Monday, June 17, 2013


Now that school is out, my morning walk to work is so much less colorful: no hip mamas pushing state-of-the-art strollers down the sidewalk, no dads with a baby in the snuggly and a first-grader by the hand. I don't have to look for cars because there aren't any. The urban streets are quiet, subdued, a little asleep at 9am, and this morning, for just a moment, I felt as if I was back on the rural roads of Carrowholly in Ireland, with the occasional farmhouse and a plethora of sheep, it was that quiet. A marvelous moment, really, being that I am indeed walking through an urban neighborhood, that, just last week at this time, was buzzing with the beginning-of-the-day hubbub. Gone are the buses, the backpacks, the ringing of the bell, the tangle of cars on the narrow streets surrounding the school.

All a little lonely, and I was a little wistful, thinking that if I looked just a little farther down the road or leaned just a bit over a fence, I'd see the aquamarine waters of Clew Bay, with a stiff breeze ruffling-up my hair, and that earthy pasture scent pervading everything. A pub within ten minutes, a witty conversation to be had over a Bulmer's cider.

But not to be had.

Life careens us ever-forward, sometimes so quickly that we are left tripping over our own feet and a little out of breath. When we take the time to slow it all down just a little bit, there we are, in two places at once, one real, one wrenched up from a bittersweet memory.

I held those two spaces open, in my consciousness, for maybe six, or seven steps. Then it was back to the concrete universe that is a city, with nary a sheep to be smelled.


  1. Are children in the US still sent away to Summer Camp, like the two Haley Mills's in The Parent Trap?

  2. Ha, Cro. You've made me laugh. I loved that movie.
    And yes, either that or daycare.
    The neighborhoods are silent and empty.

  3. This post reminds me so powerfully of this: So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

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  5. And the past always there to receive us. I don't know how, I wish you Ireland again in the present. xo