still here... or here again

Since that last post, I've actually started two posts, but not gotten to the stage of hitting the "publish post" button, thinking I'd get to add pictures, maps, etc.

Main thing is - to anyone who was worried or wondering about me - I'm fine! I'm doing that summer-time thing of taking off on unplanned trips, have been having wonderful times, in fact, along with spending time with my family over the few days around my Mum's first anniversary.

I thank all of you who commented or emailed after that angsty post. The blog is in transition, but I know I'm not comfortable with Facebook, and I do want to stay in a place where I can meet people online, so blogging it is.

Past few weeks... a few of the wonderful things... visiting Newgrange; seeing James Taylor in concert; oh, oh, oh - seeing Leonard Cohen in concert (words fail me!); boat-trip to the Cliffs of Moher (and depositing my wedding-ring in the depths of the Atlantic from there); meals with sisters and friends; family gatherings; driving the entire circuit of Ireland (and more!); seeing great new art.

Knowing I am lucky and blessed. Life is good.

Helping Jen

There is a blog I've been reading since some time in February. (Is it only little over a month since I first encountered Jenni Ballantyne?) I met her through Jen Lemen, who posted about a question her friend was asking: What would you do if you knew you had only 12 months left to live? This was posted, not as some philosophical exercise, but as a genuine question, looking for answers that might help Jenni find the best and healthiest ways for her to approach the coming year, in which she has been told, she will die. She has stage 4 colon cancer, and no hope of surgical success. She's on chemo right now, and you have probably seldom (perhaps never) met a braver or brighter spirit than hers.

Some of her friends have started a project to raise funds to help. Bella explains that they want "...friends to come together to raise funds to help pay for her treatment and those forms of care and pain management that will not be covered by insurance: acupuncture, massage, naturopath, etc.., as well as create a trust for her son. We are calling on all of you to join us, to come together in solidarity, to cook up some magic and in the most practical of ways." Details of the project are HERE. (that is the important link in all of this). Jeni has two sons, one grown - Jamie, and she is lone parent to a sweet little boy called Jack. Here is what she says about overcoming her discomfort and embarrassment at accepting this help.

"We can all use help at some time in our lives, we are none of us an island and I would like to be an example of how to graciously accept and allow people to help me and my family during what is the most heart wrenching time of my life. I am choosing to listen to the parts of me that know that people want to help, normal healthy people like to feel they can do something to ease another's suffering, it is something within the human spirit that is compelled to reach out when someone is doing it hard, I love this quality that we possess, it is so human and so beautiful."

Although she had asked, I felt overwhelmed by her "What would you do...?" question. I didn't know how to answer. One day, during some down-time at work, I took a couple of pages and wrote by hand - for myself - a reflection on her question. I haven't re-read that until now. But now seems an appropriate time to post it, to honour her for her courage in asking the question, and in facing it for herself. This was my response:

A woman whose time in this life is short asked the question: 'If you knew you had 12 months left to live, how would you spend your time?' There is no quick answer. I have no way of knowing whether my answer would be really true. I can say what I'd like to think I would do, but if it came to it, maybe my pain would be such that I'd spend the time curled in my bed, weeping. Maybe my anger would be such that I would rage and rage, alienating all those with whom I say now I would want to spend that time.

So I ask myself instead - if my time was even shorter, if I had weeks, not months left, what would I be glad about from the past year? - What would I say "I'm so happy I got to do that!" about?

If my time was really short, and I was looking back over the past year, I'd be glad, glad, glad for the time I spent with people I love. I'd be glad I drove 10 hours to have lunch with my son on his 21st birthday. I'd be glad that when I went back to my home-town for weekends, tempting as it was to stay with sisters or brothers, I opted to stay with my Dad, have our predictable, quiet conversations, move about the house, each respecting the other's space, likes and dislikes. I'd be really glad that I was there for my nephew's wedding in July, and my sister's in September. I would be glad that I didn't react impulsively at times when misunderstandings arose with people I care about - that I managed to leave the space for talk, the space where we could meet and resolve the issue and go forward. I'd be glad for the grace that brought me release from feelings of bitterness over the end of my marriage. I'd be glad to think of my former husband, to hold the good memories of our marriage, and that I'd released the bad.

I would be so happy that I went to California, that I spent time with my friend Pam, that I didn't give in to the voice that told me not to be "a bother, an intrusion", but allowed myself to trust that her invitation was genuine, that ours is a friendship that is real. I'd be really glad that I gave myself the gift of time alone on that trip, that I adventured and explored to just a bit past my comfort-zone. I'd be glad too that I made so many great new friends.

I'd be really happy to think of the contacts I've made through blogging - the wonderful true, tangible connections between hearts that have been forged through opening up - letting my self appear, and trusting that what I say will be received in the right spirit.

I'd be glad I took my job, glad I maintained my integrity, spoke up for myself, held firm when I needed to. I'd be so happy that I'd had a chance to do this work - being with young people in times of distress, supporting them, letting them know there is a place where they'll be heard, and witnessing the miracle of change when it happens. The sense of privilege and honour would be with me.

I'd be glad I didn't worry about money. I'd be glad I spent some on making my home a comfortable space. I'd be glad I travelled. I'd be so glad, so glad, that I let SoulCollage be such a passion. The way in which it has helped me become more of my true self, become able to feel ok about the many parts of myself, has been the miracle of the past few years in my life. And the great gift was in my La Loba card - the gathering of all the bits in one ceremony that truly celebrated me.

If my life was ending soon, and I didn't have time left to plan anything else, I'd be so glad that this was the last year of my life: the year I had a birthday party in my own house, the year I let go of my woundedness, the year I made new friends and did what I could to keep up contact with old friends.

I'd be glad that I got to sit with my mother, to feed her her supper, rub cream on her hands, brush her hair, and tell her that I love her and miss her. I'd be glad that I've said prayers with her. I'd be glad for every prayer I've said, and every word of The Writings I've read. I'd be glad that I spent time at Feasts and Study Circle.

If the past year had been the last year of my life, I'd be glad to say that in that year, there's so little I regret. I'd be sorry I gave myself a hard time about my weight, hid in dull-coloured clothes, stayed away from the swimming-pool. I'd regret any moment of guilt I felt, and self-blame. I'd be glad for whenever I took responsibility, and really glad for the challenges to which I answered "Yes".

I'd be glad that I met Jen, and witnessed her courage, and that I heard her question. I'd be really glad that it led me to this answer.

What matters is the people: not the paypacket or the stuff, not even the places. I am one of the people, one of the special people in my own life. I'm glad, so glad for the friends who've been in my life, the meals we've shared and the books we've passed from hand to hand. I'm glad that in my family, there is no estrangement, no unresolved disputes: that we are there for one another. I'm glad that my son is ploughing his own furrow, making his own choices, safe in the knowledge that whatever he does, I love him. I love him unconditionally, and always will.
------------------------------------------------------------

If you cannot answer Jen's question, can you answer mine? If this past year had been your last year on earth, what in it would have left you glad at the end?

What do you want?

