Most influential teacher and why?

Who was your most influential teacher? Why?

Well, I guess that would be a nun I had in my school.  I had just moved from the UK to Ireland and was 14.

She took an instant dislike to me.  She said “we didn’t ask to have you English people in our school and would be more than delighted to see the back of you”….

Also that i was  “a savage in the jungle and would amount to nothing”……just delightful for a nun.

I learned:

  1. Don’t take people in uniform at face value or too seriously.  Don’t believe they took the Oath, with good intentions, necessarily.
  2. Be understanding of difference.
  3. Not to be racist/discriminatory.
  4. Treat people with kindness and understanding.
  5. Strive to do the best that I could in all that I do.
  6. Be a good person. (Or good enough)
  7. Religion is a man made rule book and set of beliefs, not necessarily followed by those who preach it.
  8. Again, be a good enough person.
  9. Go visit the jungle before I die.

I guess she gave me a challenge, and I became more than she could ever predict!

The best Compliment….

authors own photo from screenshot!

So lately I have been doing some ‘exercise’ routines around the house. About to enter into my 6th decade, I want to go in fit and strong and these days, what better way to motivate and inspire, perhaps, is through tiktok…. New age fandangos!

So I have been uploading my little demo routines and my children of course, quite understandably, mortified. I say with a smile on my face and think, payback for their teenage years (I am joking of course, they were all little darlings, cough cough).

So, one of my daughters was on her phone and my tik tok came up and she apparently said ‘Oh god, what is nanny at now’ and my grandchildren rushed over to see, what indeed, I was up to now.

Charlie, my grandaughter, who is 8, quickly jumped to my defence and said to her mother, and I quote “would you rather have a lazy old weak mum or a fit, strong cool mum?”

I laughed and laughed and laughed and so did my daughter. So rock on Charlie, you have given nanny THE best compliment and for you, I strive to remain cool!

Daily writing prompt
What was the best compliment you’ve received?

Meant to be or not meant to be…that is the question?

I fluctuate between what I believe when it comes to the question “do you believe in fate/destiny”.

When I was younger I think I believed we were put here for a reason, and it was up to us to discover what the reason was and wherever we ended up, would be the answer, would be our fate, our destiny.

For example, having a certain plan for the day, and the day goes completely astray and looks nothing like how it was supposed to look, but by the end of the day, wherever and whatever has occurred, was meant to be. A lesson to be learned, or a new path laid out to show us the way.

The Robert Frost poem, ‘The road not taken’, has been interpreted by many and thought to be a metaphor to generalise life. However, perhaps he wrote it just because he came to a fork in the road and thought, “Hmmm, I wonder if I go down this road, where it will lead”. A road of discovery, of now knowing where it lead, and that is that.

The many trials and tribulations of life can drive us to the depths of despair or the heights of euphoria. From them, we learn a lot, usually about ourselves and how we responded to them. Highs can become like a drug and we seek it more and more and it can be addictive. Whereas lows, can bring us down, make us avoidant, or we may retreat, hibernate for a while.

Which ever scenario it is, we respond. So is the response a matter of fate or a matter of fact?

Is the drug of the high, whether it’s in a successful capacity or a damaging capacity, where our fate, our destiny, lies?

Are some people fated to be successful and rich because the universe says so, or is it because they are driven and worked hard? Is is because of their passion, their desire, their innate determination and tenacity? Billions of people work hard every day, but are not rich and may feel they are not successful.

Does the universe decide, well this is your fate because of the set of circumstances they are in. Perhaps they didn’t have the same opportunity as others, but none the less, work just as hard. Perhaps they are born in a poorer country that measures success in a different way to other countries.

Likewise if their drug, is literally a class A drug, or alcohol dependency, or gambling addiction, or sex addiction etc etc does that mean they are here, because that is their destiny, that is their fate?

