I wake early, more usual for me, and get in forty minutes of yoga with my man Rodney Yee. And spend a couple hours on the second draft of the wip. Both feel most excellent.

BW and I drive down to Westport where Kat and Jason will meet us once they’re organized. We drive down, drive around. And around. Traffic is thick–it seems this is the main route to a lot in this area. The stop and go, the circling finally get to me–the way boats do–so when we see a spot across the street, I get out. I’ll stand, breathe and recover my equilibrium while BW circles again.

It’s cool and it’s breezy, but there’s plenty of blue. Plenty of cars and lorries and people heading into the town center or points beyond.

I spot BW, and think WHAT as he passes the spot. He spots me, and apparently things CRAP as he realizes he’s past the spot. Lost his bearings. But as luck would have it, he gets one about half a block down, and I walk to meet him.

It’s later we realize there are at least two parking garages–we never saw the signs.

In any case we walk down to visit the reading lady. It’s a pretty shop and while I wait for the clerk to finish with a customer I start my traditional early Christmas shopping. It appears my girl pals will get the small and shiny this year. I like the small and shiny–and the small and shiny will fit it in my over-packed suitcases. Good deal. And my oldest granddaughter got her ears pierced early this summer, and will also get the small and shiny from Ireland.

I ask the clerk about the lady, have BW take a picture of her. She’s so lovely, so special. But not to be mine. They’ve found her sisters too often break in shipping. I don’t want to kill her! She’s waiting for someone else, I tell myself, and when Kat and Jason join us, we discuss and agree.

Still, I’m happy to have seen her, and with the gifts I’ve found. And the conversation with the clerk who was both helpful and sympathetic.

On we go, find another shop. More small and shiny! So very pretty, and here, with Kat’s help, I find one of Kayla’s gifts–and more. At least four gifts there, tiny enough to fit in my purse–excellent. And a lovely conversation with the clerk. He notes the name on my credit card. Not Irish, he says. My married name, I explain. We’re Sweeneys on both sides in my family. He wonders if my people came from Mayo, and I tell him no, but close by in Galway, and from Cork as well. The Galway Sweeneys–his eyes twinkle. Horse thieves–he says he can say that as he already has my money. And as his tax-back machine isn’t working, he shows me the chart, and deducts my tax on the spot.

He’s charming and funny, and we both appreciate the deal.

On we go. It rains a bit, and the sun comes out again. A minute of rain, as clouds roll in, roll out. More shops, more shopping. I feel as with Rodney, I’m exercising muscles that have missed the workout. Kat finds a place selling jewelry and gifts made of Connemara marble. I poke about, but nothing calls to me. Pizza does, so BW and I scout ahead, find our spot. The rain’s back, briefly, so in we go and text Kat so they’ll know where to find us.

We have a window table to watch Westport go by, to watch the rain fall through the sun, the sun take over again. Pizza and a glass of red. Pretty perfect. Jason and Kat go for Fanta. It seems, like the wine, Fanta is much better in Europe. Kat notes her gifts on her phone. I use my little book.

And on we go again.

The next shop that pulls me has lovely things, and some small and shiny that seem just right. I yearn for some of the pottery–it’s so nice–but shipping is always an issue, so I’ll wait until something shouts my name there, and remind myself I’m not shopping for me. Yet.

As I start to make my purchases, a man in a suit comes in, walks right over to talk to me. This ranges from where we’re from (almost everyone asks), to time zones, to banking (?!) to the American president, to what I do–he assumes I’m in health care. Perhaps I looked medical yesterday. It’s a long, winding conversation as I’m rung up, and at last we say goodbye, and Kat and I move on–amused–to meet our boys.

We cross over the busy street to try another section of town. I see the man in the suit stride by. Maybe looking for a new conversation somewhere else. Kat finds a shop selling local yarn, and in we go. It’s all so pretty! I don’t have her clever hand with knitting and crochet, but can appreciate the colors and textures.

I do find lovely scarves, gather some up, and find something for my favorite four-year-old that should suit him. While we’re inside, the men are entertained by the armored car and armed guards–money’s being transported from the bank nearby.

Kat’s got her wool, though there’s more yet at another shop. I’m tempted there by a deep green hoodie, so soft, for my oldest grandson. But he likes bright colors, and after a lot of debate I leave it for someone else.

Kat finds lovely wool at another place–a small, clever craft shop. One hank is deep, rich brown–and she hopes for more of it. The woman who owns and runs the shop gets her wool from her own sheep. And there’s only one of them this color. So I figure this makes Kat’s deep brown an exclusive!

I like nearly everything in here, and if not traveling, would’ve loaded up.

