Beagan agus a ra go maith.
(Say little but say it well.)
Beagan agus a ra go maith.
(Say little but say it well.)
My father always had books of quotes and wit near to hand and it’s something I have inherited.
Here are a few quotes from Samuel Beckett that have been entertaining me this evening:
What is that unforgettable line?
Probably nothing in the world arouses more false hope than the first four hours of a diet
When you’re in the shit up to your neck, there’s nothing left to do but sing.
Words are the clothes thoughts wear.
Just one step out the back this September morning and I was catapulted back to my school days when the house we lived in had a garden with an apple tree.
I used to detour out to the apple strewn stone wall on those dewy mornings to pick an apple to savour at break time in school. They were red crunchy apples that had a heady fragrance.
Maybe it’s time to plant an apple tree now or could the apples ever live up to my memories of those special ones?
I have always been a worrier and it tends to get on a right roll ahead of medical appointments ( my own or those of anyone I care deeply about).
I have heebie-jeebies these days ahead of an appointment and I wonder if any of you out there have found the way to get control of your self.
See, I have tried deep breathing, relaxation techniques, yoga, exercising, diving into poetry, being open about how I feel, shutting up about how I feel, thinking about happy moments, writing down my fears, writing gratitude lists ….
When it comes to the waiting room and being summoned, I tend to lose any little bit of headway I may have made.
Sometimes, I wonder if it’s best to brace for the worst or hope for the best or maybe not think at all.
Has any of you mastered the art of coping with these kinds of terrors, long, medium and short term?
I know everyone is different and we all have different baggage but I also know I am not alone in dissolving into a blithering idiot ahead of and during medical appointments.
All ideas welcome!
Am I alone in hearing the word ‘narrative’ being used endlessly these days, especially by ‘commentators’ on social and political issues.
I think it needs to be banned as it’s just a fad.
I often wonder how much Americans know or care about the goings-on in Ireland.
Are we just a country out there somewhere or do we exist at all in popular American consciousness.
Meanwhile, here in Ireland, we are a bit obsessed with American politics, especially, and many people, including me, follow the political happenings over there on a daily basis.
The closer November 2020 comes, the more intrigued we are becoming. We are a very political people over here as well as a host of other things – not necessarily the stereotypes that tend to be bandied about.
It’s almost impossible to believe that it is 10 years today that you sailed off into your sunset. And, I hope you’ll be pleased to know that I spent the day in some of our special places, Dunmore East and out along the Copper Coast. I walked miles – faster than usual, as if you were striding along just a tad ahead of me as if pulling me along.
I wasn’t sad or lonely because it was like you were with me.
There wasn’t a clear horizon this morning – the sky melted into the silvery sea. It was soft and gentle, just like the way you slipped away that morning when our backs were turned.
I was thinking of precious moments we shared and so many of them were small things, like the walks passed the mad Kerry Blue who you swore would never bite either of us because one bite from a Kerry Blue in a lifetime was quite enough for anyone to experience and you’d had your share as a young fella.
It’s impossible to think of you without thinking of Mother. It’s like the pair of you bookended summer with your deaths – May 31 and September 10 respectively, just 16 months apart. And what readers both of you were albeit of different genres. Mother into novels and poetry and you more non-fiction, politics and photography.
You’d be moithered trying to keep up with the political situation today. Brexit is at a tipping point, the economy is in pieces with the pandemic and the US election is finely poised and that’s just the headlines.
I bought some lovely heathers and fancy fragrant tulip bulbs in your honour and look forward to planting them and seeing them grow. This was always our time of year to head to the garden centre and choose delights to plant together.
So, goodnight and thanks for the thousands of happy memories.
Hope is beyond important and I sometimes wonder what it looks like.
I got a glimpse this morning as I saw the rapture of the dogs greeting the day. They tore out towards the backdoor but the oldest one hesitated for a split second and melted my eyes with his with a glance of love and gratitude. I headed into the kitchen with warmth in my heart and hope for the day ahead.
What’s your sense of what hope looks like?
Pubic Libraries in Ireland have changed utterly in the last few years and I am now totally in love with them.
As a child, I used to be terrified about all things library, especially of getting into what seemed like awful pickles with librarians over being late back with a book, having spilt some ink on a load of absorbent pages, left the book lying around so that a puppy had a good chew on it, not whispering low enough …..
Now, the fines have been abolished AND books are borrowed and returned using a self-service gadget.
The librarians are incredibly helpful and seem young and even hippyish.
I wonder has it all really changed or have I just got a bit older. If the same transformation could only happen with dentists, I’d be away on a hack. They have got younger and smilier but no self-service gadgets yet!
We have a scruffy rough and tumble little dog living with us for many years now since son, H, found him abandoned on the beach.
We tried everything but couldn’t find his owner. He is utterly devoted to H as if he is eternally grateful for having been taken in and given the love he craves.
H was away for a few days and nothing, just nothing, I did could calm the poor dog or reassure him that he hadn’t been abandoned yet again.
Two days and nights of soulful pining nearly broke my heart and the little black and white petal.
On H’s return, he finally capitulated and broke down in fits of coughing that were like gut-wrenching sobs.
A trip to the vet this morning showed that his poor throat is all inflamed from the stress of it all. But, relaxtion is finally returning now that he can see that his beloved owner is back and cares about him even more than ever.