St. Patrick’s Mother’s Day.

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(The Rock of Cashel – St Patrick definitely may have visited here (before the scaffolding and stone buildings))

Memories of my long weekend:

Saturday… sitting in the lounge of Brooklodge Hotel looking out the window, listening to wedding guests all dressed up and on their way to the church to see their friend/ sister/ daughter/ cousin/ brother get married. I sip soup. Very cosy here in the armchair.

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(St Patrick may have passed by here…)

Sunday…. sitting in my bed reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. The sun is streaming through the window, it’s 1pm and I’m waiting for the immersion to heat water for a shower (it’s an Irish thing possibly related to St. Patrick). Feet warming up nicely as I wait.

Monday….sitting on the sofa drinking a glass of water, after a marathon floor washing session. Positively baking hot here in my skin.

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(St. Patrick could have visited here…..)

Tuesday….. sitting in a car park in Maynooth waiting for the son to come back from an appointment. The birds are singing and it’s quite balmy here in the car. Whatever else happened during that weekend is gone, I can remember it… but it’s gone. If I read this in a year’s time or a month’s time or even a week’s time I may not even remember these bits. What’s real, here and now, are the birds singing and the warmth of the sun through the windows of the car.

What’s real, here and now? Mairead.

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