We wind around. We want some more sodas and we’re parked near Dunne’s. Kat’s off for stamps, so I trail after her with my two postcards. Stamps, a change of money at the bank next door, and onto Dunne’s.

Sodas, snacks, the Yorkie bars Jason discovered years ago on another trip.

While we shop, Kat checks out the show we’ve been hearing about. The Great Atlantic Show, in the Castlecourt hotel. Irish dancing, music, songs, all for 15 Euro each.

We come back to the hotel. It’s raining again. Flop for awhile as the sun comes out again. Decide we’ll have dinner at the Castlecourt before the show. I change my boots, put on a warmer vest and my rain jacket. I hadn’t worn it that day as the forecast said it would be clear. Ha.

We use the garage this time, and walk up to try the hotel’s bistro. An excellent choice, and only steps away from the ballroom and the show. It’s busy, and after delivering our food (quickly) our waitress vanishes. As there are several restaurants here, we decide she’s been pulled off this one. I have a Cajun chicken sandwich–HUGE–with chips and a salad. I ate nearly three-quarters of it, and I’m still not sure how.

Rows of chairs are lined up in the ballroom, many already occupied. We take seats, and Jason studies the lighting. It’s what he does, after all.

On the raised stage are upside down half whiskey barrels–I know what they’re for!–more chairs, an Esso gas can, a few other props, and a projection screen as a backdrop with an old Irish scene.

Now and again a fog machine puffs out mist.

We really don’t know what we’re in for–it could be anything. We certainly weren’t expecting to be wowed. And we were.

At only a bit past nine, the young announcer comes out to rev up the crowd–largely Irish, and many obviously know one another–and intro the musicians. We have a fiddler, a guitarist, a man on keyboards, and a woman on flute. They kick it off fast, quick-stepping traditional music. Two Irish dancers come out, the calf-length full skirts and soft shoes. They’re lovely. There’s a young boy step-dancing. Then a tall man covering the stage with fast feet.

The crowd’s already with them. Lively music, flying feet, quick stomps.

And the flute player rises, talks a bit–she’s a teacher, and performs during the off-term. She claims she’s also a match-maker, starts talking up the fiddler, who’s single, and suggests any girls interested come see him after the show.

Then she sings a ballad, and breaks your heart.

Back to lively, and two–a girl and a boy–of the more modern step-dancing come out. They’re amazing. Hard shoes slapping, feet blurring with what seems impossible speed and movement while the music jumps and jangles.

We have another young boy, a curly mop of hair, a young girl–just delightful. The tall dancer and his red-skirted partner. The two pretty Irish dancers. They cover the stage, such energy and talent. It’s all joy and flirtation.

Our teacher stands again for another ballad. She has a gorgeous voice, and knows how to use it.

It’s the way, often, I’ve found, that Irish dancing is fast and fun and flirty, and the songs are heart-breaking, all lost love and war.

When she’s seated again she picks up a penny whistle. I’ve never seen or heard anyone get such notes out of a penny whistle. The keyboardist is on the bodhran drum now, and just as amazing. The crowd’s giving those quick yips, feet tapping, hands clapping the time. I don’t know where she got the breath for that tune, or where he found so many different beats on the drum.

There’s more dancing before the break, and the energy’s everywhere.

They open the bar–bless them–and it’s three deep in no time.

I step outside, and it’s raining again.

Back in, and the announcer comes out. Really no need to rev up the crowd now, but he plays to it.

The tall dancer comes out, he does a short riff, claps twice. He wants the crowd clapping between. Two short, one long. The drummer gets up, and begins to mimic the pattern of stomps. It’s quite the duo, a kind of challenge. I wonder if they ever try to throw each other off, and wouldn’t be surprised.

Another ballad, dedicated to the singer’s music teacher–45 years teaching, I think she said–who’s in the audience. If your heart isn’t touched by the end, you don’t have one.

The two modern dancers come out, and I swear that girl did things with her legs and feet that shouldn’t be possible. And when they jump up on the whiskey barrels, the crowd roars. Here they challenge each other, faster and longer, until the crowd’s cheering when they leap off again.

The curly-headed boy and the young girl come out to do a broom dance. Most excellently done, then they’re joined by one of the adults for a trio.

A lively fiddle solo, more dancing, wrapping up with the whole troupe on stage for a finale. A quick hype for CDs on sale, then curtain calls.

Just a fantastic show, a wonderful evening, the sort that makes you want to dance all the way home. In fact, as we walked to our car, we see a young girl, with her family, step-dancing along the way.

A lovely day, start to finish, close to our home base.

The sun’s beaming this morning. The others may take that ferry to Clare Island. As much as I’d enjoy being there, the trip would do me in, no doubt. I’ll likely stay here and work–just as fun for me–and wander about on my own.

We’ll see what the day brings.