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Thursday, January 03, 2019
Is the family mending?
None of us makes decisions rashly. The happening forever starts with the children going away to do their degrees.
One leaving, two of us left. Then the second leaving and me left. Then one coming back so two of us again.
And just as the second comes back, the first moves in with his girlfriend. Now the second has shown me her ring.
Mum went out and bought a bottle of Bollinger, I drove over to her house with both children and partners. We toasted, we laughed and blew on the fire to get it going. It was suddenly cold and the sky was clear. As I drove them back along the seafront, the offshore wind farm sparkled, the stars sparkled, the seafront houses, car headlights and street lights sparkled.
I like to imagine my odd, fractured and skimpy family is mending itself, like bones, like bark, just as I realise that the grandfather I thought I'd found may not be the one. My children's new lives make the broken links to Ireland and beyond less important.
And through it all I have fallen in love with short stories - with the hard honesty of Doris Lessing's African stories, the snow light of Tove Janseen's winter book, and I am nervous even about hoping that a desire to write might be coming back.