I have the most eclectic taste. I just realised it tonight. You lot probably knew that little fact about me already. Why am I always the last one to know these things about myself? I’m probably too busy sticking my nose into other people’s business to notice my own life!
I occasionally (actually it’s becoming more often) suffer or rather I endure insomnia.
Once I used that quiet time to clean my house, but I got over that one! Now I mostly read or write or surf the net. I just looked at my purchases tonight from my surfing. It’s a mad random shopping list. I bought three books of poetry ( two Billy Ramsells and one Grace Wells, keep their names in your head for you will hear more of them). Then I went on to a costume shop's website and bought two Queen’s outfits. A Queen needs at least two gunai (Marmo or Jemser, will ye fada and grammatical me Irish). Then I went onto a wig shop page and bought meself a nice little granny bun.
My latest adventure is reading stories to under 7s in Fingal Libraries on Saturday mornings. I’m calling myself ‘The Story Queen’ or is ‘Queen of Stories’ better?
So I decided to buy a costume or two. Isn’t it great to be able to dress up when you’re fifty and not worry about looking ridiculous? Because you are ridiculous. But isn’t it glorious to be ridiculous!!
So not only do I get to be the Queen, I get to pick all my favourite children’s books and read from them to an (I hope) enthusiastic bunch of smallies. And they’ll love me!! And I’ll feel all important and special! Ain’t Life grand.
BTW ye all better sponsor me for walking the mini-marathon on the June Bank holiday. I’m walking with my sister-in-laws in aid of the Donegal branch of the Alzheimer’s Society. They have been a marvellous support in helping the family look after our beloved Teresa, Jemser’s Mam, Now there is a Queen beyond compare. I wrote the poem below some years ago when the illness started. It is such a horrible disease for everyone. Although Thank the Lord Teresa has been very peaceful for the last few weeks. I love you Teresa Cunningham and I love all your wonderful family and your beloved Kilcar! Are ye all feelin’ the love?
Teresa’s eyes, not yet inarticulate
Plead for understanding
She sits. BeWildereD
In the dimmed light
Of blown CoNNections.
Frustration clamping lips
no longer kn-wn.
that obscene shroud of mist
Teresa’s raucous laugh begin
Hands clap, face lifts, eyes glint
With Our Teresa.
But mist rolls in again,
Muffling sound and skewing vision.
Will thicken to FOG