I hadn't met TED - "The annual conference [that] brings together the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes)" - until tonight. And now that I've found this space I've been listening to the most inspiring talks. Isabel Allende - amazing, uplifting, passionate. And Eve Ensler, who wrote "The Vagina Monologues". Her talk ends with this comment:

"When we give in the world what we want the most, we heal the broken part inside each of us."

She's left me pondering: What DO I want the most? How do I give it?

Sunday Scribbling: New

There's a new feeling I've been carrying around for a while. It came upon me unexpectedly, and at first, I wasn't sure I could trust it to last, so I just let it sit a while. Every so often, I returned, gave a gentle poke to see was it still there, and sure enough, it stirred, sighed, said "Yes, I told you, I'm home! Now let me just settle in, will you!" What to name it? Acceptance? Forgiveness? Whatever the name for it, it's brought a new peace to my heart that is very welcome. This has been the first Christmas and New Year that I have not wept for five years. What a gift!

It turned up so easily, just when I'd accepted that I was probably going to go through the rest of my life carrying a certain level of sadness, of pain at the end of my marriage. One morning - the morning of the solstice, as it happens - random thoughts about the things we do that limit us in our lives, the things I can so easily see friends doing that bog them down, led to the simple question: Well, what is it you are carrying around that limits you, that restricts your freedom, that holds you back? And the answer was instant, simple. My woundedness. I knew that if I asked any friend that question, they would have given me this answer.

And inside me, something broke loose and began to float away. The knot of bitter feelings, of regret began to unravel itself, and I knew, that if D, my erstwhile husband was to invite me in for tea, I would now be able to say "Yes, thank you, that would be nice". Just knowing that was huge for me. This was NEW. Sudden. Somewhat shocking. But oh, I was so ready for this.

And that very day, passing through a shopping centre, I got a chance to test out the feeling - for there he was, having tea at a cafe, and when I stopped to chat, I checked myself out. Was my heart racing? Was I having bitter, bitchy thoughts? No. I really wasn't. When he invited me to join him for coffee, I did, and when I was ready to go, I wished him a happy Christmas, gathered my packages, and left, walking up the street, surprised with myself for the lack of turmoil, for the peace I felt.

Maybe it will slip away again, but now I know that I can experience this sense of peace. This is the gift I have been most thankful for this year. This is the New thing I welcome most.
------------------------
If you would like to see what other Sunday Scribblers had to say about "New/New Year" check it out HERE

Bits of Thursday

Today (or yesterday, since midnight has now passed) was a good day: A day when I spend time with my son is a good day. A day where we travel together and eat together is even better. We had lunch, then went to visit his aunt, and then I took him to the train, as he heads back into his life in Dublin. As we drove, we spoke of his memories of childhood Christmasses. I realised that my memories were reinforced throughout my childhood in the conversations my siblings and I would have about Christmas... "Remember the time... What about the gift you got..." Being an only child, my son's memories had already begun to slide away. We hauled some of them back from the brink, dusted them off. Laughed .... Phew!

I caught up with an old friend. We had an impromptu dinner together, and it was good. The timing was right. I got to be there just when she needed a visit. I found her at home just when I wanted to see her. ... And she gave me a late Christmas gift of a voucher for something I'd just put on my mental "Must Have this year" list - a seaweed bath! Hurrah for synchronicity!

..

I got to spend a little time in the town I lived in for 16 years, exploring new shopping areas, checking out a snazzy coffee-spot (good hot chocolate too). I had a bit of a book-shopping spree, and was especially glad to find Betty Edwards' Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain workbook. - Might kick-start me to exploring drawing again. I enjoyed following the book for a while a few years ago, but came to a full stop when it came to perspective. Maybe the workbook will help. I'd like to do some drawing this year, and to get over that barrier. While I don't think I'll be up to being Creative every day, I'd like to think I might do something every week this year. I'm excited at what is happening over at Leah's blog, though. Her lovely list of possible creative activities includes such things as colouring in a book, re-ordering a bookshelf, or making hot chocolate. Looking at it that way, I suppose I am creative every day.

..

I've been participating in a poetry postcard project since September, sending and receiving poems (Yes, on postcards!) and getting quite a kick from finding these little treasures among my mail. So far, I've received 10 cards and sent out 11. When I made my hot-chocolate-stop today, I had no reading material with me, and no notebook! but I did have a few postcards in my bag, so I wrote 3 poems to send off to the next people on the list. I think people can join in at any time, as it's a Perennial Postcard project. Wanna join in?...

Driving home, I met the first snow of the winter. And some freezing fog. I drove slowly, with Christmas music playing. I loved it. Everywhere looks magical in the snow. I hope it's still around tomorrow when I wake up. I want to take photos. I want to go out wearing my (fake) fur hat. I want to build a snowman.

and 2007 yields to 2008

Over the past few days, my thoughts have been circling around the summary of the year that was 2007 for me, and about the coming year and what I want and/or expect to find there. My annual practice of reviewing my year at my birthday was shelved this year, as I simply didn't find the time to do it. On the weekend of my birthday, there was the party, there were houseguests, and, unlike past years, on the monday, instead of finding myself at home again with abundant time, I was out into the world of work, meetings, busy-ness. The wonderful luxury of unlimited time to myself no longer mine. The weekends between my birthday and Christmas somehow passed without me bringing out my journal to pause, to reflect, to acknowledge the year that led to my 50th birthday.

And Christmas came, and I travelled to my hometown, spent time with my family. I did resurrect my morning pages journal (once), but even then didn't give the time to my usual review of the year. I need to slow down. I need to breathe. I need to give myself - now - that time. If I don't reflect on the past year with some attention, then I am likely to just run pell-mell into the coming year without proper direction, so it's a necessary exercise.

This is all part of the big, big learning and transition which 2007 presented to me. In going into the regular workforce, I've been given the challenge of finding the balance in my life; of identifying those elements of my life which must be continued, honoured, accommodated in my lifestyle, and those which no longer serve me, which I can let go; and this is what's going on at the moment. It's taking time to notice the places where pressure is put on my energy resources, and to make the shifts. I'm noticing what I miss from my old life, and in noticing, reminding myself that I need to find ways to maintain those things. Like this review. I actually need to sit with my journal - not just Morning Pages - to check in with myself at least monthly, but preferably weekly. Pause. Sit. Say "Hello, how is everything?"

So my first intention for 2008 is to Name the first Sunday of the month my Journal day. I'll be giving at least 2 hours to my journal on that day. I can use it more often, but this will be my commitment.

During 2007, a lot changed for me, arising out of the change in my employment. For a start, I applied for a job, prepared for and sat an interview, for the first time since 1979! And got the job. That was a big deal for me, a huge achievement, an affirmation.

Arising from that, came the whole process of shifting my perception of myself to a more professional image. I took the challenge of teaching a class in psychology. Ran a 20 week course, prepared my students for an exam, and am half-way through the same course again. Yes, it was a scary prospect, Yes, I had inner whisperings of doubt, but I went ahead despite them, and it's going well.

