(Opening up)
(Busy outside)
(Art in Heart)
Secret Project… Shush!
Ok, I’m working on a very secret project at the moment, incredibly secret, incredibly project and very very. So for the foreseeable future I will only be able to post photographs, no words (except for the photo descriptions). But you may be able to decode the photos?!*% Possibly? If you don’t feel up to the job of decoding you may be able to enjoy the photos instead. Here we go…..
(This happens when you put the camera into the greenery)
(Beautiful blue)
(Flowers reaching for the sun)
Shush! Mairead.
Be careful with the lettuce….
(Perfect Hands… Granny and grandchild)
I will be giving a talk in Dublin on Tuesday night and one of the sections is about being unique. I was thinking… we’ve heard it all before…. each person is unique. From our finger prints to our retinas to our heartbeats, we’re all different. We even look different. Of course we know this already, it’s normal, ordinary… and so it’s lost. Uniqueness needs to be connected to our everyday life. When I look in the mirror I don’t think about my particular eyes being the only eyes exactly like them on the planet. I’m more interested in what I’m wearing (do my clothes fit in?) How I look? (do I look normal?) Is my hair brushed? (will people think I’m a homeless bum?) Is there lettuce in my teeth? When I look at my hands I don’t notice the intricate patterns that are mine alone.
(Perfect Hands… Aunt and Niece)
We watched a movie the other night about the guy who created the FBI, J. Edgar Hoover. He realised that fingerprints would be a great way to identify law breakers. Before that it was only possible to identify criminals or potential criminals from their photograph and if they were seen in the act of law breaking. But fingerprints are left behind after the person has gone and fingerprints are unique.
(Perfect Hands… artist)
Why would any of us worry about being as good as or as smart as or as pretty as or as successful as anyone else? Do we ever wonder if our fingerprints are “good” fingerprints. Are they smart fingerprints? Are they pretty? Are they successful as fingerprints? Yes, yes, yes, they are perfect fingerprints and only because they are ours. They would not be perfect glued onto anyone else…. they would be counterfeit. Fraud.
(Perfect Hands…. another artist)
So, as I look in the mirror this morning I will be brushing my hair and extracting lettuce but mainly I’ll be looking for what makes me different; what makes me unique; what makes me a perfect specimen of me. And it’s not just the stuff on the outside that’s unique, it’s a combination of everything about me. A combination of all the things I love, all the things I like, all the things I hate, the way I relax, the way I cry, the way I get mad, the stories that inspire me. Every little thing about me bundled all together is unique and is a perfect me.
Seriously, is there lettuce in my teeth? Mairead.
Fear and Hand Holding in Swansea…..
(Butterfly enjoying the sun)
The last stop on our Round the United Kingdom, Short Motorbike Tour was Swansea. We went there to attend our daughter’s end of year exhibition. Twelve movies in one evening… don’t worry they were short, about five minutes each. Ciara wrote and directed her movie and she also had an acting role. She played a lesbian. The evening before one of her friends asked her if she was afraid that people would think she was gay. She said she had worried about that for the previous six months…. it was too late now. It was more important to get her message out there, afraid or not, other people’s judgements or not.
(Butterfly enjoying some lavender)
When you want to follow your dream, and live your life with purpose, there are sometimes scary things you’ll need to do. And you’ll wonder if this is a good idea…. this sharing of your dream, your wishes, your message, your contribution to healing the world. What will people think? What will they say? How will they treat you? Will they be different? Will they ever speak to you again? Will they understand? Will their judgement resonate with your own judgement of yourself… and make it impossible for you to continue….. when they think you’re not good enough?
(Mosaic butterfly in garden at Bloom)
I will include a link so you can watch Ciara’s movie, if you choose. If you do watch you may hear her message. You may understand her message. Or you may miss her message. You may think she is brave. You may think she’s foolhardy. You may get stuck in wondering if she’s gay or not. Whatever you get from the watching, one thing I have learned from my judgement of others is that my thoughts and words say more about me than they do about the one I judge. That’s what I got from watching movies on a warm Friday night in Swansea.
What are you saying about yourself? Mairead.
