I am wearing a wool sweater. It’s gray and just shy of scratchy. I bought it here at a United Color of Benetton, and every sweater in the store was wool. Every single one. Wool shops have less wool, and I find myself wondering about the coming months. However, I was perhaps a bit short-sighted when packing layers. For most occasions, I have an outfit. I have only one outfit for most occasions. I haven’t needed my shorts or sun dress yet, but you never know. Sundresses over tights and jeans are very popular – an urge, perhaps, to defy the gray, windy, rainy dog days of summer and wear the clothing much of the rest of the western world enjoys at this time of year.

And I am wearing a wool sweater. In August.

Meanwhile, many of you have asked what Dublin is like, and I have floundered to describe it. It’s a cross between Seattle, Paris, and New York. At times, especially near the canal and docks, near the new construction done in glass that mirroring sky to water and water to sky, the reflections look like Seattle around Lake Washington and Lake Union. The ponds of St. Stephen’s Green and the lawns of Merrion Square are like Central Park, surrounded by the city but not of the city, and the view from our window is like our Manhattan view with rooftops over brick, not quite sky-scrapers in the distance, the metro sliding between them, and continent sized drifting clouds. The sidewalks and streets of the older city, craggily, gray buildings, cobblestones are very Paris, and why wouldn’t they be? Both cities predate the Common Era. Our neighborhood is Dublin without shadows from other cities. We have brick, industrial looking buildings with Mary Poppins roofs and chimneys, and we’re up the street from a small part of the canal with a waterfall and ducks.

Front doors are bright reds, blues, and greens, an occasional yellow or dark brown, just like all the photos you’ve seen of Irish doors, and the Irish don’t use barbed wire. Instead, foot by foot sections of fence on pinwheels line walls. The shopkeepers don’t say “have a good day,” and they ask me to repeat it when I do. Then they brighten and chat about the weather. It’s August, and I’m wearing a wool sweater. Under a jacket, and it’s been raining all day.

They use laser cards instead of debit cards, and to withdraw money from a bank without a laser card, you visit with customer service who gives a form to the teller, and then the teller distributes the cash. You never hand over your laser card or credit card at any store or restaurant. They have hand held devices, and here, people actually know the pin to their credit cards. I haven’t the slightest idea of my American pin, and I always considered it an odd curio when it arrived in the mail.

The green revolution is well on its way in Dublin, though we’re still playing catch up, organic

is all the rage, and only loser wait for a green walk sign. And I’m wearing a sweater. And it’s wool. And it’s August.

Actually, it’s September with clear skies this morning AND this afternoon, and for the first time since arriving, I’m outside in short sleeves. I think my sweater misses me.