I finished the work on redecorating the downstairs of my home. Created a therapy room, used it. Made my living-room really comfortable. Removed the broken chairs, the unloved cushions. Celebrated with new pieces of art. Hung the pieces that had languished against walls and hadn't been properly appreciated.

In 2007, I've been trusting my intuition, letting impulses guide me as to where I'd like to go. When the urge hit me to book a place at the August SoulCollage(R) facilitators' conference, I just went ahead and booked to go back to California. What a wonderful trip that was! My soul-connection to that place, and to the friends I've made there is one of my life's great gifts. I'm so glad I followed my intuition there, that I went off and discovered Yosemite all on my own.

Part of my intention for 2008 is to return again to California- I have a reason to go! When I wondered how I could justify a third trip the universe answered, with an invitation to go in late June 2008 - just as my work finishes for the summer. So go I will, to begin training as a SoulCollage facilitator-trainer. I'm so honoured to have been invited to do this, and so excited at the prospect.

On the past 2 visits, I've stayed in Northern California, Oregon, Washington. This year, I'm intending to go south, and to meet up with friends, old and new, from real life and from BlogLand. I'm willing to bring my poetry and SoulCollage wherever the wind may blow me, to share in whatever ways present.

Last year, 2007, saw me move my SoulCollage practice from a comfortable setting in which I invited friends to my home occasionally to make cards to a new stage, where I organised and promoted a series of public workshops, which went really well. I was so happy with the response, and have been delighted that the women who have attended the workshops have now become a community of SoulCollage artists, always glad to come together again. My commitment for 2008 is to Bring SoulCollage to the other 3 provinces of Ireland, with at least one workshop in each. Plans are under way, but not completed yet.

When I found myself in a regular job, I took a couple of steps which have been helpful for my health. - Began a regimen of supplements to maintain health, and I've been going to bed at reasonable hours - enough to get 7-8 hours sleep. What I've been aware of, but haven't done anything about, is a need to return to a pattern of eating that will help me lose 40 lbs. I'd stopped going to WeightWatchers, (who helped me reach my goal weight 5 years ago) and I realise that the regular meetings are necessary to keep me focused. So, I'll be committing to Re-joining WeightWatchers, and to keeping track of my eating.

With so much focus on my job, I allowed a few of the other happenings of 2007 to slip by without giving them as much attention as they deserved: When I was invited to give a poetry workshop for schoolchildren in my hometown, I went ahead and did it, and it was so enjoyable! I found myself in my first (and probably only ever) autograph-scrum, with a milling crowd of 11-year-olds begging me to sign their notebooks, bookmarks... whatever! As work and SoulCollage take up much of my time, I don't want my poetry to be sidelined completely, so I'm committing to taking a writing retreat during the Easter holidays - whether that be something organised, or something I just plan for myself. I want to submit poems to journals again, and to really be an active and productive member of my writers group.

I know this is a very long post, but it's written mainly as a reminder to myself, so I'm not going to shorten it in any way, or to leave out what's the most important intention for the year - the intention I repeat over and over in my life, returning to in cycles. My spiritual life is the source of the energy for everything else. Without a foundation of spiritual energy, nothing else I do is worth doing, so before any of the other actions that I've spoken of above, the intention to reaffirm a Commitment to daily prayer and reading of the Holy Writings is the one I want to focus on first.

For the past number of years, I've been trying to live in a way that makes me open to opportunities, to new ideas, to suggestions of possibility. I've been trying to accept challenges, to take risks, to try something new. Life has been rewarding, rich and wonderful, and I want to remain open to whatever may present unexpectedly in the coming year. I want to be flexible, to not be stuck on a road that isn't bringing me in the right direction. I want to be ready to try a side-road, or to double back to check out something glimpsed away in the distance. With all the intentions I've stated, I'd like to keep this intention also. To be open, to be ready to change.

If you have read this far - You are a true friend! If you want to share reflections on the year past, and intentions for the coming year, please let me know in the comments. I've been inspired by reading other bloggers posts on their plans and goals, and would like to cheer you along with yours too!

It's My Birthday!!!

When I started my blog, in January 2006, the first words I used to describe myself were "Heading towards 50...". Well, I've got there. Today, I reach the milestone that is my 50th birthday. It's going to be a busy day, because there is a party. My sisters and son have already arrived. There is cooking to be done, chairs to be found, cutlery to be sorted.... You know the score, but just now, before the day really begins, there are a few minutes for reflection, and to connect in with my friends in Blogland, who have been sadly neglected over the past few months.

So, since I declared that I was heading here, much has changed, much has happened, in many ways influenced by happenings in the world of blogs and online groups. I've completed the Artist's Way again. I completed my thesis, became a university graduate. Off I went and discovered America (oh? Someone got there before me? What was his name again?); found the wonder that is California (and Oregon, and a little of Washington state - enough to convince me of the necessity of many and frequent future visits). I followed promptings and trained as a SoulCollage facilitator, and now am preparing to take on the challenge of training as a trainer next year. I've gone back into the regular workforce, working with young people in distress. My home has been redecorated to my taste. I've weeded out things that didn't uplift me or bring me joy. I've been gradually acquiring pieces of art that delight my eye, my heart and soul. I've met new friends - true friends of the heart; I've reconnected with some older friends. My life now, right now, feels full and rich and loaded with possibility and joys and I am truly grateful to be where I am right now. My life is good, and now seems like a really apt time to say so, to appreciate that, and to acknowledge that it would not be so without the love, support and encouragement that has flown my way from family and friends (real-life and those in cyber-space who have come to mean so much to me).

I'm 50, and I'm looking forward to the next year, next decade... the next 50!

50, 50, 50, 50, 50, 50, 50, 50, 50.

Sunday Scribbling: Hi. My name is...

Hi. My name is Imelda. We were offered the chance to introduce ourselves, or anyone or anything else we felt like, and part of me said "No, keep yourself out of it", but then it struck me that people drop in here to read one post at a time, and many of you haven't been with me from the beginning of my blog in January 2006. Even those who have, never got a proper introduction. They have learnt bits and pieces about me in a piecemeal fashion, and perhaps they don't know some of the things that friends IRL (in real life) learn as a matter of course.

My name is Imelda, and I avoided using it for a long time after I'd started my blog. I went by GreenishLady because I'm Irish (green... see?), and I like to do what I can to look after the environment (if you don't count driving a big petrol-thirsty car, and air travel - Hence, the "ish"), and when I began to blog, I felt totally uneducated, quite.... Green. Lately, I've realised that many online names with "lady" in them are held by people whose behaviour would be considered anything but ladylike. See... I was quite naive and green in my choice of name! And in real life, I'd rather be called a woman than a lady, but I liked the ring of GreenishLady.

At a party or social gathering, I dread that question: Tell me about yourself! What? What do you want to know? Do you want to know whether I'm gaining or losing weight? How many siblings I have? Where I'd go if I got in my car to go for a half-hour drive? An hour? A day away?

