Oh, My. Goodness. We saw the most fabulous show on Friday night. Rhythm of the Dance at the Paramount Theater in Anderson was the best way to spend St. Patrick's Day! After a non-traditional dinner at the Mexican restaurant with some very good friends, we headed to the historical theater to see a wonderful performance of Irish music with dancing and singing. From the lovely haunting voice of the opening singer all the way through to the very end, it was a show which I will remember for the rest of my life.
Before the show, one of my friends gave a very apt definition of the difference between a violin and a fiddle...and I quote "A violin sings and a fiddle dances". Of course, at the show, we had a little bit of both. As I sat there watching the show, memories of Ireland came rushing at me and I found myself homesick for a place I've only visited. Oh, to spend every St. Patrick's Day listening to a session in one of the cozy pubs or to meander atop the Cliffs of Moher. To drive along the country roads past castles and ruins. To see the green patchwork of the land and smell the sea air along the Wild Atlantic Way. I could definitely make Ireland my home.
We've had a bit of return of winter this weekend with a covering of snow yesterday and the chickens huddling in their coop to stave off the 19 degree chill of a mid-March day. Even though the sunshine had returned by the time I got up, the snow really never completely melted and I had to kick the heat back on after a nice hot bath. Then I settled in to write while I planned my traditional Irish supper for last night.
Speaking of, last night's supper was corned beef (which isn't necessarily Irish), buttery colcannon, and my first try at sponge pudding. I found I need to invest in a pudding mold, though. Baking a pudding in a bundt pan just didn't work well. So, I'm going to do an internet search for pudding molds. An authentic one.
On Thursday morning, I had a cortisone injection in my back. I'd been struggling with a horrible back ache after wrenching it on a bag of softener salt. I was apprehensive, but after the initial pain of the numbing needle and a well shouted F-Bomb in the surgery center, I came home and rested for the afternoon and got up Friday morning with no pain. Now, I can actually get back to the gym on a regular basis. Starting tomorrow. That way, I can get back to my fit self again.
I made an impromptu trip to Joann Fabrics this afternoon with my oldest daughter. She needed yarn to try out her new knitting loom and of course, I found a couple cross stitch kits for myself. I have found the best way to take a break from writing or reading is to actually do a craft project. So relaxing. And not a waste of time, because I can use them as gifts later on.
I was so hoping to go to the Haunted Galena Conference with my dear friends this year, but it's just not going to happen. I so enjoyed the conference last year, especially Chris McBrien's presentation and meditation circle. I cannot speak highly enough of him. If you get a chance to schedule a reading with him, you will not be disappointed at all. I'm going to miss going shopping at A Darkness Lovely, too. Some of the best books from my witch collection have come from there. This year, Troy Taylor is going to be there signing his latest book-One Night in Salem-and I'd really hoped to meet him and get a signed copy of his book. Fortunately, I have some of the best girl buddies around because they are going to make sure I get my copy!
Okay, I'm going to jump off my blog and get back to working on Samhain-Book One of my Season of the Witch series. I've got to check the berry cobbler in the oven and go out to feed the chickens and the goats. I hope everyone has a wonderful week...and...I'll make the same offer to my blog subscribers I did to my newsletter subscribers...If you would like a free digital copy of Ruby's Revenge...all you have to do is shoot me an email that you will review it and it's all yours! teresa.keefer.author@hotmail.com is my email address...and this offer is limited to the first five responders.
