Twenty something year old doing twenty something year old things

 The day of mothering is upon us and thus this great stupendous morn' I set forth to collate all my memories, thoughts and words on my own dear mother into a blog post: a virtual hug if ever there was one and a tall order, for she is taller and more virtuous than could ever be put into words.  Today, like many of us, I am not able to be with her; restricted by an invisible force, I make do by calling, Whatsapp-ing, blogging and (because it's not all about the tinternet) card-ing. I spoke to her last night on the phone and, because of the selfless being that she is, she was preparing items that could be 'sent up to me'. Surely this is the wrong way around? In this list there were seedlings, pots, clothes and vegetables ("I'll put some manure in too").  She is a nurturer of every plant and human that is lucky enough to come within her radius with an after-glow felt far beyond the 5km. The mind-blowing fact of course is that my mother is not where it all beg...

 How do you approach your deadlines? An easy breezy week or two in advance with plenty of time for editing, procrastination and intelligent gathering of brain waves? Or up to the wire, dotted i's, crossed T's the day of?  I always liked to think I was in the first camp, however last weeks experience has shown me that in my old age, I have slipped up. Panic writing for two job applications on two separate days occurred with caffeine and a thesaurus being the necessary survival kit. Cover letters require a degree of cunning, artifice as well as gumption. I generally have these by the bucket load and live to tell the tale. I am hopeful that my future bank account as well as adulthood will thank me. This is also my excuse for not giving you, dear readers, a blog last week. I know that you missed me.  I write this now feeling distinctly cosy--or, to satisfy the Norwegians--Hygge. I returned from child minding 90% wet and 10% human and have recently returned to a semi-normal st...

Nostalgic memory of youth: My mother telling me not to watch too much TV in case I got "square eyes".  I spent a long time trying to find someone suffering from this affliction but strangely never did.  But ah,  the days when 'screen time' was seen as an unnecessary pleasure and square eyes the risk associated with it, akin to the 'monster under the bed'. Now it is a necessary evil. We buy special 'anti-blue light' glasses to allow us to continue to stare, squarely, into the screen in an intense 'who blinks first' match. I'm currently in one and will continue until four pm when I log off my duties of monitoring  psychology classes.                                                                        ***** The above section was written, as you can guess, well before the present --when I ir...

Today was a day of wandering and wondering. I wandered along Dublin's River Dodder, wondering at it's pale ale frothiness, and vicariously around several of Ireland's islands. The latter was for research, turned procrastination. From what I can deduce, Ireland has fifteen inhabited islands. A significant amount more than what I had first guessed, only managing to pull The Aran Islands out from the top of my head. Another, which remains burnt into my memory is The Great Blasket, whose only inhabitants are its bloodthirsty midges.  Islands have always fascinated me, to prove this point, I was one of the 24k applicants that applied to live as 'caretaker' of An Blascaod  Mór. Apparently I am not so unique in this fascination. I informed an Australian friend that I planned to do this. She replied that "nothing" could make her "step foot on that island again". I thought this was rude. To clarify, this same Australian had camped with me amongst its ruin...