[Neither gaining nor losing. Stuck and likely to stay 40 lbs overweight unless I do something serious, systematic and sensible about it soon:

4 siblings - 2 sisters, 2 brothers, all of whom I'm on good terms with, each of whom offer something special to my life. I feel blessed in the family I've come from:

Half-hour from me is a long beach, with the bonus of a walk through woodland on the way back, so that's where I'd go within a half-hour drive (if I didn't choose to go up to Grianan of Ailleach, an ancient fort, from which the views are spectacular, and where an atmosphere of peace pervades the stones):

An hour away, I'd go to Glenveagh National Park. Mountains, lake, castle, gardens, heather, and the chance to spot a golden eagle; I might drive the back road by Muckish mountain to Falcarragh, travel back through Dunfanaghy.

A day... Too many places to choose from. But the Giant's Causeway calls me at times of sorrow. It gives me a sense of being a small part of a large world, makes me feel that time goes on, goes on, and that everything passes, even sorrows. So today, if I didn't have other plans, that's probably where I would have gone.]

Random facts about me:
I'll be 50 in December. I'm a Sagitarrian. Or else I'm of that sign the name of which I can't remember... (is it Ophiucus?).

I'm the mother of a 21-year-old son, whose privacy I protect here by not naming him, and making only glancing references to him, although he is the most important person in my life (I am immensely proud of the man he has grown into).

After 19 and a half years of marriage, my husband and I separated 4 and a half years ago. I call him my erstwhile husband, my former husband, but as we are not divorced, not my ex-husband (I know, I know... semantics).

I weep easily and frequently. I've just, just, two days ago, lost my dear little dog, Trixie (I say lost. I had to have her put to sleep. I say put to sleep. I mean put down. I am heartbroken).

[I probably shouldn't write when I'm feeling like that. ]

I love to travel. And I've only just gotten started. I've loved Israel, France, Lanzarote, Italy, Scotland... but the surprising, the unexpected love-affair that started last year is with California.

I've done The Artist's Way (following Julia Cameron's 12-week course) twice. In 1998, and again in 2006 along with an online group, (which was how this blog came into being). It was a life-changing experience both times. I credit it with my present work (in all its forms - paid and unpaid), my writing, the publication of my poetry collection; with the broadening and deepening of my experience of the world.

I don't usually write in my blog about my spiritual / religious life. I've been a Baha'i since my teens, and still, though many people want to know what that means, I'm always concerned that they'll think I'm trying to push my beliefs on them. But this is not just an important part of my life. It is the foundation, the rock on which I stand. When everything else moves and shifts, my faith is a comfort. and a sustenance. My community (to which I seldom refer here either) are a family around me. I've been over 30 years trying to develop and maintain a daily practice of prayer, of meditation, of saying the name of God 95 times, and it's a cyclical thing, to which I return over and over again. I know when I am in the habit of doing these things, I feel centred, I know what's important, and yet, I can allow the details of life to distract me, allow me to slip, to forget, until I come back, I come back, and there I find Him, waiting for me. Constant.

I watch too much TV. I promise not to, but I get sucked into Big Brother. I watch Supernanny, Grey's Anatomy, Lost, silly comedies. I no longer watch any soap operas (which doesn't count for much, since I replaced them with cookery programs, gardening programs, househunt programs...)

After my marriage ended, I took a long time to clear my home of my erstwhile husband's belongings, to repaint and refloor, to replace old furniture. It's been done, though, gradually, painfully, to the point where there are a few small remaining tasks, and by Christmas, it will be complete.

I buy art. Not big, expensive art, but it feels like such a luxury to see a piece and decide "I am worth it. I have a right to surround myself with beautiful, soul-nourishing art", and to buy it. The day before Trixie died, I bought a piece by a local young artist, to be a comfort and a reminder. During my marriage, it would have been considered a frivolous waste of money, and I relish the freedom to do this now.

----------------------------------
Friends, I am afraid I've given you scattered glimpses yet again. To introduce oneself is a difficult thing. I'm Imelda, and I want to know about you. I'm looking forward to going through the Sunday Scribblings list and meeting some new friends, and getting to know something more about friends I've already encountered here. But if you have questions, feel free. I'll see if I can answer!

Writers Island: My Imaginary Life

There is a cabin in the woods - not too deep in the woods, just far enough off the path and the road to be a quiet and peaceful place, and screened from public view by oaks and flowering trees. Apple blossom scents the air in spring, and the sounds of traffic are far enough away for the song of all the birdlife to be the constant music of this place. Yes, a stream burbles nearby, and the wildlife that abounds is healthy and well-behaved. Deer come by, to eat nettles and other weeds, but not the jasmine and bougainvillea that drape my porch.

I live here, in rooms that are airy in summer and cosy in winter. I have everything here that I need for a comfortable existence. At one side of the cabin, an area of ground has been cleared and enriched with many years of home-made compost. The range of vegetables and fruit that it produces is staggering. I make use of everything that grows, cooking and freezing, cooking and freezing.

I spend days alone, happy in my own company, with my books and writing, with colours and yarn, with paper, scissors and glue. Then, visitors arrive, and we pass time together chatting, chatting. We make SoulCollage. We walk. We take trips to the sea (which isn't far away); to the town (a town of modest size, but which has all the essentials for life: a library, a theatre and cinema, an place where good music and good art can be found, a great coffee-shop, a restaurant that I want to eat at more often than I can afford). Some visitors come for rest, some for activity. Whichever it is, we time it so that their needs and mine coincide.

While I have said that I live there alone, that is not strictly true, for my constant companion here is the magically-young-again Trixie, who has not only been made young, but become a dog who enjoys travelling so much that the flight to this wonderful corner of California didn't phase her a bit. She and I live contentedly in the place where my spirit is at peace, where my flesh and bones fit together inside my skin, where I breathe, and the air says "home".

------------------------------
This imaginary life comes to you courtesy of Writers Island, where the inaugural prompt was just that: My imaginary life.

Sunday Scribblings: Writing

This week, Laini and Megg offer a wide-open prompt at Sunday Scribblings - Writing. They might as well have said "write about Life". In fact, in many ways, they have. Writing is where life gets lived, really lived for some people, and there are times when that's how it feels for me.

When did I first hold a pen? My father's fountain-pen was an object of fascination. Maybe he let me hold it and gum it as I sat on his knee, in times before my memory. I remember being allowed to hold it later, but not to remove the cap, because the nib is delicate. It was wine-coloured, marbled, sleek. He carried it in his breast-pocket and it (along with his brain) was the tool of his trade. No, he was not a writer. His work was clerical. He dealt in numbers, wrote them into ledgers and books all day long. Wrote them in his looping, beautiful hand. A letter written by my father was a work of art. He and all his siblings had been taught the same graceful script in the two-teacher school they went to, and a way with words that no-one but Shakespearean actors or high-brow academics use today. His letters were elegant. We all wish that more of them were still around. The few we have found have taken our breath away, in the spare simplicity and beauty of his turn of phrase.

