Dublin, my Dublin
Pictures of Dublin, my Dublin. Almost 11 years in Ireland, I still consider it a dream come true, a life less ordinary and simply… Ireland: the love of my life. (Apologies if images are grainy, some were taken with an old-fashioned camera)
So many books, so little time!
Yesterday morning – rain, wind, a slight chill in the air – I walked totally wrecked and at snail pace towards the bookshop. Voucher in hand, lots of titles written down on paper just in case my memory checks out on me again. For a while now I had been looking at certain books, longing to buy them someday. That day came yesterday. Proud as a turkey and all dolled up, I went to Chapters in Dublin and kept pushing the elevator buttons to speed up to deliver me the second-hand part of the shop. As I left the elevator, right in front of my eyes stood Friedrich Nietzsche. He looked proud and dapper in a new jacket, and I had to agree he looked better than I did. I ran towards…
Perfectionism
Banjaxed, tired high and wrecked. That’s how yesterday unfolded. After being up till 3.30am writing, I managed to sleep only 3h. I was unable to sleep, and as a result, I was going over the things I still needed to do before Saturday’s National MS Day in Galway. One of the topics of the day will be a panel discussion on being ‘active and interactive’ when living with MS and as always, it seems to turn into a college-type project.
Dublin’s day once again
"What I love about GAA games is that kind of rebellion, and the hunger and passion children grow up with today for their native sports. Remember Winston Churchill once said that "We have always found the Irish a bit odd. They refuse to be English." A wonderful lack of respect for anything British almost. And whereas babies in Belgium are born with a bicycle between their legs, Irish babies enter this world with either a hurling stick or a ball in their hands."
From The Frontier Of Writing, by Seamus Heaney
The tightness and the nilness round that space when the car stops in the road, the troops inspect its make and number and, as one bends his face towards your window, you catch sight of more on a hill beyond, eyeing with intent down cradled guns that hold you under cover and everything is pure interrogation until a rifle motions and you move with guarded unconcerned acceleration— a little emptier, a little spent as always by that quiver in the self, subjugated, yes, and obedient. So you drive on to the frontier of writing where it happens again. The guns on tripods; the sergeant with his on-off mike repeating data about you, waiting for the squawk of clearance; the marksman training down out of the sun upon you like a…
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
As the days grow shorter and temperatures colder, it is time to welcome autumn, and indeed, what should be a small new lease of life. There is nothing more comforting and relaxing than seeing daylight fade early in the evening. Darkness captures me, telling me that time has come to cuddle up on the couch, book in hand, comfy blanket to warm my feet and a hot cup of tea to warm my hands. Candlelight shadows perform magic dances on the wall, and I slowly feel energy being restored inside my body. My Doc boots have been standing idle in a corner of my bedroom, waiting to be walked in again. My winter coat never left the clothes rail in the hallway, covered by a light canvas to keep it…
My precious boots!
WordPress Daily Prompt: These Boots Were Made for Walking Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you. Photographers, artists, poets: show us WALK. Already blogged about my favourite boots on April 1st, 2013, so for those who want to read it, here’s the link: Iconic and Princesses and Docs I’m one day late replying to this Daily Prompt but just wanted to showcase my Dr Martens boots again. I know… just can’t get enough of them!