Spent a good few hours yesterday puh-hull-ing(for those of you without Hiberno-English that's messin' about) away in my suburban garden. There were lots of weeds to pull, lots of frost damaged plants to coax back to life or to sadly inter in the composter. Jesus, I love getting my hands mucky. I also love seeing my reliable old perennials coming back year after year. The hardiest of them never give in to frost, live long and only die when removed from their little spot.
All of which made me think of the Irish diaspora and what the emigration from our tiny island has done for the world. There are very few places on this planet you can go where you won't find a Paddy has been at some stage. We do seem to be able to adapt to most ways of life, or die trying. Our contribution in the Arts worldwide is enormous and we certainly punch way above our weight in terms of literature and music. I'm not to au fait with painting or other more cerebral pursuits but I think for an island of so few we have given the world a lot. Perhaps our very displacement all over the world is that which makes us so creative. If you haven't got the raw materials to make some kind of a living for yourself you have to make it up as you go along! Does that make sense?
All of which terrifies me - when will I be caught out? When will someone snort a derisive laugh toss my carefully numbered pages of writing back in my lap and tell me 'it's shite - get on with your real life' If this happens I think I might just quite simply die. When I discovered I could write (and I can-I know I can)I realised that I had finally found my my spot. Hurray! I am rooting myself deeper and deeper into the world of words, surfacing only sometimes to share in more worldly pursuits ( like eating!). So, no matter if that -'it's shite' day happens, I can still do it for me, make sense of my world with my words
Now if I could earn a living at it it would be even better!
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