I have been writing since I first learnt the joining of letters into words. When school holidays would come around, and there was no need to write, I would find reason to write anyway. Something, anything. Even down to transcribing favourite passages from books. The physical meeting of pen and page was a place where I came to feel real myself. I wrote poems, a newspaper in collaboration with my siblings. As a teenager, a purloined hardback ledger was covered with ugly green plastic, inscribed on its first page with dire warnings for anyone who should chance upon it and start reading it, and filled with the very important happenings of my days. Who was on the school bus. Who wasn't on the school bus. Who glanced/smiled at me. Why they might have done so. Who didn't. Why they didn't. Its back pages began to fill with poems of the "Why did he leave me? How can I go on?" variety. The "he" was a moveable feast. The pen and page remained constant.

I found God. (or God found me). My pen tried, but couldn't find words. Still can't. Silenced in the face of the un-nameable, ineffable, unsayable.

I reverted to writing of small things. To life as it is lived day to day. I wrote essays, essays, essays. I finished school, friends moved away. I moved away. I wrote letters: packets thick with musings, letters that took 3 days or more to write, written in my garden flat overlooking Lough Gill, when I had no television for distraction, and computers were huge machines filling entire rooms in the factory where I worked at accounts - filling ledgers and books with numbers, just as my father had done.

I married. I became a mother. A blue notebook was intended to be a record of my son's birth and early growing months and years. Finding myself at home, isolated, without company most of the time, the notebook took the role of friend, confidant. It was where, writing, writing of the isolation, the longing for contact, for a sense that I was still alive in the world, I devised my 3-pronged "sanity plan". - Learn to drive; take daily walks with my baby in his buggy, saying hello to everyone I met; invite anyone who responded at least 3 times to come over for coffee. My blue notebook saved my life.

I made friends. I found writers. I started to write poems. My heart found its voice. I felt my feet on the earth and my lungs filling with air. I wrote through heartbreak. I wrote through loss. When I didn't know what else to do, when I felt bereft, robbed, forsaken in discovering that I would have no more children, I wrote. I wrote what a friend said I should write:

I am sad.
I am as sad as...
I am as sad as...

until I had nothing more to write.

I saw that the world has seasons. I saw that this sadness was a season in my life. I wrote through it. I wrote my losses, and found new joys.

I am still writing. Most mornings, I write what I expect to find in the day; what I dreamt, or what fragments of dreams are with me still; what questions I have; what I cannot leave out of my mind. I write Morning pages and they ground me in my life. Most nights, before I sleep, I write ten things for which I am grateful. Sometimes it is breathing and my son, salad, a roof. Other times it is that C's surgery went well, that M isn't mad at me, that I spoke up, that I had an idea. I fill shiny-covered notebooks with ideas and jottings, starts and middles for poems, questions for a story, "what if?"s, quotes and lines, words and memories.

My pen is my companion. The page is where she and I lay down, kick up our legs and muse about life. Writing is life.

Yes. They might as well have asked us to write about Life this week. Writing is life.
------------------------------------
For more Sunday Scribblings go HERE

A handbag full of....

Here it is - almost 2 weeks since I posted anything, but since I am now happily displaying a Blogging Without Obligation button, I won't apologise. I will mention that life has simply been very busy, and that the car (which was so recently serviced) began giving trouble again and that I have been ... um ... anxious at times, resulting in a panic-attack yesterday. Recovered now. I've talked enough people through it to know and understand what's happening, but the theory doesn't stop it from happening. I thinked it helped me get over it, though.

So here I am, and this morning I started catching up on reading blogs, wondering would I post something. What would I post? Bits and pieces? And then, I came to Caroline's blog, where she displays the contents of her handbag, and I thought... ok. I can do that. She was responding to Jo's post with her bag-contents. So here, for your curious eyes are the unedited contents of my handbag (OK. I confess. I left out the bits of grit and tiny balls of paper)

I forgot to include the actual bag in the photo. It's black, fake leather, sack-shaped and has too loopy handles I can slip over my shoulder. What's also missing from the picture is my camera, spare batteries and my second mobile phone. (although those are always in my bag). What is there is:

cheque book, credit union pass-book, 2 card wallets (mostly filled with store loyalty cards) magnifier, breath-freshener strips, dead clock-battery (so I'll know what size I'm looking for when I go to the shop), lip balm, Rescue Remedy, hand-cream, folding comb, apricot and almond bar (coated in yogurt! Healthy!), two wallets (one Euro, the other Sterling), mobile phone for use in Northern Ireland, box of Moo mini-cards, bottle of rose cologne from L'Occitane en Provence (Mother's day gift from Son), Diary (WeMoon diary. I love it), Street map book of Belfast (doesn't stop me getting lost and having panic-attacks, though, does it?), programme for upcoming Arts Festival in our area, leaflet on Crocs (bought a pair yesterday. Comfy, comfy). Pencil, pink highlighter, my silver Cross pen (which went missing for 3 years and inexplicably came back to me a few months ago), a small black notebook with rubber-band around it, and the case for my spectacles. Oh yes. There's a big wad of tissues there too. You never know...

And ... there's often a folding umbrella there these days too. I used to carry a screwdriver and tiny screw kit for repairing glasses, but I've lost it. There are often bigger notebooks (the ones I actually write in) shoved in there, or whatever book I'm reading at the moment if I'm going anywhere I anticipate waiting time. Sometimes I'm carrying paracetemol or ointments for my hands and feet (dry, dry skin). There might be sunglasses, though these normally live in my car.

I can't understand how anyone manages with a small bag. I can't. I've accepted this. I'm proud of myself for the fact that I didn't find 3 dozen supermarket receipts and half-a-pound of small change in the bottom of the bag.

Would you like to share your handbag contents? Come on, let's see! If you do, say so in the comments, and maybe you'd like to let Caroline and Jo know too. They started the game! (links above)

Oh yes... this is not the only bag I carry. The story of all my other bags is, I think for another post, another day!

----------------------------------

Other things? I'm still sitting on the couch. It's 4pm. I need to get to town soon. But I also want to show you something my niece and my sister gave to me. Sorry... Blogger will not let me post the picture of the freesias and arum lilies that have grown from the corms they brought as a gift when they visited in march. My niece had arum lilies as her wedding-flower last year, so they are extra special for all of us. I am just thrilled to see this unfolding beauty. Hopefully tomorrow I'll get it in.

And strangely, Blogger will allow me to post a picture in honour of Fairy Day, celebrated by Julie Marie at Celtic Woman. Only one fairy lives with me (though I have often hung Fairy calendars, and have many beautiful pictures of fairies). This little beauty came to me on one of the most special days in my life and lives in my bedroom. Her name is still a secret.

Hope you have a wonderful weekend, sprinkled with fairy-dust.

Sunday Miscellany

Sunday Miscellany is the name of a popular radio program here. I had a poem broadcast on it a few months ago. But this post isn't about that. This post is a miscellany because my attempt to write a "Spicy" piece for Sunday Scribblings turned out so bland and insipid, I just couldn't post it. I added cumin, ginger, cayenne, garam masala, and still, there was no flavour. Believe me! Maybe it's my taste-buds.

