WRITERS NEED EXERCISE TOO!

Writing is therapy to me but it doesn’t exactly keep me physically fit. Mowghi doesn’t do a bad job—all that running after him has kept me reasonable fit for a long time—but family caring is exhausting. Caring of any kind can hardly be called a workout that sustains and creates energy so I decided to sign up for a health programme hosted by Maria McMenamin at The Natural Health Centre, Buncrana that hopefully will kick-start my exercise routine again.

At registration, Maria mentioned the word ‘intense’ more times than I care to remember so I know this is going to be no walk in the park. That’s what I have done for a long time now, walking in the park, and I shall continue to do so because we have gorgeous parks and walkways in Inishowen and Donegal, but I think the walk in the park is more to shower my head and ‘shower my head’ it does! After all, this is Ireland! But back to this exercise regimen thingy! Gentle yoga in the morning and meandering in nature might soak me to the skin but it doesn’t make me sweat or cause my heart to beat faster. What I need is a good workout and someone to take me into hand from the inside out which is what the Beach Body Burn programme sets out to do. It isn’t only about physical exercise. It is about realising a clean, ultra healthy lifestyle through healthy diet and exercise while having fun to boot!

We all know that regular exercise and maintaining an active lifestyle should be one of our top priorities in life. Only by taking care of ourselves will we be able to show up and be all we can be in our families, at our job and in the community. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Life can get in the way of working out. For some people, like me, the hardest part of exercising isn’t the vigorous physical activity, but finding a way to schedule it in and stay motivated enough to work out regularly. One of the reasons I have signed up for Beach Body Burn is because it is flexible and offers morning classes. Evenings can be busy round here. Usually I turn into a taxi service, so it is difficult to commit to an evening programme. Flexible mornings mean I will stick to the plan but it doesn’t necessarily mean I will be any more motivated so I have picked this programme as it has a time frame and something to work towards. Beach Body Burn (I have consciously decided to ignore the word burn) is a 5 week plan. 5 weeks. 5 workouts per week. 5 meal a day with 24/7 support. What’s not to like?

Well, I spotted some weights and kettle bells at registration, and that word ‘intense’ keeps coming to mind! Furthermore, if you love your chips, crisps and cookies, like me, there are loads of things not to like but at registration Maria told us we have to draw a line under our negative thinking and commit to investing in our health. A new fit body will help keep my brain active and hopefully by the end of the five weeks I will be feeling the benefits so much so that I will keep going…that is if it doesn’t kill me first! Wish me luck!

 

 

YES TO LOVE, ACCEPTANCE AND EQUALITY.

First published in The Inishowen Independent.

1988. During my student days, while volunteering as a night liner for Queen’s University listening service, it became abundantly clear we needed two phone lines because the one line was jammed with the sheer volume of gay people needing advice, help and support.

I took a few of those calls, mostly from young men. Some called in person during the early part of the evening and talked about their pain, the lengths they went to cover up being gay, how they were coping, or not, in a world of hostility and fear. Others rang late in the night, their voices trembling, threatening to end it all and crying so hard they were not fit to speak. Many did not want to be gay. They were unable to accept how they were feeling. The isolation, fear and shame they were experiencing was preventing them to be true to themselves. A rollercoaster of negative emotions raged inside them. They were afraid to come out. They were being bullied, taunted, and excluded by others because of their sexuality.

Back then, lesbian and gay issues were relatively new to me. I came from the back of beyond, at least that’s what the city slickers thought—a bit like what Newstalk reporter Henry McClean thinks about Donegal. Buncrana has since put the record straight. Likewise, that type of thinking didn’t hinder me from accepting folk exactly as they were, from all walks of life.

As a young straight female student, I doubt I was able to fully understand exactly what a young gay man was going through or indeed if I was helping at all. The most I could do was listen and be there in a non-judgemental manner for anyone who came through the door or called on the phone. It was during those volunteering years I witnessed the impact of prejudice on the gay community and the destruction caused by individuals in society who remained ignorant and misinformed about people who feel different. Being ‘different’ seemed to get misinterpreted as wrong. They are wrong and we are right. We are normal and they are not. Views that fly in the face of equality.

We consider ourselves a more accepting and equal society now. Gone are the archaic prejudices and suppression of the past that prevents anyone regardless of gender, faith, or belief, to live at peace in our utopian society. At least, that’s what we like to think, but this referendum debate has unravelled some steadfast views that remain woven deep in the fabric of Irish society, views that are unyielding, erroneous and prejudice by nature when the heart of the matter is about two people loving each other and committing to marriage so that they can share the same benefits of any other married couple in society.

