Newsletter

Thank you Aunty Phil!

| Mairead

(Butterfly in Powerscourt Gardens)

The Happy Pear cafe/restaurant/vegetable shop in Greystones has come up with another healthy idea. They are asking people to donate their old bicycles, no matter what condition. They will fix them up and then make them available free-to-ride around the town, just like the blue bicycles in Dublin and other cities. Then you can leave your car on the edge of town and borrow a bike and ride around to get your groceries or to just meet friends.

(No pictures of The Happy Pear – a happy cabbage instead?)

That got me thinking about when I first came to live in the big city (Dublin) when I was nineteen. My mother organised that I would live with my aunt, who was (and still is!) just three years older than me. I had just got into a computer course with a small software house and she was at university in Trinity. She travelled in each day on her bicycle. At home in Cashel, I used my bike once in a while and usually only rode it on the footpaths…. nevertheless, it was decided I would need my bicycle. As my course was on her way and I didn’t know (for a while…) how to get there, we rode together most mornings.

(Old stone wall on the Aran Islands)

It would probably have been the bravest thing I ever did, if I thought it was dangerous. But I didn’t. My aunt taught me how to weave in and out through the traffic – there were no cycle lanes then. She taught me that it was essential to be at the front of the traffic when the lights went from red to green. She taught me that I had as much right to be using the road as the cars, buses (no bus lanes either) and trucks, and she taught me to believe that. Because, once I knew I belonged on the road, the other road users knew it too and they gave me space.

(Old stones on the beach)

She did all of this without telling me anything. But in her every behaviour she told me by example.

Be the example of what you want in the world, Mairead.

PS. Thank you Auntie Phil!

The front of the Westport train goes to Galway

| Mairead

(Comfy throws at my Somatics class)

I was travelling on the 7.30am train from Dublin to Westport, last year. I had brought my crochet needle and wool, a magazine, bottle of filtered water, snacks, a pen and some paper. It’s a three and a half hour journey, I wanted to be prepared! Something you may not know about that Dublin to Westport train is that it goes to Galway too. Well, only the front bit of the train goes to Galway. It’s an efficiency thing, I think. The whole train goes as far as Athlone and then the front bit is unhooked and it goes onto Galway while the back bit goes to Westport. A bit worrisome the first time I travelled on it,  but once I realised which bit of the train I needed to be sitting in, it was fine.

(Rua the horse)

Anyway, this time I had spread my things out on the table and was settling into my crochet when the ticket collector came to check my ticket. He also checked the ticket of a male passenger (there was only two of us in the carriage) in a seat on the other side of the aisle from me. It seemed the man was going to Galway, but here he was sitting in the back bit of the train. The bit that was going to Westport! (Are you’re feeling my anxiety here?) Anyway, the ticket man explained that he needed to go to the front of the train and the man nodded. But… he didn’t move……

(Sally the angel and her stars)

The ticket man left to check the passenger’s tickets in the next carriage. I was doing my best to concentrate on my crochet and remain calm (why was I so worried?) when the man for Galway gets my attention by showing me his ticket and pointing to a station we are flying past.

I realise something….. he can’t talk.

I read his ticket, it said Galway (which I knew). I can talk so I assumed I could communicate. But I couldn’t. Not that I didn’t try. I did try…. (remember the problem with trying….?)

(Thierry’s cook books)

First, I spoke very clearly and concisely, saying, “No, you must move to the front of the train for Galway.” He nodded, and smiled, a lot, but he still didn’t move. So I had another idea, I wrote the same message on my notebook and handed it to him. He smiled and nodded again but still didn’t move. I began using hand gestures towards the front of the train. He had a lovely smile…. but he still didn’t move. My message was not being understood. I was starting to feel anxious again. There was still another hour until we arrived in Athlone, there was still time for him to get to the right part of the train. I had to come up with a plan. So I did. I decided I would take him by the arm and guide him to the front of the train just before we arrived in Athlone.

(Poker food….)

But I had a problem…. I had been up since 5am to get this train and I was now starting to feel drowsy. Usually I just doze off at some point but now I couldn’t possibly close my eyes in case I was asleep when we got to Athlone! While I’m contemplating this I look over and the man has fallen asleep! Now we are close to Athlone, I am a nervous wreck and I’ve ripped the crochet five times.

And then the ticket man returns.

(Poker chips)

He patiently wakes the man and tells him it’s time to move to the front of the train and communicates this somehow because the man gets up and follows him…. but not before giving me a big smile, a lovely smile.

And I thought….. there was nothing for me to worry about. I didn’t need to fix anything. All is well. It always was….

All is well, Mairead.

I know what you mean…..

| Mairead

(Fred among the weeds)

Something funny is happening to my computer today. I think it might need that debugger that Apple were announcing. Funny thing is ….. my cat, Fred, is unwell too….. not too sure what’s wrong, just not himself. It’s funny how when you live with a pet for a while you get to know their personality. Their behaviour. Almost what they’re thinking…..

