Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
Too Much Irish Information?
So we spent a lovely evening in Galway Thursday night. I know all those many days ago must seem like ancient history to you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a story to share. And so I will.
In Galway City, as in Dublin, there are loads of street musicians of all ages and abilities. They open their guitar cases or plunk down their caps, put a euro in for seed money, and hope to attract listeners with spare change. Some sing solo, some play instumental, whatever. You can tell that many are trying to raise just enough money for another night in a local hostel and maybe a pint to go with iot.
Doug has always wanted to be a street musician in whichever other life might present itself as he goes forward along the path, and I thought a bit of needling might get him to commit that night in Galway.
“Go ahead,” I said. “You’ll never see any of these folks again. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I don’t play well enough,” he lied, and believe me when I say he really lied.
“I dare you,” I said, feeling like a gambler. I scouted the length of Quay Street, looking for a vacant corner. “Just play until you earn enough euro for a night’s stay at a B&B.”
He looked at me like I was crazy and said a firm “No.”
We passed a teenager of the angsty Irish variety, attempting to make his way in the world with a poor rendition of “Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door.” No lack of confidence in that lad.
“Come on, then,” I urged. “You’ll be knockin’ on heaven’s door soon enough. Just play your whistle till you’ve got enough for fish and chips.”
“No,” he repeated.
Another young couple sang what was supposed to be harmony in a language neither English nor Gaelic. I was unimpressed, and even more sure that Doug would be a huge hit in Galway City, if only he’d take a chance.
“All right, then. Play until you earn the price of two lattes.” By now I was losing my patience, for which I am famous the world round.
“It’s not going to happen.”
All of a sudden, I spotted a store next to a spot on the brick road that begged for a musician.
“OK, mister. How about I agree to a trip into the lingerie shop?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Hand over me whistle.”
- Ha! I love that! :)
How much money did he make? And, while we're on the topic of TMII, what did you buy at the lingerie shop?
Grace went to Galway last summer. She took some amazing photographs. Such a gorgeous country. I'm glad you and whistle boy are enjoying it together.Posted by Jeanne Damoff on 05/02/06 at 11:30 AM - ha ha
good one mother.Posted by kevin on 05/02/06 at 10:13 PM - I LOVE it!!! Typical man. :)
Posted by Cindy Swanson on 05/03/06 at 10:51 AM
- So much fun following your adventures in Ireland. Makes me want to go more than ever.
Posted by Maria on 05/03/06 at 06:13 PM
- Hey, any word from Plunkett? I can't wait to hear all the stories!!!
Tell Doug to play to his heart's content...he's one of the most talented people I know! :)Posted by Bridget on 05/03/06 at 09:41 PM - jeanne--he chickened out and so did i. the undies are even wilder here than there. ha. and he would have blown away the other musicians on the street, but he wouldn't do it. so. i am here now currently with all my laundry in the machines up the street, and very nearly pantyless at this time....
cindy--don't we just love typical men? i am thinking of you here...
maria--you two would love this! don't give up on the idea, if you really want to come. it's so worth it...
bridgie--met a lady this morning in letterkenny named breid. short for bridget. my age, three adult kids. i stopped to ask her for directions and we chatted for 45 mins, leaving doug back at the hotel struggling for an online connection he never got. poor baby. yes, we talked to plunkett this am and are leaving omagh in a few minutes here--3pm--to head for emyvale, co. monaghan. we'll call again from there, and he will show us around. email not working for us here at the library. please email the sibs to tell them where i'll be. a little b&b in emyvale. you can call plunkett's number if you need us tonight or tomorrow. love you!
kevin--my own dear son would check in on fallible when i chat about lingerie...ah, well...love to you.Posted by katy on 05/04/06 at 08:13 AM - There is a certain ongoing underlying underwear theme here...even in Ireland.
I'm enjoying the fact I can sort of track you & Doug via Google Analytics when I see a sudden reader hit on my blog coming from Dundrod or elsewhere amid the greenery.Posted by Michael Main on 05/13/06 at 06:32 AM
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