The Glass is Half-Full

 I loved Ireland - being there felt strangely familiar. Ive heard it described as the place fit my skins or something like it but more poetic or lyrical. We’ve been home for paver a month, but I feel it calling and know I’ll be back and to what village or townIwil be staying. What I didn’t love, about my Motherland, however, was how difficult it was to get around. And ‘m not talking the driving on the left side of the road. I’m talking about the traversing the sidewalks and buildings while in a wheelchair. I didn’t expect alterations to the old buildings;I didn’t expect an elevator in Blarney Castle just so I could kiss a stone to gain the gift of gab (Lord knows I’ve got that already) or even an accessible entrance to the inn in Kilkenny built in 1264 (though strangely enough they had an entrance with a portable aluminum ramp). What was unexpected, however, was the lack of accessibility at some more modern buildings. And it was that oversight that’s has me appreciative of our own AD

I sat down to reluctantly address Christmas cards. While our list has slowly dwindled through the years it's still a sizeable number, especially when it's viewed as a task approached reluctantly . Know what I mean? Some Christmas 'tasks' are a lot less taskier - like decorating or shopping or eating or opening presents. I mean, there's a whole different level of enthusiasm associated with 'tasks' that aren't viewed as tasks - I can't ever remember a time when I sat down to reluctantly open a present or eat a Christmas cookie! Anyway, I approached the Christmas card addressing with a less-than-positive, more bah-humbugish attitude. I poured a cup of coffee, grabbed the markers (I had to have a green, a red and a black one), the list and of course the envelopes (which John had already stuffed with the card). I turned on some Christmas music, but not too loud or it would distract me (and it really doesn't take much to distract me. Squirrel!),