As for the lows, the knocks, the blows that we inevitably have to accept as part of life, because that is life, it can harden people, it can soften people, it can open the minds of people, it can close the minds of people, because people have their own unique code and personality. They have their own internal set of skills to navigate and deal with life. Their own resilliences and coping mechanisms. So is that fate or personality?

Along this journey, we interact with people and places. Circumstances change and we have to adapt. Is this fate? Is this where we were meant to be in the first place, is this trial or tribulation a necessary thing to take us to this place? to this person? Perhaps. There is no knowing, is there?

I think it is a romantic notion. People often think of their relationships when they think of fate or destiny. We can make up answers to everything. We just have to speak it. Convince ourselves. Convince others. Influence others and believe that yes, it is fate.

Or, we can sit back and think i’m here because this is where I am choosing to be. On the journey, we meet people by chance. They may become an acquaintance, they may become a lot more than that, but we met them by chance. After that chance meeting, we make a choice as to what kind of relationship it will be.

We take a step in the dark sometimes, a leap of faith and hope for the best. Hope is just hope, it’s a desire, an expectation, something internal. The desire and expectation may be realised, or not. So does that mean it is down to fate or destiny? There is no way of categorically answering that question.

All we have is our own belief, our own opinion, and that is fine, we are entitled to have our beliefs and our opinions.

I have used that word before. I have had good and bad relationships. I have moved from house to house, country to country. I have met people by chance and chose to keep some close to me. I have learned a lot about myself along the way. My journey is not over. I can make connections of certain coincidences and say ‘it is fate’ and at that time I believe it to be so, but that doesn’t mean, it is the final destiny, because it can change.

There is one thing for sure and that it everything is certain to keep changing and that is all of our destiny’s.

Daily writing prompt
Do you believe in fate/destiny?

Exploring…

Kylemore Lough, Co. Galway. Authors own image.

There’s something quite exciting and beautiful about exploring. Also a sense of wonder and perhaps a little bit daunting, going into the unknown.

I sometimes wish every day was an adventure to somewhere new or something new, but then I guess, if it was everyday, it would be less exciting to discover it, or would it?

I don’t like mundane. I don’t like feeling in a rut. I don’t like everything to be the same, every day, like groundhog day. I am easily bored, so need a challenge or a change of scenery or learn a new skill, whatever, to keep my mind stimulated.

Currently I am attempting to learn Spanish, French and Irish (Gaelic) via duo lingo. I would like to have some comprehension and understanding of it and speak it enough to get me by. Its not easy and there are times I think I will never grasp it.

Soon I will be turning 60, so I want to be fit and strong. As a girl, I loved gymnastics and was very nimble. So now, my challenge for this year, is to be able to do a handstand again, without using the wall and perhaps cartwheel and hand flicks too! I do not like the gym, but I want to go into the next decade, strong, lean and fit! The practice has begun and is hilarious. I know there are plenty of 60 year olds and 70 year olds who are very fit and strong, but alas, I am definitely not what I used to be……yet! Watch this space……

First attempt at handstand, against the wall…. tiktok @mamacita9788
Discovering what I can do, or attempt to do…….

I love being out doors, in nature, going for walks, checking out the beautiful scenery that mother nature provides.

I love entertaining, from time to time and having friends over.

Sometimes I love to do nothing but enjoy my own company, curl up on the sofa and watch tv, or read or write something. Today is one of those days!

I have just been away for a few days with a friend to Connemara. We stayed in Clifden for one night and although there was a weather warning for wind and rain, we were pleasantly surprised that we got sunshine!

The landscape in Connemara is just spectacular. Rugged, wild, majestic giants of mountains, hills and valleys. Turquoise and blue oceans. We were blessed.

En route back towards home we decided to stay elsewhere another night. Sligo, only an hour from where I live, seemed a good place. Luckily the hotel had a vacancy.

We arrived, freshened up, got changed and headed out into the town for a couple of drinks, a bite to eat and then back to the hotel for a cocktail. Spontaneous extra night of chatting, connecting and exploring another town and what it has to offer at night time.

