On the last day of summer we were down at the lake. Although everything changes and nature is under extreme pressure, this patch is still a haven. Butterflies were gathering on the wild water mint and the wind was gently swaying the long grasses, full of purple loosestrife and meadowsweet. I was still keen to blog at that point, but . . .
I just realised that I can't wait to get back on the road. It's not that I don't love my home place, I really do. Since coming home, the weather in Ireland has been beautiful and the nature surrounding us has felt very precious. But today I was looking back over our couple of months wandering around Northern Spain and Portugal and I . . .
Six weeks have passed and I am still fairly house bound. At this stage I am crawling the four walls, that common form of cabin fever, but I think I am finally on the mend. Over the last few months I have had a stash of ripening seeds under my desk. They are not for planting but for . . .
Amidst the bizarreness of the current world, I went off as happy as you like to replace my ten year driving licence which had finally expired. It's a funny experience, the Driving Licence Centre, like a cross between going to the doctor and being in custody . You sit in a small booth with a curtain between yourself and the rest of the . . .
For so many reasons this week I’m feeling grateful for the small things. The new generation of robins in the garden, the golden glow of an Irish autumn day, the roof over my head. Apparently practicing gratitude is fantastic for our mood and older people are especially good at it. In every study on happiness it is older people who come out on . . .
There's an exquisite late blooming iris outside my window. It catches the precious dewey light and as everything around it is dying back, grabs the spotlight at any time of day. It's a quiet reminder that not only is it never too late, but later might even be better. It is food for the soul of any late . . .
"I think of when I was in high school in the 1940s: the white girls got their hair crinkled up by chemicals and heat so it would curl, and the black girls got their hair mashed flat by chemicals and heat so it wouldn’t curl. Home perms hadn’t been invented yet, and a lot of kids couldn’t afford these expensive treatments, so they were . . .
In the middle of the road of my life I awoke in a dark wood, where the true way was wholly lost. Dante Alighieri David Whyte has a great image in his audio set, Midlife and the Great Unknown. He describes the moment when you are at the end of a project or when you have settled your affairs. You finally tidy up the house, make a cup . . .
It's late, the sun is filtering through the forest, pouring deep honey gold onto the path ahead. The quality and colour of light transforms everything. In the clearing a group of wise old trees stand in our path, disturbing the earth as their roots burrow to the surface. Camping forces you out into nature, back to basics; the smells and sounds. . . .
It's been a great year. One of the best. After years of campaigning for women's rights, I turned 60 and realised I could finally LIVE liberation rather than just hoping for it. What took me so long? What changed? Growing up in Ireland during a different era, we girls were rewarded for CARING. I wasn't . . .