Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

When I was young, I read all the fairytales. The pretty ones. The sparkly ones. The dark. And the doomful.

 

Most of us did, right?

 

But I wonder…did they have the same effect on everyone else? (If I were feeling silly, I’d insert that little guy here…the one with his finger and thumb resting on his chin. And a pensive look on his little face. (Ah, go on. He’s one of my favorites)

thinking-face

Stories like Hansel and Gretel and Little Red Riding Hood. Sleeping Beauty. And The Three Little Pigs.

 

Ohhh yes. I slurped that sinister stuff up like it was flowing from a big huge straw.

 

And it’s strange. Because I’m a realist in most areas of my life. Yet somehow, I’m gullible in this one regard. Probably because I’m a sucker for a great story.

 

I want to believe. Buy in. Exist amongst enchanting pages. And nestle safely between their protective covers. But hey. Only if there’s a good bricklayer about to keep the wolves at bay…I wouldn’t chance landing over in Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and HAM.

 

Anyway, back to my point. And it’s this. As a young girl, I believed in fairy tales.

 

I believed I could wish upon a star.

 

Or a birthday candle.

 

Or a dandelion.

 

And that it would come true. My wish. Whatever it was.

 

And I want that back. My faith. My belief. My gullibility. My trust in the process.

 

That if I dare to wish. Take the leap. And drink from the fountain. That it’ll pay off. That I won’t just be left holding a smoldering wick and a wilting stem.

 

That I can erect my own fairy tale.

 

That I can get back what I lost when I was young.

 

But I need you to believe with me…

 

So are you ready?

 

Okay now…

1

2

3

Blow…

Wish

Photo taken at Nendrum Castle Lookout, Co Down, NI

 

Read Full Post »

Memories are fickle things.

 

They try so hard to keep us happy. And other times, are set on breaking us. Into the tiny little crumbs we find in the seams of our pockets.

 

Remember those?

 

Memories are illusionists. And they are the boss. They can have us staring off into the star-studded sky. Cue the dopey grin. And in one fell swoop. Taking a swipe at tears we swiftly find kerplunking into the darkness of our coffee cups.

 

But whatever the case—sad or happy—memories are invaluable. Irreplacable.

 

And we’re glad of them, aren’t we.

 

Always looking to make more. Searching for the next chance. The next stolen moment.

 

And while that’s okay—it is, after all, what keeps us going—it’s important to relish in the ones that already exist. Invite them in. Spend time. Offer them a teacake. Make them feel special.

 

Wanted

 

Needed

 

Important

 

And loved

 

Because sometimes. When we’re busy searching for the next best thing.

 

We forget.

 

That we can just put our hands in our pockets. And drag our fingers through those unexpected, joyful and delectable little tidbits. Relish their different shapes and sizes. And say…

 

“I’ve got everything I need right here.”

TunnocksTeacake

Read Full Post »

My time here is coming to an end. Normally, the word slowly might have been in there, but not so…this time. This time, time is running round the room. And I’m chasing its cheeky little naked bum, telling it to stop.

And settle down.

Behave.

But time is a rascal, isn’t it? It doesn’t listen when we pray for it to hurry up. And it sticks its fingers in its ears and hums a defiant little tune when we beg it to slow down.

We can plead with it. Finesse it. Scold it. And we can try to get it into that elusive bed.Tuck it in tight.

So it can’t move.

But those mischievous little hands will keep right on ticking. Showing us who’s boss. No matter what tactic we take.

And it’s because of this I’m finding it best to ignore time. Ohh yes. For now, I’ll just set it in front of the telly with a big bowl of sweet stuff. And maybe. If I’m lucky. I’ll be able to steal away a few more of its precious moments. You know…while its having a good chuckle at something we wouldn’t understand.

Because, you see, time also has a truly wicked sense of humor.

TheShrigleyClock3

Read Full Post »

Moments…

 

They come and go. And most times, sneak past us on tiptoes, slipping away as silently as they entered.

 

And we miss them.

 

But not lately. Lately, each one is noticed. And appreciated.