I have not stayed in either Clifden nor Sligo before, though I have previously visited both places during the day.

The hotel in Clifden, The Abbeyglen Castle Hotel, just a few minutes walk from the town, was a lovely warm and welcoming hotel. A brief and entertaining history talk about the hotel, with complimentary prosecco before dinner, was a lovely touch. The dinner was delicious and the entertainment was a hoot. I would definitely stay again. In the lounge room, decked with several comfy chesterfield sofas, beautiful art work, objet d’art and complimentary sweets in glass jars, for the taking, what’s not to like! 10 out of 10 for the little touches as mentioned above and especially for the warm welcome and attentive service of the staff .

We were recommended two pubs in Sligo town. W B Yeats town, I might add! Connollys (opposite the Glasshouse hotel over the bridge) and Hargadons (on the main street). We had a drink in each. Nice old world type pubs, good atmosphere and a friendly crowd. Hargadons was also good for food, but we got there too late for that. They stop taking orders for food at 7.45 ! We got a nice fish and chips in another pub called the Harp because by now we were ravenous. Fish was delicious, nice light batter and not too greasy,then it was back to the hotel for a cocktail and bed!

We were well worn out after our couple of days travelling, exploring, nattering, eating and drinking. Over all, a great couple of days away, letting the landscape in to nourish the soul.

Painting..

when a writing prompt takes you on a journey

Writing prompt : to use these 5 words….. Antoine, impasse, century, Montparnasse, espresso……

The River

Her beauty was a picture that could not be unseen

Oblivious to his eyes, she painted so carefree

Pont neuf, the oldest bridge in Paris, it stretched from east to west

For her the bright days painting, brought respite until the sun set

Cheerful in her creations the Seine was like a friend

The calming waters ran and flowed and she did not have to pretend

Just a simple girl, happy in her art

But night-time she would transform when dancing in Montmartre

And he a man of finery, a noble man no less

An 18th century revolutionary, a pioneer, a chemist

The discovery of oxygen and the role it played in combustion

Antoine Laurent Lavoisier a scientist, a husband, a humanitarian

While pondering Yvette the river running into the Seine

His goal to make the water pure for the Paris citizens

Is where he stumbled on the bridge, stopped dead there in his tracks

This beauty was a goddess unlike his wife in Montparnasse

He stood and watched her patiently as she packed away her paints

Then slowly he approached her and asked if she could wait

Excuse-moi mademoiselle, bonjour enchanté

May I accompany you across the bridge and join me in the café

I watched you paint the river Seine, a beauty you must show

Let us sit a while, talk, and drink a small espresso

Well taken aback she was for sure by a man of such standing

To want to acquaint with the likes of her was really quite confounding

Yet obliged she did, with a little wry smile, and indulged him in his quest

They sat and talked a little while quite content to be his guest

And soon the days and weeks passed by and here they would rendezvous

There was no denying the chemistry that charged between the two

And so it was inevitable that lovers they would become

And enjoy the flesh of the other despite where she came from

Oh, noble man he was a fool so lost in love and lust

With this courtesan upon his arm as day turned to dusk

And neither one could step across the river of such divide

An impasse, then they must submit, had stalled them in their stride

And so it should be noted that a parting must be done

For she was only decent, when painting in the sun

Letter writing

Can you remember the last time you wrote or received a letter, hand written. Chose the paper, licked the envelope and stamp and popped it in the post box? if not, perhaps its time to take up the importance of letter writing again.

I remember the anticipation and excitement when the post man would walk up the drive and I hoped and wondered if any of the letters were for me.

When I was 14, there was no such thing as social media. There was letter writing and a phone plugged into the wall, or in a phone box in the village, if you needed to call anyone.

This was our means of communication back in my youth of the 70’s.

Nowadays, we have txt, email, and all platforms of social media to communicate.

Today I ran our session at a weekly writing group I attend. The theme I used was the importance of letter writing.