Throughout this debate we have been subjected to many mixed messages and distorted images, confusing those who are perhaps less informed or have limited understanding of the inequalities experienced by gay communities. What isn’t confusing in this debate is that marriage equality will acknowledge the gay community as full members of our society who are entitled to civil and human rights as well as having the right to declare their love for each other. Love knows no gender, it has no boundaries, yet every day many in the gay community have experienced hate and little acceptance, not for who they are but for who they love. To love, to acceptance, to equality and to the memory of many tormented and fearful young people I tried to help in the late ‘80s who felt excluded from society I vote YES.

 

What Autism Taught Me

 

I’m trying to write. A gloomy Donegal sky is sagging low, closing in around the hills.  It’s blowing a gale outside. Hail stones, like small round pills, are drumming against the window above me. Behind me, my ‘autsome’ boy is pacing. Up and down.  School’s out. Kids are in. No day for the trampoline. I know he wants an outside space where he can run and jump, and do what my ‘autsome’ boy needs to do, but the shower of sleet has turned everything white and wet.  There will be no going out for a while. The pacing continues. I read the same line over and over, trying to make sense of what I have written. I am struggling against the noise. Mowghi is making his signature humming sound as he continues to pace. His incessant need for movement hasn’t let up all these years. His need for noise hasn’t either. His favourite music channel on the television is belting out all the latest hits. It’s all noise to me. The computer is playing Thomas the Tank music. I know every quaver, every beat, every tune that’s comes with being subjected to Thomas the Tank videos for almost fifteen years. That’s how long ago autism sneaked in and took up residence in our home, a noisy, pacing, never a dull moment autism that demanded me to be on red alert at all times, even when I’m writing, There is no retrieve, no downtime, no out when autism is about.  It’s the way it is, and another Autism Awareness Month is upon us.  As Mowghi paces, and the wind howls, and the hailstones rattle I commit to paper a list of things that autism taught me of which there are many, too many to mention. In no particular order, here is a random thought list of lessons I’ve learnt from my ‘autsome’ boy.

• Time is irrelevant.
• Moments make up life.
• Treasure the moments.
• Not all moments are magical.
• Most moments are little miracles.
• A lesson can be learnt in any given moment.
• The lesson is usually a lesson in self-love.
• Self-love comes from within and reaches out to others.
• Self-love is unconditional love.
• Unconditional love has no strings attached.
• When Mowghi rests his head on my shoulder the world stops.
• Never underestimate the power of love of any kind.
• Autism taught me who matters and what matters.
• Never underestimate the joy of simple things.
• Joy can find its way through pain.
• Given time, the pain of loss and grief eases.
• Patience is truly a virtue.
• Autism has honed that virtue for me very well.
• Humour can be found in the darkest of moments.
• Look for humour always. It’s a life-saving device.
• So is toilet paper, and I have to look for it too!
• Hiding toilet paper prevents blocked toilets.
• Hiding everything prevents mess and is sanity saving.
• Whoever invented the key should be canonized.
• Strangers are mostly real life angels.
• Talking is overrated.
• Silence is the sweetest noise.
• An non-verbal person does not constitute an empty mind.
• A warm bubbly bath can make anything better.
• Be soooo grateful for any night of uninterrupted sleep.
• Material things mean little to the soul.
• The soul celebrates difference.
• Our human understanding is limited by logic.
• There is nothing logical about Autism.
• Autism remains a mystery.
• Autism grows up.
• Autism doesn’t always behave grown up.
• Grown up autism needs help, support and services.
• People who work with the vulnerable in society are unsung heroes.
• Acceptance is the first step on any journey.
• The journey must be experienced.
• It’s called life, with or without autism.
• A good giggle is essential to survival.
• Strive to enjoy the journey.

My boy is trotting steadily towards his seventeenth birthday. Only yesterday I held him, as in the photograph above, at Crummies Bay, Dunree in Inishowen, Donegal, a small laughing mischievous rascal in my arms who knew his own mind and tormented me with his antics. He still does. I still am at a loss to fully understand him, his strange ways, his sixth sense, his breaking down, his frustrations. his wonder, his need for space, inside and outside, his connection with nature, his withdrawal to the sanctuary of his room. As he paces up and down behind me, I clock up a few more sentences, and wonder is he at a loss to understand me too?