(Fred knitting)

For example when I get up in the morning, he gets my attention from outside by making rubbing sounds on the window with his paws. As soon as I open the door he leans up against my leg and I rub his head. We walk together to the larder where he meows his wish for me to get his food out. When he’s sure I have the food he runs over to his bowl and waits there for me to catch up. He likes to start with dried food and then follows that with a little packet of fish in gravy. He’s a fish-eating vegetarian… doesn’t like meat.

(Fred considering his next move)

After breakfast he goes for a little lie down on the sofa and for the rest of the day he only comes near me when he wants more food. He doesn’t like being picked up and rarely sits on my knee. When he wants to go outside he walks over to the back door (if he wants to go out the back) or the hall door (if he wants to go out the front). If I haven’t noticed, he walks over to me, gives me the look and then looks at the chosen door. I find it impossible not to jump up and do what he wants.

(Fred checking his mail)

It’s easy to read a cat. Like reading a human, really. Someone gives us the look and we know straight away what it means.

But…. do we?

Maybe not, maybe humans are a bit more complicated than cats (not always as cute but definitely more complicated). Next time a significant other gives you the look, ask them, “Does that look mean….?”. They could surprise you, it might mean something really interesting…… like, “Please open the front door”. That’s what Fred’s look means.

Sorry about the cat photos, Mairead.

What do you need?

| Mairead

(Willow, the dog)

There are lots of flowers growing in our garden at the moment. Sounds good, but… most of them are weeds. One which hasn’t started flowering yet has already grown to the height of the clothes line. Why are weeds more likely to thrive than the nice flowers? Is it because I give them what they need? Room to grow and nothing else.

(Lavender in our garden for the fly prevention, the calm and the lack of effort……)

I met Lusi today. She and her husband Gary, work with willow. They make, among other things, fencing that flows. I like the sound of that. I think it means fencing that follows the flow of the space where it stands. She knows the willow very well, she knows what it needs. In her garden she has created a living willow circle. Each willow branch is planted into the ground and then intertwined with its fellow plants, and they all grow together. She knows when to plant the willow and when it’s ok to prune it. And when she prunes it, that allows the main branch to grow stronger. Her living willow is thriving.

(Willow weaving)

Could this apply to us? If we get what we need we will thrive? If we have room to grow we will grow? If we cut out the things that we don’t need then we will grow stronger? If we trust the space where we stand we will flow?

Grow and flow, Mairead.

Debugger is not a rude word!

| Mairead

(Old door handle at Sheena’s house)

Last Friday night Denis and I sat on the sofa together and watched a session from the Apple Developers Conference. I was not sitting there because I wanted to watch grown men applaud software – it was Denis’ turn to choose a movie…..

(Avoca in Ashford serves Robins too)

But, you know, after a while it started to get interesting. This particular session was about a new debugger. Yes, that’s a real word (isn’t it great, it sounds rude, but it’s completely legal!). A debugger is a software program that helps programmers to de-bug (take out bugs, errors, faults from) the software they are writing. So if you’ve written a piece of software and it’s not doing what you thought it would be doing you use a debugger.  It steps through the lines of code you’ve written and shows you what’s happening, every step of the way. So you can see which line of code caused the problem. Apple have gone to great lengths to add lots of helpful bits to their debugging software, to provide more useful information and to make it even easier to use. And lots of people (well…men) at the conference were very pleased.

(Look! A heart-shaped stone!)

That got me thinking. Wouldn’t it be really helpful if we had a personal debugger. It could be attached to our phones or even better it could fit in our ear….. Then when something we’re not expecting happens, the debugger could replay the scene step by step and we would see what’s gone wrong, and change it.

(Daisies)

So for example: You’re chatting with significant other (could be partner, mother, friend, sibling) and suddenly (or slowly) you realise you are really irritated and you have even begun to say some potentially damaging stuff. What’s more, you’re saying it out loud! The “other” either storms off / says some of their own stuff / starts to sob / looks stunned – take your pick.

(Little kitten legs…. cute)

Wouldn’t it be great at this moment to be able to click the debugger in your ear and find the moment where it all went wrong? Then change that line of code so it wouldn’t go wrong again? We have loads of code in our heads, written by others or written by us for a good reason, at the time, but the time is different now. We are much more intelligent than any computer, so we can debug our own code just by noticing it.

Debug yourself, Mairead.

My new love……

| Mairead

(Railway track – there was nothing coming…)

Today as I write (Monday) my sister and her family have woken up in their new life in Canada. A few hours later than us and six degrees warmer (information via iPhone). I know they are enjoying the experience and I know one of their bags is missing (information via Facebook).

(Oops!)

Because of the internet and its many handy little applications (and my sister’s love of writing in Facebook!) I know their every little movement. Twenty-five years ago my brother left Ireland to live in Australia. There was no iPhone, no Skype, no Facebook. He wrote letters and we replied. He made expensive phone calls with long delays and we listened. These days my mother has a Facebook account and can tell me what my daughter is doing.