It is said that letter writing originated, according to the ancient historian Hellanicus, with Atossa, the Queen of Persia. She was around 50 years old when she wrote the first letter around 500 BC. She was a woman of great influence, skilled and learned and people wanted to emulate her and become literate. She created this genre of communication which eventually formed the basis the postal service as we know it today (selectabase.co.uk).

So why, you might ask, do I think it is important? Well, it isn’t just a catalogue of events that are happening. It is a record, a hand written record, of time, place, thoughts, feelings and events. Even the handwriting itself, is a source of comfort and conversation, unlike txt.

It is personal, recognisable and often a source of joy to receive a letter, through the post, from a loved one, a friend, a partner or family member and long after the txt or email has been deleted or left in the in box, the hand written letter is a tangible document, that can be kept and stored.

I have letters that are 45 years old from friends of my youth. They are to me like treasure. Two of the writers of these letters are no longer with us, both passed young, so the letters are priceless. I run my finger over the ink. They bring me back to a time in my youth and they make me laugh. They are a source of comfort when I feel sad, they are evidence of all the antics that went on and a portrait of innocence of teenage girls. I am right back there, at that time, and I love that.

What strikes me though is nothing changes. The same trials and tribulations and angst we felt as teenagers, is felt by teenagers today.

I have a couple of books which I referenced in the group. One was ‘Love Letters of the Great War’. What was surprising about some of the letters contained in that book, was the positivity written. One talked of the lovely sunrise, the smell of lavender, the dew on the leaves shining like diamonds. I thought how sweet to write such positive things, during such a terrible event, so that his wife could feel comfort. What a treasure, that hand written letter must have meant to her.

The other book I referenced was ’84 Charing Cross Road’. This book, set from 1949, contains all the letters from Helene Hanff, a writer in New York to Frank Doel bookseller of Marks and Co Antiquarian book shop in London. The friendship which developed between the two and other staff members is fabulous. So much so that there were exchanges of Christmas packages, birthday gifts and even food parcels, due to food shortages in Britain after the war.

Both are books I would recommend. They are wholesome and heartwarming and bring us to a place and time, that is right at the heart of the writers.

I think I like poetry because it too is often quite like writing a letter. It expresses thoughts and feelings especially to loved ones. Patrick Kavanagh’s ‘In memory of my mother’, to me is like a love letter to her, it is so poignant, so beautiful and something I can relate to, having lost my own mother last year.

Finally, another poem, described as the greatest poem composed in either Ireland or Britain by Eibhlin Dubh Ni Chonaill. She wrote a lamant about her beloved husband, Airt Ui Laoghaire, who was killed. The year was 1773. The poem is known as a caoineadh (keena) a keen, a lamant for Art O’Laoghaire.

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1712381318811033

This keen, this lament has been the inspiration of the the Book ‘A ghost in the throat‘ by Doireann Ni Ghriofa. A book that spans time and distance, yet, connects these two women in txt and became an influence in Doreann’s life.

Whether today, or tomorrow, write a letter, with your own hand, write it to a loved one, let them recognise your handwriting as is drops on the floor through the letterbox, let them delight in the news you wish to tell and let them keep this treasure, in a box, or bag, or book and let this be a way to future proof yourself in their life and beyond.

A Midnight Dreary

When love is blind, it can be hard to see the woods for the trees

Images – authors own.

Once upon a midnight dreary – inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s, The Raven – a prompt for my writing group.