 

STORY-TELLING IN SWAN PARK

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin…

Delighted to be asked to take part in a storytelling event for Free Wee Libraries, by local artist Geraldine Timlin, I ventured down to Swan Park and discovered a lovely surprise . Geraldine was busy decorating a little corner of the park that would entice anyone to sit for a while among the green and the books.  Like bees to flowers, the children came and took their place on a tiny toadstool. When they were sitting comfortably, I began to read a story about The Mummy Shop by Abie Longstaff & Lauran Beard published by Scholastic books. A little boy wanted a new Mummy because his own Mummy made him clean his room and go to bed early. She sounded like a really bad Mummy! So the little boy ordered up a new Mummy but no matter what Mummy he got they weren’t quite right. By the end of the book, he realised he wanted his own Mummy back because she was just perfect! All the children agreed that their own Mammies were perfect too, and it was a good job because their real Mammies (and Daddies and Grannys were not too far away) I hope everyone enjoyed the storytelling morning as much as I did.

The essence of the Free Wee Libraries is the fun of being out in the open air and the magic of a story. In a way, it took me back to when I was younger. All those summer months spent reading outside, for hours on end, on my back, squinting in the brightness, up on one elbow, propped up against a trunk of a tree, turning pages to the end of a book. Granted, there wasn’t much else to do, no electronic devices to distract me, no television, no town or village near, but the magic appeared in the form of a mobile library that came every fortnight to the bottom of Pomeroy, three miles away from our home.  Along with my sisters, we walked there and back, laden with books. We were so excited about getting stuck into the books we never minded the long walk. Besides, it was totally normal. Mum and Dad were shaking hay in the fields so shanks mare was our only mode of transport. When we arrived home we would have ‘tay’ in the field, and before we were asked to lift the dockins we would sneak behind a haystack and devour the latest Enid Blyton or Nancy Drew book. Sometimes Mum joined us. Wrapped up in arms and legs, while gazing at the view down to Lough Neigh and beyond, I got lost in my mother’s voice that took us off to a land of wonder and adventure. When Dad took a break he would stretch out in the heat of the day and tell his own stories, mad, crazy, off the wall yarns, and of course we believed every word that dropped from his mouth because they were always about the man that lived over the mountain, or the woman that had no shoes, totally believable characters that was a figment of my father’s imagination. The ghost stories were told by the fireside in winter but the long funny yarns were told in the hay field. My father had no formal education but it didn’t prevent him from telling the most amazing stories that had us hanging on to his every word. With the Easter holidays stretching out before us, now is a good time to renew your love for books and nature. Make sure you pay a visit to a Free Wee Library and who knows, sometime soon, you might come upon another magical story time in the park. If you do, be sure to stop by.

Free Wee Library Poetry Competition 2014

 

As promised, here are the details of the Free Wee Library Poetry Competition 2014. Good Luck!

 

 

 

Drawing Words, Writing Circles.

I’ve been writing all day…in my head. I have been travelling too. I landed in Bologna with my head full of words. That’s okay. They will tumble out sooner or later and spill on to a white A4 sheet of paper to join the words already there. One sentence will become two, then three until I scribble and smudge them out again. Most words end up in the bin but some are rescued, a word or phase that sounds right and before I know it the words take over and write themselves. That’s the way with words.

Tomorrow I’ll jot down a few but tomorrow evening I will draw a circle because that’s what I do when I’m not writing words. It’s no ordinary circle. It’s a Mandala. Sometimes I fill my circle up with words. Sometimes it fills me up with images, symbols that speak to me.

I don’t feel I draw the Mandala. I feel it draws me. The one above was simply created with a stick on Lisfannon beach Inis Eoghain in all of a few minutes. It claimed my focus, my thought and quietened my mind. It’s such a simple way to meditate.

It’s not everyday I’m in Bologna drawing circles so I’m looking forward and will post back soon. In the meantime I’m grateful for simple things…arriving safe, welcoming smiles, a hot shower, a cozy bed and rain whisper in Bologna tonight.

Donegal–rubberstamped and proud!

It was one of those days when my bones didn’t warm up so I stopped by the Harbour Inn knowing the fire would be burning bright. As I turned my back on the hot embers a couple sitting close by made a comment about the dip in temperature. Their thick Yorkshire accent prompted me to ask if they were on holidays. “Oh, Yes but I’m from Donegal myself.” His partner laughed and interjected, “He left when he was two but he never fails to rubber stamp his identity.” “Well you couldn’t rubberstamp it at a better time,” I laughed and then we were off, reliving that magic moment all over again… the moment when the final whistle shrilled out across Croke Park sending out a red alert message to the world. Donegal are the Champions.

