Telephone fly

I've been practicing my fly tying skills lately. This pleases DH inordinately. He claims that for every fly I tie, I save him $1.50. Having compared my flies to some of the ones in the stores, I seriously doubt this. It does keep me occupied over the winter though, so I appreciate his cheerleading.

I really want to tie the "telephone fly." It's a beauty of a wet fly - all blues and reds and flash.  If I were a trout (or even a bass or salmon) I'd be all over that fly.

I fished with it on a couple of the loughs in Northern Ireland and had great success. It brought in my very first Irish trout, a sweet little rainbow that put up a heck of a fight. My guide gave me the fly to commemorate the catch. The next day he gave me a list of the materials to tie it.

The story behind the fly is that some guy called his friend from the pub where he had been celebrating an excellent day of fishing.  He gave his friend explicit directions for how to tie the amazing fly he had been using all day.  The friend, being an accommodating sort of fellow, tied a half dozen or so of the flies for him.  The pub guy said 'thank you very much lad, but this is nothing like my old fly".  A few weeks later the guy was on Lough Carra and decided to try the fly.  Ten fish later, he was back in the pub calling his friend. "Tie up more of them flies," he said. "What flies?" the friend asked.  "You know lad.  The telephone flies."

 I think it may be beyond my modest fly-tying capabilities, but I am willing to attempt it. I'll let you know how it turns out. For now, it will be bead head pheasant tails for me.

Wasted days, sleepless nights

It was a day hot enough to make the devil sigh... or so the people up North believed. Sprinklers made slow passes over parched yards. Lawn mowers remained tucked away in garages, giving the neighborhood a much welcomed respite from their growls. Insects couldn't be bothered to flit from one wilting plant to another. Dogs took refuge under yawning oaks cooling their bellies on the moistened grass. As for me, I lazed in the hammock sipping sweet iced tea and wasting away the afternoon.

My companions were guilty pleasures, bittersweet daydreams of past and current loves, dark chocolates, a treatise on ethics, and a darling pup who loves me desperately in spite of my (many) flaws. We whiled away the day together...watched the clouds drift past and attempted to make sense of the past year. We were unsuccessful as most are who try to derive a logical conclusion from this wholly illogical life, but we were at last content.

Contentment is a rather rare and fleeting feeling these days. Too many irons in the fire, too many loose ends, too many unanswered questions. In the spirit of that old cliche, I was afraid to hold on too tightly lest it slip away and desperate to cling to it for the same reason. It did fade as the sun set; the day ebbing into night. My demons returned accompanied by the familiar foes of sleeplessness and uncertainty. I know it will be a long night. I would cease to fight if I did not believe that pain is what allows us to fully experience joy. So I continue.

Here's to the rest of you on this long night. May you get all your wishes but one, so you always have something to strive for, may misfortune follow you all your life, but never catch up, and may you be a half hour in heaven before the devil knows you're there.

One of my favorite cousins graduated high school this past weekend. She was adorable, all red curls and green eyes. (Good looks run in the family, along with humility and stubbornness.) She has a temper to match her hair, and I love her for it. I'm not sure what the rest of us have for an excuse. Let's blame our Irish genes.

The family was all gathered up (for the most part) to watch her graduate. My friend Bradley has a habit of saying "deuces" at the end of his podcast. I find this hilarious; I have no good reason why. I decided to take this opportunity to teach my little cousins this invaluable piece of pop culture. Daniel now knows exactly what to do when he hears the phrase "throw 'em up". His father is less than proud of me.

Lefties only

I made it to Dublin by the early afternoon. I had a wee bit of trouble renting a car; it turns out they do not accept photo copies of your driver's license, even if it expired while you were abroad and the new one was stuck in America. Put on my most winning smile and ended up with an ugly little Toyota or Nissan. I assured the nice man behind the counter I was quite adept at driving a stick shift. I forgot about the whole "left side of the road" thing.

The stick shift on the left wasn't so bad. However, I was a little uncertain at first if the pedals were also backward. I was confident the brake was in the middle. I guessed wrong about the other two. Nothing quite like revving the engine right before pulling out of a rental agency to get their confidence in your abilities high.

Survived the roundabouts, the interstates, the sheep in the road, and my inclination to pull to the right on a narrow road. Crossing the border into Northern Ireland, I noted signs informing me that the speed limits were now in miles per hour. Too bad my speedometer only reported kilometers per hour. I guesstimated how fast I was going. I guesstimated poorly. I was either being passed or flying by other cars on a regular basis.

Otherwise uneventful drive to Northern Ireland, checked into B&B, showered, went into town for dinner. Met Larry, a dentist, at the pub. Drank and hashed out what was right and wrong with the world. I'm sure we came to some excellent conclusions, but I can't remember any of them.

The Irish, part 1

For the loyal readers of my blog, I apologize. Last week was a touch trying and a smidge stressful and I was not able to blog. I will try my hardest to be extra charming and amusing the next few weeks to make up for my lapse in writing. There will be a surplus of entries today. Try not to gorge yourself all at once. For those unfaithful readers, I hope you contract a cyber-STD. Serves you right for straying.

Last week while I was lurking on the stairs of my hotel trying to catch a wifi signal, I met a lovely group of Irish firemen. They were in town for a holiday and proclaimed Prague "brilliant". Upon hearing that my husband wasn't coming until next week and that I was spending the evening alone, they insisted I come out to celebrate St. Patrick's day with them.

We went to an Irish pub not far from the hotel. They ordered a round of doubles. Apparently one beer at a time is not enough. We sang Irish songs I didn't know at the top of our lungs. We cheered on Liverpool in a soccer match. I learned all about Gaelic football (my new favorite sport) and the finer points of shoulder tackles. We toasted every saint I have ever heard of and a few I hadn't. There was a drinking contest between the Irish patrons and the Czech regulars which devolved into an all out brawl. In the middle of swinging fists, one of the Irish guys nodded at me. "Could ye order another round love?"

I loved them.

I was crushed when they had to go home. Luckily, the boys were coming on Saturday.