And maybe it's because there's too much other stuff going around in my head. I've had a good week, so here's :

.................What Went Well This Week

Work - in different places each day, some self-generated, some not, some beginnings, some endings approaching, but a sense of energy, a sense of being fully in my work.(I didn't mean to start with WORK, as though that is priority, and everything else is also-ran!)
Stuff (1)- when I realised my credit card had been missing for a week(!!!), and called the bank, I discovered that the last transaction was the last one I'd made (phew!), so cancelled it before anything sinister happened with it.
Stuff (2) - when I called the garage to say my car had been losing power, the nice man said "bring it in", and when I explained I needed it that afternoon, he said "no problem", and when I collected it (early!), he had done a full service on it - and washed it!
Son - He heads off tomorrow for his summer adventure in USA, and we've just had a really nice week together, not doing anything very special, but just chatting, sorting out stuff he wants to dump. He's been away for months at a time before, but still in the same country, so tomorrow brings with it a little anxiety for Mommy!
Sorting - Completed little tasks like paying bills, arranging dates for upcoming appointments and workshops, filed stuff... ended the week feeling there's less hanging on my shoulders.
Plans - decided to go home to see my Dad next weekend (Fathers' Day), to do some SoulCollage with sister and some friends; other sister sent me a link to this garden's site, and there are definite plans to visit there before this summer ends. My plans for July/August in California are moving ahead. Yay!
Health - After months of inactivity, I got to the gym twice this week (only once last week) and gave myself silver stars for going! So I'm moving in the right direction. Ate more fruit and veg. Feel good.

...............A Game

Deb of the Red Shoes posted a game on her blog yesterday, and I found it today, and decided to join in. Rules are easy, and if you decide to play along, go to her blog and leave her a comment saying you've done so. (Tell me too, please, as I'd enjoy seeing your responses).

each answer has to start with the same letter as the first letter of your name and if an answer is a place name it should be real, not fictional. If someone who answers before you has the same first letter, try to come up with different answers than they did. Now on to…

Scattergories 2



Your name: ....................Imelda
A Country: ......................Italy
A Song Title:.................... If
An Artist (painter, photographer, etc): .....Ingres (La Grande Odalisque)
A Reason to stay home from Work or School: ..........Infection
Something you’d see at a Zoo: .................Iguana
A Snack: ...............................Ice-cream sandwich (Yes! It is a snack)
A Character in a Book: ......................India Wilkes
Something Icky: .......................Icky things (Sorry!)
A Six-letter Word: ....................Irises
Something Breakable: .............Italian glass (well, Venice is in Italy, right?)
Non-Alcoholic Drink: ..............Iced coffee
Something you Whisper: ........I love you.


.......................A New SoulCollage card to Share

I've been wondering if there are particular cultural themes that would begin to turn up in the SoulCollage made by Irish people, and had an idea that it would be natural for Celtic gods/goddesses to turn up in the council suit, and naturally the landscape used for backgrounds to differ from that used by others. Last Saturday, I ran the 3rd of my public workshops, and again it was well-attended and well-received. In the course of the day, I found images that just called out to me to become a card. It represents Race memory of hunger. I haven't written about it yet, but will soon on my SoulFragments blog.

There's more this week, but I have to stop somewhere. Have to get out to the weeds that have been thriving in my absence from my garden. Have to get some recycling over to the bring-banks. Have to spend at least some of this day on my beanbag in the garden not thinking of weeds or recycling.

Have a lovely Sunday, and a great week.

Poetry Thursday: Down by the River

Every town I've lived in has been on a river - I was born on a town on the Liffey, which enters the sea in Dublin. From age 3 til 21, I lived in Limerick, at the mouth of the Shannon, Ireland's longest (and most majestic) river. At 21, I moved to live in Sligo, where I was lucky enough to live in a house overlooking a lake just where it joined the Garravogue river. That was where I lived when I met my husband. While we moved to live in another part of the town, the river was a presence during the early years of our marriage, and when my son was born and during his first 9 years of life. Then, 12 years ago, we moved to live in Donegal, and the river in our town (the Swilly) is a less dramatic presence in the town, but still, when I catch a glimpse any time I drive out of town, it soothes me. Here, it makes its way to the sea, and if I walk far enough up my road, I come to where I can make my way to its banks.

The only "River" poem I've written (that I can recall) brings 3 of these rivers together. As a ritual of release, after my marriage ended, and after I had had my long plait (braid) cut, I brought one strand to each of the 3 rivers and let them go.

Plait

The Shannon was a rushing greedy swirl,
grabbing my offering, tugging it in a whirl,
pulling that first strand towards the salt,
tearing into dark and deep places.

The Garravogue curled towards where I stood,
welcomed my gift, held it only a moment
before the sinking, the drift to oblivion,
the dropping down, the loss.

The gentle Swilly, wide and kind
has taken the last years to its tide,
given me the clouds, the moon,
sweeping birds that flow to her line.

These waters are the westward flow,
the waters of my days, my life.
I give them the traces of our years,
three strands, unbraided:

beginning, middle, end
of me as wife.

-------------------------------

You'll find more Poetry Thursday River poems HERE

Sunday catch-up

The prompt at Sunday Scribblings this week is "Second Chance". I've been dancing back and forth towards writing something on the topic, but as the very idea of Sunday Scribbling is to write in the moment and post it, I'm disinclined, because I don't know what will emerge (or, rather yes, I think I DO know what will emerge), and I just don't want to go back again to the angst about the end of my marriage, and the second chance we didn't give it.

See what just happened? I got a chance to bemoan my fate, and I didn't take it! I think maybe, just maybe, friends, I am moving on! If you'd like to read what second chances others have written about go HERE.

Today the sun is out, but there's a chill breeze blowing. Just right to get some laundry dry outdoors, but not for sitting outside. Walking, yes - which I will be doing later on this afternoon, as soon as I've had lunch and finished one or two tasks.

It's been a good weekend for getting things ticked off my mental "to-do" list. I'm good (sometimes) at getting to the big things, but the little ones can slip down, down the list, and so today, I did a bit of clearing, and within an hour had written the cheque, sent the emails, sorted the file of notes, put the recipes away, shelved the books, dumped the junk-mail, typed up the poems, noted the calls to be made tomorrow, and I feel good.

Yesterday, after a couple of months' absence, I put my tracksuit on and headed to the gym! And it was shut! They went off on a training-day, and no-one told me! (How were they to know I'd suddenly decide that today was the day to start - again - getting back into shape?) So, when I got home, I washed my windows. And when that was done, I washed my car! (I have never, never, washed my own car before! - I'm a great believer in the drive-through)

See? Energy, and resolve to get back into good (better, shall we say?) eating habits too, had me make up the most delicious salad for dinner. OK, ok, I did eat it with potatoes, but the balance was 2/3 plate of salad, 1/3 potato! And when I put more food on my plate, it was salad, not potato.

Amber asked to see some of the artwork I was bragging about last week, - saying how happy it makes me to have great pictures for my walls. Unfortunately, my photos of them really do not do any of them justice, but I'll see what I can do:

This was a gift from the artist. Trisha Kelly. Am I not a lucky lady?