 

Whether it be…hard or sad. Crafted. Fleeting. Special or mundane. Every single one is precious. Unrepeatable.

 

And sometimes, all we’ve got.

 

So stand strong. Watch from that lookout that’s threatening to collapse around you. Hunt for them. Steal them if you have to. And hang on. Don’t let even one escape.

 

Because these are the moments, my friends. And it’s tempting to believe that they’ll never end.

 

But they will.

 

Over and over again.

Nendrumlookout

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

Ironing.

 

I have to admit that although I have 100% British blood racing through my veins, I don’t iron a damn thing unless it’s absolutely necessary. But it’s different here. So I’m different here. And when I first arrived, I had to iron, of all things, sheets.

 

And a duvet cover.

 

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever attempted this task, but I’ve lived in the land of tumble dryers for many years and I can say with certainty that I never have—Okay now…it might not be just because of where I live—and that particular morning, it was arduous. Trying. And taxing. For me.

 

Five weeks I’ve been here now. In the UK. And this morning, I once again, saddled the old board with yet another billowy, seemingly endless sheath of heavy fabric. But this time, the iron glided over it as smoothly as skates on ice and before I could have the satisfaction of shouting, Blimey, I hate ironing, I was done.

 

A very different experience than the first time round.

 

And it proved to me, it really is all about frame of mind. Whether it be that you’ve simply decided ironing isn’t all that bad or that life has shown you what the meaning of hard truly is, it’s the way you think about things that will make the difference.

 

And a difference can sometimes be your steam. And that steam’ll blow the wrinkles out from where they have no business being.

Iron

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

I’m still here.

 

Yes. Here.

 

And here.

 

In my turret, looking out over the crumbly beauty of this sleepy little place. Only today, things aren’t as clear as when I wrote to you from my crystal harbor view.

 

Ohh, but our minds are powerful, aren’t they? And what’s in them determines how we start our day. And respectfully, how we end it.

 

But it’s said that we hold the power to change.

 

Our minds.

 

The way we think. And react. And deal with the circumstances of our lives. And although it can be far from easy, it is possible.

 

We have to strap on our harnesses. Tighten our suspenders. And pull up our socks. Maybe even scale a few towers. Who knows. Whatever it takes. To make ourselves see through the muddle that can descend. Often without warning. No foghorn announcing its arrival. Many times, no chance to gird our loins.

 

It’s not always easy to get through. Or over. And a seemingly simple switch of sorts won’t work every time. But it’s always worth a try. Because magic is forever in the air. Just waiting to be plucked by the most persistent stars.

 

But we have to look up.

 

Find it.

 

What ever it is that makes us whole.

 

Because even when it’s hazy, every Prince…and every Princess…can see their own castle through the fog.

As long as they believe it’s there.

foggycastle

 

Read Full Post »

We’re friends, right? Yes, I know we are. Know how? Well…you’re here. Reading this post.

 

I’ve been gone a long time. But you’re not mad. Or angry. You’re not even upset. Maybe missing me—I secretly hope—a little sad even, and that’s natural. It means you’re a good human. You care. But what you’re not doing is questioning my intent. Or commitment. Or the relationship we’ve built together, just because you haven’t heard from me for a while.

 

And I appreciate that.

 

That secure, connected feeling is the sign of a strong, healthy bond. Being able to be without someone, or something, for very long periods of time…sometimes forever. But somehow still knowing that you could knock the door during a stolen moment, and be welcomed with open arms.

 

Because life can be prickly enough, can’t it? Without having to worry whether our comrades are questioning our loyalty. Or better yet, our hearts.

 

Life can take us places. Down roads we weren’t expecting. Often ones we don’t want to be on. Roads that can sometimes make it impossible to be consistently in touch. And while these diversions are not always welcome, we can sometimes find certain and once again, unexpected crumbs of joy in the corners of their pockets.

 

Today, I am lucky enough to be writing to you, coated in delectable crumbs, from the corner of this stunning pocket. A small slice of joy on an unforeseen road.

HarbourWriting

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: