Tag Archives: Maine

Our Jolly Holly Christmas Tree

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I believe we all know the feeling of when something is not quite right.  The feeling grows and grows until you decide assertively (sometimes in a matter of seconds) that “No, this just won’t do.”   Continue reading

How to say it all in a few words

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My world, mainly Inis Mor, is not as small as it may seem and neither are the events which are experienced here. Trying to succinctly express feelings derived from events, relationships, and interactions can be challenging at times.

Some moments are just too grand to capture briefly; often when done so, it is divine timing or serendipity or one’s exceptional gifts that has guided the achievement.  Many of the best poets are admired for this talent–their eloquence in conveying what most others are unable to find the words to accurately describe. Continue reading

Vegetarian Lobster

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I grew up in a family of lobstermen and was therefore blessed with plenty of one of my favourite foods.  Having a summer birthday, I was often treated to a lobster bake with family and friends–the only way to have a lobster bake.  I’m not certain it was always held in celebration of me, but I like to remember it that way. So please family of mine, don’t inform me otherwise. Continue reading

Happy As A Clam At High Tide

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I remember as a child going digging for clams with my parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins by the light of the moon or sometimes in the wee hours of the morning.  While the adults made the long walk down to the shore, we children skipped, cartwheeled, and zig-zagged in a not so serious race to find the first holes in the sand. They were abundant so we were all ‘winners.’  The holes indicated a clam beneath and the adults would then dig and collect it, some using a shovel, others preferring to dig by hand. Continue reading

Cold

I had a very specific image in mind for this 52 weeks of photos assignment. I took a picture the last time that it snowed here on Inis Mor.  My children went outside and scraped up enough snow to make a snowman of about 15 inches high.  I must have lost that picture when my computer crashed last year. After finding nothing over the weekend that inspired me enough, I pulled this from my archives.  It works even better with my Haiku than the one I originally intended and is a testament to how my parenting has changed over time. This is my first born and the pic is taken just before we moved here from Maine. She is bundled to double her size, for fear she might get even a hint of a chill.  Nowadays, I let them dress themselves, only making subtle suggestions if I feel they are underdressed.  I’ve come to know they are quite smart at realizing, expressing, and taking action if they become uncomfortable.  Besides, they’ll never trust their own judgement if I make all their decisions for them.

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Snow shaped innocence-
You will never know the cold
Dressed in so much love

Here are links to Sandra’s ‘Cold’,  Erika’s ‘Cold’ Garry’s’ Cold‘, Roz ‘s ‘Cold’ and Jamie’s ‘Cold’

I Should Have Been A Weather Girl

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It’s hailing outside right now, a very unusual sight here on the island.  My thoughts are on Johnny who’s checking on the goats at one of our walking distance (but too far to just run home quick) fields. He should have taken the fleece neck warmer I tried to force on him, but who could have predicted this?  Well, smarty pants, they didn’t–it wasn’t forecast and right now even the brightest of Irish meteorologists are surprised… the only job you could fail at so consistently and still have a faithful following.  I should’ve been a weather girl.  I’d be good at it too as I’m okay with making lots of mistakes, I have no problem admitting them, and I have been long admired for my “if at first (2nd, 3rd…) you don’t succeed…” attitude. Continue reading

I live in Aran

When I was age twenty-five, someone very dear to me died tragically in a motorcycle accident. In nearly identical circumstances my father was also taken twelve years prior. I never truly mourned the first loss, therefore I spent most of the next year grieving doubly. Hours a day walking the beach proved very therapeutic. As a self-employed seamstress I afforded this indulgence by working until the wee hours of the morning, awoken from sleep by the sunrise and my enthrallment with collecting sea glass. Perhaps someday I would make a glass curtain, the kind I remembered my dad had, only his was beads in a doorway that chinkled when we unavoidably brushed through them to enter his music room. Steely Dan, Doobie Brothers, The Rolling Stones, Boston, and Aerosmith were his favourite vinyl choices. I more often preferred my mother’s picks of ABBA and John Denver, but they are all worthy of mention and conjure up the happiest of memories to this day.

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