where I couldn’t resist holding an 8 week old rabbit, that seemed to enjoy a cuddle as well as I enjoyed giving it one.
Barry Noyce was there weaving baskets from reeds. His wife, Sarah doesn’t weave but supports the weaver in his hobby. He gave me rules about weaving I’d never heard before, but that was after I told him proudly that I had made one basket myself from reeds around our house in the Colorado mountains.
Some other observations I’ve made so far: American’s way of saying a house is ‘for rent’ is, ‘to let’ here. Food ‘to go’ as American’s say it,is ‘take away’ here.
“Mini-brekkie?” Small breakfast, of course.
A phrase in common with America and other countries, is, ‘no problem’ in lieu of ‘you’re welcome’. When did ‘no problem’ become the response instead of you’re welcome?
I say thank you to the waitress for serving me and she says, “no problem”. Did I have a problem?
Observations in the hostel: persuasions of every type is represented on the walls in photos and posters, from Che Guevara, to Martin Luther King, Elvis, to the Beatles, Jazz to Rock ‘n’Roll, oh, yes and Einstein, and many others.