I doubt if anyone actually heard the whistle but the message was clear from the thunderous roar that erupted in every corner of the globe. ‘Donegal IS DNA. Donegal doesn’t belong to us. We belong to Donegal.’ A game of football had rubberstamped our identity once again! What an incredible message to rush through the veins of our children, our young people, our emigrants and expatriates! Be proud of your identity!

When I first came to live in Inishowen I realized for the first time that I had learned to suppress my identity. Growing up in the North in the seventies and eighties and coming from rural Tyrone with an address and a surname that questioned my beliefs, my values, my neighbours and what foot I kicked with didn’t really help to nurture my identity. It only seemed to bring attention to me wherever I went. The wrong kind of attention. It was difficult at school. The uniform and the bus I travelled on give me away. You just got used to the name calling. At university I rarely offered my sir name and was vague about where exactly I came from. While travelling I was the one that would be pulled in at the side of the road or at security in every airport I ever travelled through to be searched and searched again. I learned to keep my identity low key. …until I wanted to tell everyone I was from Tyrone.  Football played a big part in that and the county team’s achievements in Clones and Croke Park give me permission to celebrate and be proud of where I came from.

We should always have a sense of place and be proud of where we come from regardless of the times that we live in or the difficulties we face. In a year when we have had to swallow the news that there will be no new roads or new schools and very few new jobs in the foreseeable future, isn’t it magically that we are all going round on a high? A leather ball has put Donegal on the map again and I am so proud to identify with my adopted county, a place I call home.

When the Donegal man with the Yorkshire accent got up to leave he said, “I can live in other places. I can even love other places. But something in me says ‘home’ when I am in Donegal.”

I smiled knowingly and turned my face to the fire to warm my hands, feeling snug and warm, but something is niggling me. Due to the luck of the draw my identity is being tested again!  What unearth am I going to wear next year when Tyrone meets Donegal in the first round! Whatever I wear I guess it is going to be a win-win for moi!

Picnic at Porthaw

The sun is back! Time to celebrate and enjoy the glorious weather we are experiencing in Ireland at the moment. We get so few hazy lazy sunny days here so when they arrive most folk down their tools if they can and head to the nearest beach. Some folk up their tools and head to the garden. Whichever way it is, when the sun shines our burdens become lighter, we chat to anything that moves and doom and gloom seems to evaporate. On days like these, I believe a public holiday should be granted immediately! But while the powers that be work on the exceptional weather policy (no harm in wishing) we can always take a mini vacation in the back garden, on a seat by the river or dine alfresco wherever you are for an hour or so at least.

There is something magically about eating in the open air. As a child, growing up in a rural area of Co.Tyrone, I spent most of my summers—pretty much as I spend them now when the sun shines—resting in the long grass with a picnic basket and a good book. Now the whole experience is enriched with my children and Lough Swilly at my feet.

Of course, when the sun is not shining it is rain coats and wellie boots and a brisk walk round the Lough, which has its own magic, but for today I am thankful for a little sunshine. It stops me dreaming about far flung sunny places and a longing for a casa in Italy or a cottage in France. You can read more about that here. The first two sentences were inspired by a poem by Brigitte from Brigitte Banter. You can read it here. It turns out we have a similar dream! Have a sunny day everyone (that’s inside and out) wherever you are!

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Home in the Inishowen Peninsula

This road is twenty minutes from my home. When you turn the corner [in the photograph] the road leads to a car park overlooking the rugged beauty of Inishowen in all its splendour.  I love this road because when I am heading down this path I am on my way to yoga, perhaps a picnic, maybe a refreshing walk or hike in the fresh air of Inishowen. Sometimes I am going to an art exhibition or taking visitors to the Fort Dunree Millitary Museum and to the fascinating wildlife displays.

Fort Dunree is proudly perched high above the edge of Lough Swilly commanding a majestic view across shimmering Lough Swilly towards Knockalla Mountain on Fanad Peninsula in North Donegal. Fort Dunree, Dun Fhraoigh in Irish means, “Fort of the Heather” and indicates that this site has been an important defensive site down through history. Today however, its stunning natural beauty and abundant wildlife, some of which is unique to the area, attract many visitors from all over the world.

This treasured beauty spot in the Inishowen Peninsula is my gym, my leisure centre, my spiritual centre, my time out centre, my family fun day out destination. It’s a place of peace and serenity, of beauty and blessing, a place I have spent many enjoyable hours and I haven’t even mentioned the beautiful and secluded Crummies Bay that lies at its feet. The sheer natural beauty surrounding me throughout the Inishowen Peninsula makes Inishowen a very special place to live, a place I am proud to call home.