(Weeds beside the tracks)

My relationship with Facebook up to now has been rocky. But today for the first time I see the value of it. I see his worth. My appreciation is growing, in fact there’s a possibility I may become infatuated. Or should that be addicted? I now realise it is a device for making the world smaller. Although it is very expensive… in time, for something special like keeping in touch with people who are far away, it is worth the cost.

(Stones on the beach, with Bray Head in the background))

Already I’m wondering what my sister had for breakfast.

What’s on your mind? Mairead

Morning Pages

| Mairead

(Come on in….)

A long time ago I read the book The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. In it, there’s an exercise called Morning Pages. The idea is that every morning before you do anything else, you take our your A4 pad and your pen and write without stopping for three pages. What do you write? The first thing that comes into your head and if nothing does, you write “nothing is coming into my head” and usually that’s all it takes for something to come into your head!

(Patterns)

I think the rational for this exercise is two-fold. One, it’s practice at writing and two, it clears all the thinking stuff out of your head and onto the page. When the thinking stuff is gone, then there’s space for the good stuff. The good stuff is wise and helpful and intuitive. The kind of stuff that gets buried under the worry and trouble and problems. The whole process  is a bit like weeding a vegetable patch so that your crops can grow.

(Pink geraniums)

I wrote my Morning Pages for at least eighteen months. Clearing the thinking stuff was very useful and of course I enjoyed the writing. But the added bonus was the structure and discipline of daily practice. Practice makes Perfect. In order to become good at something we need practice. That includes being calm or staying grounded or accepting ourselves or living a less is more kind of life or whatever it is that floats your boat! We need to practice…. daily.

(More patterns)

Practice, practice, practice, Mairead.

Why are we here?

| Mairead

(More patterns)

I’ve started my de-clutter project. So far my room is beginning to feel clear and un-cluttered….. in one corner. This isn’t going to be a rush job. It took a long time to get this way, it will take more than one day to undo.

I noticed as soon as I got up this morning I was ready to begin and that got me thinking about intention. Intention is very interesting. It’s where you consciously decide how you want to be, or how you’re want a situation to be. Then, it acts as a guiding light drawing you towards exactly that. So in effect yesterday I set the intention of clearing the clutter today. Because I had written about it, it was very clear in my mind what my intention was and it corresponded with what I wanted to happen. Ok, I still had to empty the drawers – it’s not magic but it is easier.

(Hanging around on Bray Promenade)

Each time we get into the car to drive we start off with an intention. To go to work, the shops, the garage, the airport. A long time ago when my daughter was little and I was running late, I drove to the supermarket instead of her play-school. I was thinking of what we needed for dinner. When the car stopped, she said “This isn’t my school, why are we here?”

(And more patterns)

If we do not consciously set the intention then we get the default and what’s worse it’s usually the thing we fear happening. So for example, if you hate social occasions, then the default intention as you enter a party is  something like, “I’m going to hate this.”. You definitely didn’t want that. A more useful intention might be “I’m going to notice people or things I like about this party”. Now your attention has a focus other than your dislike of the situation.

(Somewhere a farmer intends to feed his animals for the winter)

Intention focuses the attention. Do you want your attention to be on what you fear happening? Or what you’d love to happen? What would you love to happen? Put your attention on what you’d love to happen by setting that as your intention. Hint: Start small!

Where are you driving to? Mairead

Let the Bag Decide

| Mairead

(You can never have enough tin cans…. or blue paint…..)

On holidays, a small bag was the only storage available for my worldly goods. There’s only so much luggage a motorbike can carry and it’s not as much as a small car! At first it seemed impossible. How would I fit everything I needed? Maybe it was impossible.

But Denis devised a mantra which he delivered faithfully whenever I asked if there was room for something new….. “Let the Bag Decide”. By this he meant, if it fits in the (small) bag then there was room for it.. but the bag had to close……..

(You can never have enough baskets……)

So I had to prioritise. I had to bring less. I had to choose what was important to me. Not a bad exercise. But the surprising things? It was amazingly freeing, really…… and easy to keep tidy…. and easy to pack up….. and easy to unpack….. and it took me less time to choose what I would wear each morning, not a small saving!…… and I didn’t miss the stuff I didn’t bring.

(Maybe you can have too many CDs…)

Back home there’s no need to prioritise. If I think I might wear something I hang onto it just in case. It’s not just clothes. So I was thinking it’s time for a new mantra:   “Less is More”

Starting tomorrow (too busy tidying up to start today…) I’m doing a de-clutter.

(You can never have too many board games……)

How many shoes do I really need? Could five rain coats be excessive, even if it is raining in June? Can I survive the loss of the old paint cans in the shed? Will I regret dumping (in the recycle bin) the jam jars I’ve been saving for…. mm… for something?

Less is More, Mairead