The West Kerry Maiden has been trotting around humming that good old Julie Andrews song about favorite things, and why wouldn't she?
Here are a few.
Esme's Lad is not particularly recognizable, but Esme sure is. (Diehard Facebook friends might remember way back to how The Lad's laundry bag used to be labeled by Kieren at Dingle Cleaners.) On Saturday, out at Lispole, while waiting while Sean Dorgan replaced the seat belt, Esme and Her Lad took a walk along the N86 to get a coffee. No fewer than three cars coming out from Dingle waived at them.
On Friday, out at the Men's Shed, Dez was talking about how, not in any morbid manner, he has been lately tidying things up in his life, so that, when the inevitable happens, his family members don't have a bunch of tidying up after him to do themselves. This got Esme's Lad thinking about what he should tidy up, and he knew there was one thing in particular. When they got home, John Francis pulled up, and The Lad said, John, you can please feel free to just say no, but, Dingle lost a person to black ice on the motorway just last week, and anybody could hit black ice at any time. If that unthinkable thing were to happen to me, would you see to it that Esme gets a good home? John teared up (it is not hard to get John to do this, he has such a giant heart) and said, How could I say no?
On Wednesday night at John Benny's for dinner and music, Pat the bartender was winding up The Lad, putting away all of the pepper, which is the only condiment of any interest to Our Lad. The next morning, Esme's Lad found a pepper in his coat pocket and figured he had hoarded it there during the winding up session. He took it back in to John Benny's on Thursday, thinking he was a step ahead of Pat in the joking around. He was wrong; it is hard to get one step ahead of Pat. Pat had slipped the pepper into the coat pocket before The Lad had left at midnight Wednesday.
Last night, Saturday, shortly after Esme's Boy had got off that great one liner to the red lipsticked gal at Curran's, and immediately after he had left the pub because of his morbid fear of crowds of D4s, walking down Green, on his way home early, who should be coming up Green but Terry, of the Men's Shed, Terry, all cleaned up on a Saturday night. Come with me, Terry said, and there followed yet another Dingle experience for The Lad, because Terry's lovely daughter, Paula (Paula, from Dingle Pottery, who had got Esme's Lad in the Men's Shed in the first place), was serving Dandelion Wine (homemade Apple Wine, actually, but Terry and the rest of them got the allusion) in the stone walled living room of her house on Green (Terry built the wall). There was Paula, and Terry's other lovely daughter, and Terry's wife Christine, who is as big of a hoot as Terry (turns out Christine has been trolling Esme's Lad on Facebook, she had read lots of Esme's posts), Christine's friend Nor, from over the Conor Pass Road (Nor is already a Facebook friend, and The Lad encouraged Christine to stop trolling and send him a FB friend request, legitimate like), one of the Moran sisters (of Moran's garage fame, which fixed up the car in 1980 and again in 2017), and more. Lots of stories got told. Christine is on the Diseart committee, so Our Boy will have chances to keep up that new friendship, even off of Facebook. dresses for older brides
Now, this post is too long already, it has likely lost most of its readers long ago and is even trying the patience of Esme's Lad. But perhaps this might be an appropriate moment for Our Boy to tip a bit of appreciation to his Very Fine Furry Friend, notwithstanding the fact that she is always chomping up his seat belts, costing him Celtic fortunes and sending him on errands out kilometers away on Irish motorways that might heaven forbid have black ice. Esme is the greatest companion possible, and she has brought back to life in Her Lad's life so much, and maybe this one thing in particular: a sense of whimsy.