Bloomsday comes but once a year

A statue of James Joyce at a cafe near where he worked in Pula, one of the many places where he lived and wrote. 

Having a little trouble getting into the spirit of Bloomsday this year. Mostly because it feels weird when it falls on a weekend. It also catches us at a moment when things are very busy, and we're going through a pretty big transition here. It was exactly a year ago that we abruptly scrapped our plans for a year in Moscow and settled on going to Budapest. And already we're preparing to go back. After such an eventful year, it's hard to fully celebrate the sublime joy and drama of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary.


But I'll still head out for a celebratory Guinness or two this afternoon.