Three strange days

[muckefuck]

Tuesday, it was warm, wet, and windy in Chicago--I even heard a thunderclap at one point. And I was happy to stay in bed and read.

Wednesday, it was bright, blustery, and bitterly cold. And I was happy to stay in bed and read.

Thursday, it was cloudy, blowy, and snowy. And I was happy to stay in bed and read.

Today, we've got at least four inches of snow on the ground and perhaps half that or more on the way. One of my co-workers called in because she couldn't get her garage door open. And I dragged myself out of bed and went to work.

Taking one more day off would've felt silly. I mean, I didn't--and don't--feel great, but it's not like I'm on death's door. I think of the miserable viral infection I had some years back where it was painful to ingest anything and I needed codeine just to fall asleep and a mere head cold looks like a freakin' slumber party. monshu warned me not to tire myself out before tomorrow's rendezvous with family, but I figure I can blow off the day if need be in preparation for our big night out.

I wish I could say I got a lot done at home, but at some points I was too tired to even read. When I wasn't, however, I pushed through Teach Yourself Irish to the end. It concludes with an excerpt from Séadna (why can I not find this book in an un-"corrected" edition?) and a lullaby with the refrain:

Seóthó, a thoil! ná goil go fóill!
Seóthó, a linbh, a chumainn's, a stór!
Mo chúig céad cumha go dubhach faoi bhrón
Tú ag sileadh na súl do chom gan lón!

I also made it through the last couple chapters of An Nollaig thiar and the first two-thirds or so of Portrait of the artist as a young man, plus an unknown number of fairy tales from Yeat's collections. (Anyone notice a theme?)

What I didn't do, however, was write any letters or sort through any papers. Plus I've got loads of cleaning left before Chinese New Year hits next week. (And so much for getting it down this weekend *grumble grumble*.)

Comments

[snowy-owlet.livejournal.com]

My dad has always said that thunder in winter means snow within seven days.

Sadly, that does not seem to be the case in Houston.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

There was once a time when I would've said that thunder in winter was too unthinkably rare to be worth having a superstition about. Now we've had it three years running and my opinion may be shifting.

[puxill.livejournal.com]

Uncorrected in what way?

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

Done over into Caighdeán Oifigiúil like this excerpt from his memoirs.

BTW, when searching for that text, I found this amusing quote on a topic we broached earlier:

It is well known that most Irishmen usually speak just a couple of words or cupla focal in Irish, but their cupla focal usually seem to come from Munster – or, if I am excused to put it in a more facetious way: the Irish usually do not speak Irish, but the Irish they do not speak is Munster Irish. For instance, if you ask an Irishman who is not conversant in Irish, what is Irish for "how are you", you will probably hear that it is conas tá tú, which is definitely Munster [In Connemara, cén chaoi a bhfuil tú ("what condition are you", i.e. "in what state are you") is preferred, while Ulster uses cad é mar atá tú ("what is it as you are", i.e. "what is the way you are")].