Friday, March 31, 2017


30th March 2017

Where The Fault Lies 

Apologies to all my loyal readers for the relative silence with regard to posts on my blog over the last few weeks.
The fault lies with the fact that I have a "new" laptop ( from my son - second hand,  not so old), which I am trying, when I feel motivated, to move all my working files to.
I can't access my blog on the new model as I don't remember my password and the old contraption has it saved for me so I never needed it.
Needless to say I am writing now on that computer, which is getting hot and will probably burst into flames at any moment leaving my blog floating round in the "clouds" with no chance of me ever getting to see it again, which would be hugely disappointing and frustrating.
But I am going to throw caution to the wind and carry on writing and hope that I am not unrecognisable and  buried in a pile of ash when someone comes looking for me tomorrow.
I am looking forward to a visit from my son next week and he assures me that he will be able to help me to sort it.

It is now 20th May and I'm still getting a hot leg with the old laptop on my leg. I just feel comfortable with this one .

Friday, March 24, 2017

Butter or Margarine

15th March 2021

A little piece from a few years ago, written when me and my husband found ourselves with the house to ourselves as the children had all left home.
 Two have boomeranged back in the meantime so, there is no more butter, except at Christmas.

Butter or Margarine

Are you a butter or margarine person? Why do you make that choice?

Is it that you love butter but it costs twice as much as margarine , so there’s no real choice, you just can’t justify having the butter?

I slurp as I lick my lips and my fingers. Butter melts into and drips from my toasted rolls. So much joy in the taste of it. I remember butter, great lumps of it sliding down potatoes, the potatoes we had with bacon and cabbage when I was a child.  I remember the farmhouse table at my grandmother's house, with a fresh cob loaf and butter cut into wedges  to be placed on the bread and eaten like that, no spreading involved. 

I take my time prolonging the happiness going on in my mouth, a happiness that actually feels as if it’s in my brain, and which travels through my body.  While I’m in my temporary Heaven, I ponder the fact that for years, while bringing up the children we chose, for reasons of cost and many mouths to feed, to buy cheap margarine.

Now, margarine is not the same thing as butter, is it? Because , isn’t it true that you wouldn’t want, nobody would want , margarine dripping down your chin or to bite into thick lumps of it in your sandwich, which means that you eat less or none at all, being as it’s not the tastiest accompaniment to your fresh bread. You wouldn’t put slabs of it, for instance, onto your toast and let it soak in and then put more on, just to feel and taste the deliciousness of it on the warm toast.

But all the children have left home now, so we can spoil ourselves, eating nearly half a pound of butter each every week. I know, that’s a lot right? It could be more, though. we have to be temperate with it. It’s hard.

My mother and my grandmother both had butter in their pantry or fridge all the time, having no time at all for the unnatural alternative and mum would bring her own with her ( only Kerrygold would do) whenever she came to visit.

It has become, for me, one of the pleasures of life, which I don’t want to give up but which I have to watch carefully because I am eating a lot more bread and new potatoes, both tasting so delicious with the added knob of butter.

Family minded writer of short stories, poetry a blog and other stuff

Saturday, March 11, 2017


11th March 2017

It is heartwarming to see that my blog has had over 28,100 visits. Thank you to all those who read and comment. 

Enjoyed the writing workshop this morning.

So this six sentence challenge incorporates the cue word "will" and one of the themes of the workshop.


She would not be known by that name anymore- Philomena - the name they gave her when aged five and an orphan she was taken to the convent in Eniscorthy.
Although her will was nearly broken, working everyday in the the laundry with  little food, no conversation, or any time for childlike activities, something deep inside her clung to a hope of new beginnings and a better life.
The secret silence had become as loud as thunder, a silence that separated, a silence that pulled a chain tight around her soul and now Marie was going to shatter that silence.
Even before she spoke and although she was worried how her family would react she felt the fetters fall and a longed for freedom fill her lungs with promise.
So, after supper one day , when her husband and children were bantering about whose turn it was to do the washing up, she sat them down and spilled it out and tears fell and bathed the hurt that all of them felt.
Not one of them spoke for a moment or two but when they did they said everything would be ok and they hugged her, while she said, "my name is Marie" and they nodded.

And out in the garden just now plants seem to be growing as you look at them and there are four goldfish in the pond.
Today was definitely a bit spring like.

Friday, March 3, 2017

Ash Wednesday

3rd Mar 2017

The cue for this week's six sentence story is the word  "return".

Ash Wednesday

"You have some dirt on your forehead," the young girl at the supermarket checkout announced whilst efficiently scanning the contents on of my shopping basket.
"Yes, it's ashes in the form of a cross," I replied and that was all I could say as the customer behind me had already taken her attention with stories of where she was going later and why she was in such a hurry.
In actual fact the little cross, which we receive on Ash Wednesday, the start of lent,  did look  more like a thumb sized blob, a bit of dirt.
It made me think that this muck, this easy way of life that I've slipped into where I think only of myself and my own concerns, is precisely what I need to clean up during these forty days.
So, I will return to the narrow way, spending time in prayer and trying and come closer to The Lord.
I will look foreward to living the Easter story with joy as a brighter, more spiritual me.