Happy he was the day he wed

The girl of his dreams, ‘I do’ he said

His heart filled with love, just bursting with joy

She so quiet, reserved, coy

A spring in his step, a glint in his eye

So happy and full, it oft made him sigh

The touch of her skin, the smell of her hair

The deep blue of her eyes

He could not help, but stare

She’d walk by the lake, a gentle stride

And carrying her book, she would escape or hide

She’d sit by the tree, the large Sycamore

And sometimes she’d lay right down on the lawn

One day, early evening, as a fog did descend

He saw her talking, he thought, to her friend

On closer inspection, he saw it a man

And wondered whether, she needed some help

He then heard laughter as she threw her head back

And saw him caress her, lay his lips on her neck

A red mist grew inside him and he spotted the gun

One shot, then two and the deed was done

Into the lake, he sailed her away

And night after night, he replayed that day

And once upon a midnight dreary

He swore he heard her sweet voice so clearly

Repeating a word, he could not make out

Until closer it got, until it was loud

‘Murderer, murderer, I’ll curse you for life

For my life had ended when you made me your wife!

My Mother …

Mother – The matriarch, a woman, a parent, a friend…. A person like no other….

mother, child, matriarch, friend….

It has been a year since my mother died

And when I think of her, which is every day, several times

As much as I mourn her passing, it brings to mind, her living

Her living past

Entwined with mine

Memories from childhood

A time, for example, when she lay out a new dress upon my bed, as a surprise for me

because that morning, I cried when she put my hair in a ponytail, and I didn’t like it in a ponytail,

 ‘I look like a boy’ I cried, I was 7 years old

I think of the time I tried to cycle my brothers bike out the gate and it was a bit too big for me

I wobbled on its frame and my little hands on the handlebars wobbled it this way and that

Until I fell off and she came running to help me up

I cried, first with the pain, then with laughter, and she cried with me and we were both in hysterics, laughing.   I was 8 years old.

I think of the time when I was 9 years old and I fell in the canal.  I could not swim.   I was terrified she would find out

She did, of course, mothers always find out!

She hugged me tight because she knew I was alright, unlike her brother who had drowned when he was only 14 years old

I saw the pain and relief in her face and I knew then, I would learn to swim and not mess about  the next time I had a swimming lesson at school.

I think of her laughter, her smiling eyes and the way they would light up

Her joy and excitement as I brought my own children into the world

Her love, her kindness and her generosity

I think too, of times when we would disagree and fight

Of how we would overcome the obstacles and begin again

I think of her courage at learning to drive in her late 50s and passing her test first time

I think of her learning to paint when she couldn’t even draw, and produce wonderful pieces of art, which hang on my walls

I think of her sacrifices to keep house and home together, when she could have been free

I think of her garden and how she nurtured it and brought it to life

When I think of my mother, I think of her beside me and I see her face, and that makes me happy

I think that even though I know  she has gone, I know too, that she is still here

my mother…. A woman of substance….

Before….

Living with grief is a way of life one has to adjust to…..but its just not easy

I think of everything in terms of ‘before’

especially when I look at photos,

or where I was on a certain day, occasion, that sort of thing.

For instance, a week before I knew, I brought the girls to see the new house.

A day before, I knew, I drove up to Sligo for a week-end of pampering

and relaxation, because he was due to have major surgery the following week.

The next day would become the ‘day I knew’.

It was the day before I collected the keys to the new house and you were to soon come to visit.

That day, was the day that the world changed.

That was the day that became ‘before’.

Everything after this day, became dark and grew darker with each passing day.

Until 9 days later it grew so dark it was black, because now you were gone.

You were gone and we were all still here, bereft, bewildered, lost

in shock, despairing and gasping for air.

Nine days of clinging on to hope, searching and praying for a miracle,

but it wasn’t to be.

It’s almost three years now, yet everything since then, after then,

has been foggy, unstable.

The shift is like an un-anchoring of a ship, and the ship

is adrift, wading through unknown waters and somehow stays afloat,

but it’s rocky out there a lot of the time.

And when calm waters come , it give a sense of solace, for a short time.

Until the remembering slaps so sharply and slams the reality of it all

so intensely that the ship almost tips over and sinks.

Before you left, the world was so much brighter and lighter

and after? Well, I carry you in my heart, every minute of every day

The day ‘I Knew’ photo authors own – ‘waiting on the shore’ Rosses Point, Sligo