Yesterday we ticked off our latest opera experience, The Cunning Little Vixen by Leoš Janáček. Wasn't quite sure what to expect; I didn't know the venue, Solstice Arts Centre in An Uaimh, nor the composer. It was thoroughly enjoyable, partly philosophical, partly hilarious, as it's not every day one can see opera singers performing in fox costumes.
I was wearing a new beanie that I'd finished knitting last weekend. In my head it's supposed to be a hat with cat ears, but because of the colour and depending on the way I style it, the ears can resemble fox ears or even devil horns ;) Love it.
A lot has happened since the last post.
The Saturday before last, we went to a concert at the National Concert Hall. It was called Viva Verdi, Viva Wagner; a very nice evening for us both. And this is an unexpected piece of art I created on the way back home, at 22:36 (I think, I was trying to take a photo of the moon hiding in the woods):
On Monday, I became my own boss. I signed a new contract this week (Thursday, to be exact), not very exciting, but it was what was offered, and I took it. Once again in my life, I feel I can change my mind at any time. It's not set in stone, and I like it that way.
Our little ones are bigger and bigger. That same Monday afternoon, we went to the vet for a check-up. Little Mary is 2.5 kg now, and Bron just a bit less, 2.3 kg. Nothing has changed with Little Mary's peeing issue. We'll have to come to terms with it, I suppose.
Then on Wednesday, my husband had his post-CT scan visit with his oncologist. It's always been fine, fine for the past eight years. But this time was a bit different. They've found a tiny nodule in his lungs, too tiny to biopsy or remove in any other way. And that means only one thing: waiting. Fred's doctor was optimistic, he told my husband that the nodule had already been there in the previous scan, back at the beginning of the year, and they've spotted it only now. According to the doctor, it hasn't grown in the last six months. We shouldn't worry. We try not to worry. Waiting is a cruel game.
That day, the sea was quiet.
I came across an old piece about Eileen in the Irish Times. I liked it.
Saturday was calm and uneventful. Talked to my neighbour, knowing I would need a lift the next day (her mum is coming from the USA to visit in a few days, I hope to meet her). Listened to the audiobook Moscow-Petushki, a prose by Venedikt Yerofeyev from around 1969-70, very moving. I watched the interview with Rosie O'Donnell who recently immigrated to Ireland. Good luck for her, I believe it's a great place to be.
Sunday, on the other hand, was a day of earthly delights. Anne drove me to town, and I waited for Fred to clock off. Of course, I went to the coffee shop, and waited while reading the next book. There was enough time to finish Włodek Goldkorn's prose on the Shoa and start something else, another one of Keegan's story collections. I was already in my fancy shoes and coat, Fred had to change, but it didn't take him long and from Droichead Átha we could go to Dublin.
Ah, Richard Wagner! It was a very interesting interpretation of The Flying Dutchman, with Giselle Allen as Senta; we rarely listen to Wagner, and still, we were both impressed.
Below, we're going back to the car left on Hanover St East, admiring Dublin architecture at night.
