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muckefuckCompensatory spending on my lost book has now reached the $80+ mark. I'm too cheap to pay for expedited spending, so nothing I bought online has even shipped yet. I've had a throat tickle since Monday morning and couldn't bear the thought of being stuck at home without new books to play with, so I went to a store where I'd seen a used copy of Bun-Ghaeilge (Dubhlinn [sic], 1961). It's the same vintage as the TY Irish I lost, but the approach (it trumpets its "New Method Of Learning Through Sound") could hardly be more different.
I saw it some weeks ago and thought it a charming curiosity, but as such not worth $13.95. My judgment hasn't changed much, but it seems it will serve as a useful aid for learning vocabulary. It's also more Connaught Irish, which is forcing me to work hard at recalling Munster grammar--I keep rewriting the example sentences in my head--and if I lose this one in some hip little eatery somewhere, at least my heart won't be broken.
More surprisingly, the throat-tickle hasn't blossomed into anything much as yet. I was cursing my luck, afraid I'd contracted one of those nasty, lingering viral infections I'm prone to in early spring and especially annoyed that the proximate cause would've been doing something I truly enjoyed--exploring a new neighbourhood on foot all the time nattering away with my brother and my father. There's still a fair bit I haven't forgiven the old man for, but it's not hard for me to forget about it when I see him and just enjoy the company.
So, for the time being, I'll just keep slurping soup, gargling with saline, sucking on zinc (to keep the post-nasal drip under control), getting to bed early, and hoping for the best. This is not a week I can afford to miss work--even if it's difficult to focus between the bleariness and the construction going on all around me. (Before you ask: Crackers. At best, crumbly wheat ones.)
I saw it some weeks ago and thought it a charming curiosity, but as such not worth $13.95. My judgment hasn't changed much, but it seems it will serve as a useful aid for learning vocabulary. It's also more Connaught Irish, which is forcing me to work hard at recalling Munster grammar--I keep rewriting the example sentences in my head--and if I lose this one in some hip little eatery somewhere, at least my heart won't be broken.
More surprisingly, the throat-tickle hasn't blossomed into anything much as yet. I was cursing my luck, afraid I'd contracted one of those nasty, lingering viral infections I'm prone to in early spring and especially annoyed that the proximate cause would've been doing something I truly enjoyed--exploring a new neighbourhood on foot all the time nattering away with my brother and my father. There's still a fair bit I haven't forgiven the old man for, but it's not hard for me to forget about it when I see him and just enjoy the company.
So, for the time being, I'll just keep slurping soup, gargling with saline, sucking on zinc (to keep the post-nasal drip under control), getting to bed early, and hoping for the best. This is not a week I can afford to miss work--even if it's difficult to focus between the bleariness and the construction going on all around me. (Before you ask: Crackers. At best, crumbly wheat ones.)
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