Or, how I learned to stop freewheeling my personal life and finally get my shit together.
Posts
Tom and Eileen’s house. Glenshesk, 2006.
The lure of an abandoned house is in not knowing the story of the people who lived there. Imagining the people who lived there. What their lives were like. Why they left behind their home and where they went to next. But with this place, I knew the people well.
Hey there, reader. Let me tell you a story about a leafy, bumpy road in South Belfast that I’ve come to call home.
Rewind to two days before the funeral, his green Nissan Primera racing toward Ballycastle for the final time. But he’s not at the wheel, I’m the driver, my newly widowed mother beside me, still shell-shocked. Sister in the back seat, silent.
The boys and I have just come back from a short trip to Galway. On the second day we stopped off at Portumna, a quiet little town that Lisa and I discovered on a Shannon cruise about 9 years previously.
How does an Atheist deal with death? Two things have made me think about death and Atheism lately: a reading of Richard Dawkins’ book, The God Delusion and the news that my father has terminal cancer.
Last Wednesday I got dragged to France. I’ve never been to France, although I have tried their method of kissing before and even their ticklers once or twice.
A photo from back in November 2000, the first big holiday Lisa and I ever took. We stayed near St Julian’s in Malta and one day took this brilliant cruise around the bay, which was just so relaxing.