Really, Moira, it was no trouble :)
(View from the dart)
Friday was an odd day. I went to Dublin on the Dart. I didn’t bring an umbrella, probably just as well – gusting winds. I didn’t bring a hat, so hair a bit streely (old Tipperary word meaning… well, not good.) On the return journey something on the train line to Greystones broke and I had to get off at Bray, where there was more rain and windy gusts and also some inspiration…..
(Simple Daisies)
It’s the kind of day you should stay home and sit by a warm fire, but two weeks ago I promised my sister I’d deliver something and I hadn’t done it. Oh, it seemed like such a small thing when she asked and it was, I love going into Dublin. It’s just I never got around to doing it (does this remind anyone of the gardening?) I had even begun to get specific, promising that I would do it on Thursday… but I didn’t. So Friday was the day. The Met. Office had issued weather warnings but I’d have to start lying to my sister if I didn’t go now. I couldn’t do that…. could I? No, of course not.
(The delivery…. “Head over Heels” Alan Ardiff)
Anyway, I went, and on the way home as an announcement proclaimed the broken thing in Greystones I met a young woman. She had been on her way to Greystones too and heard me talking on the phone to Denis (isn’t he great, he offered to pick me up in Bray?) She asked if I could take her from the train into the station. She was blind and didn’t know this station well enough to navigate it on her own. I was inspired by her trust. Not just her trust in me but the bigger trust… her trust in a benevolent world, her trust that everything would be okay enough to go outside and navigate in the dark. Her trust that she would get to her destination. I was also inspired by her willingness to ask for help.
Trust and ask for help… simple. Mairead.
Horas non numero nisi serenas!
(A bit of the sundial and fountain. Sorry, I chopped off the pretty parts…)
In the end we went to Powerscourt House and Gardens. The house for lunch and coffee, the gardens for flowers and graves. One of the other choices was Wexford and we picked well because they got an awful lot of rain in Wexford on Wednesday. We got the sun… and then some shade because it was too bright and then some breeze because it was a bit hot and then some sun because it got a little chilly. I suppose we got everything we needed except rain (which we didn’t need anyway).
(The Dolphin Pond)
We began our adventure in the gardens and the leaflet told us that this first section, called the Italian Gardens, was designed in the 1840’s by Daniel Robertson and that it took 100 men over twelve years to complete. Well then… seems like all the best gardens take more time than you might think sensible to complete….
(One of the gravestones in the pet’s graveyard)
I looked up Daniel Robertson and I read that he went bankrupt in England and afterwards moved his gardening business to Ireland. The gardens at Killruddery, where we went to the food market, were designed by him also. The latin inscription over the sundial in the Italian Garden, says “Horas non numero nisi serenas“, I do not count the hours unless they are tranquil. Because of his previous difficulties (with the bankruptcy) I thought Daniel’s choice of Latin quote might be significant, maybe an insight into how he coped, but for the life of me I couldn’t make sense of it…. if you were tranquil why would you bother counting the hours at all!
(The Pepperpot Tower – built for the children of the house. It was modelled on a pepper pot from Lord Powerscourt’s dining table.)
Turns out (thanks Google!) that this latin inscription is on a fountain in Venice also and the word count can be replaced with remember…I do not remember the non-peaceful hours. In other words I put my attention on the times that I have been at peace, when all was well, I carry the peace from my past with me. If Daniel hadn’t found a way to carry the peace with him we might have been walking through fields yesterday.
Nice work, Daniel. Mairead.
My garden is in the work phase.
(Not my garden… another view of the Birds and Bees garden at Bloom)
The sun is shining and it was very easy to get out of bed, not least because I’m off on an adventure with Ashleigh and Megan today. I’m not too sure where we’re going (the location has changed three times since Monday:)) but I will bring my camera and if there’s any good shots you’ll see them tomorrow. This reminds me of how excited I was to get out of bed when I was pulling weeds in the garden. Since we got back from holidays I kinda forgot about the gardening. I did have a quick dig on bank holiday Monday but for some reason the excitement has gone out of it and all that remains is the work….
(Not my garden yet… also from Bloom)
I do know that I enjoy digging and pulling and planting and watering. I know that I like the colour that appears within days or weeks of sowing and watering a plant. I know there’s huge satisfaction when an area that was overgrown is cleared. It’s just that in this middle phase there’s no excitement and my garden is in the middle phase. The excitement was in the beginning when the possibilities were huge and the work was small. The excitement was in the impact I was making very quickly and….. could more be possible? The excitement was in the energy I had and the energy I was willing to expand.