To thank me for bringing him into the world, my son made me a gift of this on his 18th birthday. He was having a sentimental moment, and I am very glad to have this soothing, gentle, mystical watercolour on my hallway wall. It's by Gerry O'Mahony

My dear friend Mary walks every day, and as she walks, she observes the walls she passes, and in the shapes in the stone walls, she finds faces and figures, and fantastical worlds, which she then portrays on paper. I've been the lucky recipient of 2 of those (and 2 beautiful portraits by Mary, too). This is one of her 'wall' paintings:
Above my fireplace, I've hung 'The Nectar Seekers'. This is the largest picture in my collection, and the one I've had for the longest time. It must be 15 or 16 years now. It was a gift to me from the artist when she was just completing her studies at art college. Her work has since become quite sought-after, and is varied, rich and full of colour still. I love this piece so much, it became the cover of my book. Christine was very gracious when I asked her permission to use it, and came along to the launch and some of my readings.

And in my little therapy room, I've placed this painting. I bought it at a charity auction a couple of years ago. It's untitled, and I took to calling her the Blue Lady. But I have since come to the conclusion that this is my own Kwan-Yin. I'd been hoping to find a statue of Kwan-Yin, goddess of compassion and healing, and all along, I had this in my house, just waiting to be hung. It's by Brian Gallagher.

I think that's enough for now. Each of these pictures (and the others, which I may share some other time) lifts my heart, reminds me of the artist, the person from whom I received it, the circumstances in which I decided to buy a piece. They carry so much and really make my house more 'home' to me with each day that they grace my walls.

As you can see, this is not a Sunday Scribbling post at all. I'm not looking back at the second chances I didn't get. I'm appreciating all the wonderful chances I have been given and taken instead.

Now it's Monday

I didn't write for Sunday Scribblings this week because my weekend was a busy one, and it strikes me that, not having done that, a space opens up where I might just write a post that's not tied into Sunday Scribblings or Poetry Thursday. (I didn't do anything for Poetry Thursday last week either). Life's been busy. I got a job, which I will be starting in a few weeks' time - and for which I have already begun a series of training-days. I'll be counselling in schools, and am really looking forward to starting. I'm still teaching my psychology class, which is taking a good deal of preparation work, and last weekend I facilitated my first public SoulCollage(R) workshop. That took a bit of preparation, and went very well. I enjoyed it, and had the company of a fellow blogger who travelled to be here for the workshop - Caroline of Caro's Lines came over from England and was great company and a fantastic support, too.

At the workshop, I watched 16 women, many of whom had never encountered the SoulCollage process, take it to themselves and immerse themselves in the business of finding images (or allowing the images to find them) which would express some part of their being. It was an honour to be present for that, and I really feel grateful that I have found this wonderful process at this time in my life. I didn't intend to work on cards, but found at one stage, a few images were in my hand, and just wanted to get glued down, so I made this card.

I call it my Dressmakers card, and it honours the women in my ancestry who all made their living as dressmakers. - My maternal grandmother, and many of my mother's sisters. Even those who didn't work as seamstresses had the skill, or knit instead. I don't sew, but I do some crafts, and feel that in a way, the SoulCollage process is one of my ways of expressing this aspect of my heritage.

The other card I made, oddly enough, echoes the theme that this week's Sunday Scribbling had. It was "Deepest, Darkest", and this card, which I call "Going into the Deep", says:

"I am one who goes into the deepest, darkest places; who is willing to descend. I am one who emerges transformed after the descent."

Home again, Home again, Jiggity-jig!

Not that I've been away, but I've been having such trouble with my computer / internet links, it seemed I'd been cast out of the country of Blog-people, and now, mysteriously, strangely, today, all is working. I heard a whisper that lots of people were having trouble because Mercury was retrograde, or something like that. Howsever, today I've been able to book my flight to go to Barcelona for my nephew's summer wedding; I've been able to drop in on a few (unfortunately not all) of my blog-pals blogs to see what's new. People are reading Finding Water. People are beginning new spiritual practices. People are feeling the tug of spring, sprouting new ideas and plans.

I'm feeling up-beat. All my slow, slow, work at getting my house in order is finally beginning to really show. My lemon-and-cream living room was somewhat spoilt by the continued presence of an old, stained pink suite, but as of last Wednesday, now the room sports two sleek, cream leather couches, low tables, silky drapes. It feels elegant, but it feels warm. My couches are dressed with rich brown chenille and mohair throws and cushions. I'm happy, happy, happy there. Pictures? Maybe later. When I've found the perfect lamp. Sorry. Not while there's still a pink lampshade there. It just won't do. But when I sit there, I have my back turned to the lamp, and can just appreciate my room.

Next week, I'll have the pleasure of calling a skip (dumpster) to come around and haul away all the old, broken, finished stuff. Yay! Then there will be more space, more light. What I've been waiting four years for. Hurrah!

And this came in the same week as I had my first proper job-interview since 1979! And the interview went well. I don't know if I'll get the job, but I do know that I was entirely myself there, and that if I do get the job, I won't have to pretend to be anybody but me, and that feels good. It felt good to prepare for it, to travel to it (in the company of a wonderfully supportive friend, who came along on the 4-hour journey "just for fun"), and it feels good to know I can do that.

And this came in the weeks after I'd begun a project I couldn't have conceived of a year ago. I was asked to teach a psychology class. And I said yes. This is the 3rd week! ! !

So, maybe it's as well the internet wasn't letting me in. My life was keeping me plenty busy anyway. So, in the coming weeks, my presence, even for Poetry Thursday or Sunday Scribbling may be intermittent, but I'm here, and I'm loving all the signs of spring we are seeing - little irises, crocuses. Birds hauling giant twigs into still-bare trees. Life is good.

It's Christmas

Yes, I finally found a tree. After it sat sadly in my living room for 2 days, I found two friends to help me decorate it. Now it is twinkling and happy. Yes, I bought all my gifts, and wrote and posted all my cards. Yes, I am going to have a lovely Christmas, and I wish all of you every good thing for Christmas, and for 2007. I'll be with my family, and will check back in early in the New Year. Blessings to all.

Sunday Scribblings: The Last Hour

The last hour has seen twilight fall, slip in to cover my garden with the grey veil of evening before the afternoon’s half-way over. It has seen the rain abate and return, abate and return in full force, carried on the howling wind that sweeps around the gable, whips the shrubs and trees into a new December dance.

This hour – in a winter Sunday afternoon – has been one of chocolate and coffee, of yesterday’s newspapers scattered on the kitchen table. It has been a time of wandering the house, still in pyjamas and dressing-gown, plans for a shower – later, later – and touching new things. Soft pink scarf and gloves, the petals of white lilies, the dull brass of the Tibetan singing-bowl my sister brought, the smooth wood of the stick with which the sound is drawn out of the bowl.

This last hour has seen moments of nostalgia dismissed, and moments of maybes fostered. These last minutes of this last hour see me at my table, the dog settled on the rocking-chair, the fridge humming and the boiler doing its heat-up, click-off, heat-up, click-off magic that keeps me warm and cosy inside, while the blue-tits outside fluff their feathers when they come for peanuts and a share of the greasy fat-ball I hung just the other day.

The last hour has been a lazy hour, an hour of awareness of a class to prepare for tomorrow night, a letter to complete, forms to fill in. They’ll all wait to tomorrow. This hour has been one I will forget. Not the hour in which major decisions were reached, or any thought has been followed to a conclusion. It’s been a drifting, moodling hour, the hour in which I put away the dishes used for my birthday supper, washed Kathryn’s plate, sorted my socks and put on a load of laundry. The bowl of dusty stones I carried from the living-room still wait to be washed at the kitchen sink.

And the twilight deepens, and the hour I write of recedes. A gust from the east blows the last of the leaves from my neighbour’s birch across my garden. The animal of the wind waves its arms through my berberis and forsythia. I gather some warm towels, soft fresh clothes. Now I’m ready to go shower, get ready to leave my little nest for an evening meeting, glad to have reflected on the little pleasures and small, sacred things this hour has witnessed, glad now that I have had this hour.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

For more Sunday Scribblings on the theme of "The Last Hour" , go HERE

Sunday Scribblings --- Heroes

They are everywhere in my life, and always have been – people going about their lives in a heroic fashion. No, they were not slaying dragons or climbing the highest mountains, but in their own ways, I have seen so many people do what would seem impossible to me. In the face of grief, pain or hopeless situations, they would pick themselves up, and find a path through the hopelessness, a way of putting one foot in front of the other as they got on with the business of living. Beyond that, the true heroism has always been for me in being able to find beauty and art along the hopeless and hard path, finding a way to make of this life a better place for those around them. Who are the heroes? My grandmother, who would make clothes from flour-sacks when there was no money for fabric, who made of the water in which vegetables were cooked a delicacy for which her children would vie. This woman still maintained a parlour, she still painted her garden railings white every year, and there were still sweet-peas and aquilegias to be seen inside those railings. My Auntie Imelda, her spine bent from a childhood accident – tiny and deformed to many eyes, I saw her as beautiful, and wanted to be like her when I grew up – book-loving and musical, with perfect eyebrows and a shine to her skin; knitting for nieces, not the practical, keep-you-warm jumpers that mothers would knit, but cardigans with a touch of glitter or fluff, in a shade not designed to hide the dirt, with pearly buttons. I saw all my aunts carry on through illness, grief and set-back, find laughter and joy still in life. These were the heroic ones. Between them, they took paralysis, abuse, widowhood, cancer, loss of a child, childlessness, and went on. They, each and every one, lived until they died. There was Esther, making a decision against more surgery, more “treatments” and choosing to relish her last trip to the sea, choosing to plant bulbs for the spring she would not see, choosing to make sure that next year, the wisteria she had pruned in her pain would bloom ever more abundantly and beautifully.

My mother, my father. These are two more heroes in my life, though I choose not to say more of their heroism here right now. I am blessed in the lives my parents have lived.

There are friends, there have been friends, who have offered me a model of heroism I hope I would be able to follow should I be faced with the same paths. Those who have come to tell their stories in their last days. There was Maureen, delighting in my successes, offering her wisdom. There was Peggy, who vowed to swim with the dolphins. I see her now, perpetually floating in the waters she loved, smilingly playing and calling out to us “Come on in! The water’s fine!” There have been heroes who went suddenly, without warning. After Jamshid’s death, so many people told me of how their lives had been changed by the practical wisdom he offered along with his healing herbs. He was a quiet hero.

No. The ‘heroes’ conjured for me by the word are not those who slay dragons, but those who battle the nipping rats of daily struggles, and keep on; not those who climb mountains, but those who stay hour by hour, day by day, on a stony path, with blisters on their heels and toes, and who still have a spirit that delights in a stream’s babble and the breeze’s fingers playing with the golden leaves of a birch. God bless the heroes.

----------------------------------------------------------
Find more Sunday Scribblings on the topic of Heroes HERE

Where HAVE I been?

Hmm... how to gather together and encapsulate the past 9 or 10 days into one coherent post. I disappeared without hinting that I may be away from the computer. Stuff just happened, that's all. My sister found herself with a few free days, and came to visit, which was lovely. We ate out, and went to the theatre, (the wonderful Dancing At Lughnasa - the link is to a different production, but you get the idea!).

Then, over the weekend, from Friday evening through to late Sunday afternoon, I was taking part in a marvellous, invigorating, deep, fun, transformative, sometimes almost-scary workshop on Working with Myth and Legend for counsellors and listeners. It involved movement, dance, drama, art, introspection. Almost impossible to describe the process, but it was an immersion in legend, a place between real-life and the ineffable. The training was given by a facilitator trained by Paul Rebillot. The myth we focused on was The Children of Lir, which appears in many versions on the web. Here are two: Here and Here... This one is the one I read, and I love the language of it, though it isn't easy to read, perhaps.

No sooner had I come home, than I found myself, instead of exhausted and worn out from the intensity of the process, but energised instead - and there I was, on my patio, racing to stay with the last of the daylight, emptying dead summer-plants from my pots, and filling the pots with cyclamen, pansies and asters. I tidied and readied for winter. What's happening? Plants bought weeks ago, and suddenly, I had the energy. I left a pot of white cyclamen outside my kitchen window, with beautiful uplifted petals looking like the wings of swans.

And then, just as I came indoors to rest and relax, word came that the painter I'd booked weeks ago to come repaint my entire house, inside and out, - was going to arrive at 8.30 next morning! Panic stations! Bring the dog (poor, poor Trixie... I am sorry. I really am!) to the kennels, to keep her out from underfoot, and out of danger of paint, open doors, men's feet, furniture being moved... Start taking pictures off the walls, clearing clutter (oh, oh, oh.... that clutter!), getting ready for him.

So, since Monday, I've been getting on with the ordinary business of life - some work, some play, some seeing friends, some phone-calls, some emails, some cooking, some brief catching-up on reading blogs, but no time for posting, no time for leisurely reading.

I've caught up today, because I'm confined to my study. The living-room, hallway and kitchen are full of painters' paraphernalia, and this is a safe space, by virtue of the decision to leave it til last. - It has the most furniture to be moved. So, here I am, with books, coffee and PC. It's a hard life! - And someone else doing the hard work of actually painting. I have already brought 3 boxes of books to charity shops, and have filled another 3 boxes. There's furniture, curtains, and lots and lots of my son's old stuff to go too, so the next few weeks will be busy weeks of clearing, and that feels just great, because I will enter my 50th year (I'll turn 49, in other words) in December, and will have a clear space, a new environment around me, and I'm SO looking forward to that. Wish me the energy to complete the transformation! - But I think I'm doing well energy-wise, because it's going in the right direction, and I'm pausing to rest, and not going hell-for-leather at anything... and because I've had a very, very, very long run-in time to this project.

THAT's where I've been! Sorry to have missed Sunday Scribblings and Poetry Thursday, sorry to have not said... but it all took over fairly suddenly..

Finally, I'd like to have added a bit of visual interest in the way of photos, but Blogger wouldn't let me. I don't know why. Sorry for the boring post!

Oh... and just in case I find myself without enough going on to keep me busy....