(Not my garden either… also from Bloom)
Willing to expand energy is a different thing than expanding energy. One is a promise and the other is work. In the work phase the promise comes to haunt me. A promise I made to myself and to others. A promise I see in the before pictures. A promise that I really want to keep, really. In the work phase it’s only this promise that keeps me going. Not going in a light and happy way but in a heavy guilt and shame-filled way.
(Probably never my garden… that’s a rabbit hutch on the left under the raised bed and it leads to a rabbit hole in the middle of the lawn… very cute… from Bloom)
And then I look at my garden and I see no monster forcing me to keep my promise. I see no signs that I will be punished. The garden will carry on as before whether I do the work or not. The plants already sown will flower. The older ones will even search for water on their own. The weeds will thrive again and all will be well in the garden. It is not the garden that pushes me to fulfil my promise, it is myself. My dream, my hope, my intention to have something I want. Somehow I need to let this sustain me in the work phase, guilt and shame-free.
Working it, Mairead.
Today was a bit slow……
(Vegetables for the lasagna)
As I write it’s nearly time for bed and I’m not so sure I’m going to have something to write about. Today I made a vegetarian lasagna. Today I went to the shop. Today I read the internet (someone has to…) Today I fed the cats. Today I took a picture… of my dinner. Today I talked on the phone. Today I wrote a few texts. Today I read a few emails. Today I searched for a form. Today I ate some sun-dried pesto. Today I was doing nothing else I picked up my phone to read some tweets. Today I watched Nurse Jackie (on Netflix). Today I listened to Denis (someone has to…)
(Scones… should have baked scones today)
Yep nothing here, unless…. Today I provided nourishment. Today I kept the economy turning. Today I became a funnel for some information, electronically. Today I cared for the animals. Today I created something. Today I communicated by wire. Today I connected without wire. Today I took care of business. Today I organised a disorganised sheaf of important papers. Today I gave my body food. Today I found out what some people I don’t know are doing. Today I saw how much more complicated my life could be. Today I was here and available and quiet.
(A potato day)
Ok, not much, but slow days do provide the background for the big, fast, exciting days. Metaphorically speaking they are the rice for the curry or the potatoes for the bacon and cabbage.
I like exciting days but I need slow days too, Mairead.
Happy Birthday Mammy!
(This way. This way.)
It’s a bank holiday weekend in Ireland so we celebrated and had our lunch out and now we’re having coffee (for him) and green tea (for me) as well. My sister-in-law (Hi Helen!) thinks I spend all my time in coffee shops and I can see why she might think that – I talk about them a lot. But this week I’ve only had coffee (or tea) out twice. Considering it was a busy week for me that’s probably a lot!
(Julie’s favourite garden at Bloom)
When I was littler, maybe about ten, the big treat in our house was for my Mum and me to go on the bus to a town fifteen miles away called Clonmel. I used to think we were there all day but I now know the bus dropped us off at midday and we had to be back on board and heading for Cashel by 3pm. Our town didn’t have the great shops they had in Clonmel. Years later when I met my friend Frieda she told me that she and her Mum used to do the same thing. Except she lived in Clonmel and drove to the great shops in Cashel!
(Pepsi Can Eagle in the Rehab garden at Bloom)
We never left without a visit to the coffee shop. It was in a little room behind a bakery. There was a small window and the chairs weren’t very comfortable, but to me it was luxury. Spending time with my Mum, being treated like an adult eating salad sandwiches and cake. No wonder I love going to coffee shops. We were still making that trip when I was a teenager and much later when my children were toddlers their favourite game with their granny was The Bus to Clonmel, where the sofa was the bus!
(My Mum, my sister-in-law Helen and my very embarrassed brother, Lar)
Today (Tuesday) is my Mum’s birthday, she shares the day with the Queen’s Jubilee, but the Queen can’t make it to Cashel this year, maybe it’ll be quieter for her next year. I’m remembering all the nice things my Mum did for me including teach me the value of taking time off to go to the coffee shop.
Thank you Mum and Happy Birthday! Mairead.
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