I just finished reading the novel Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates. I loved it. I hated it. I disliked what I read. I loved what I read. I connected with what I read. I disassociated myself from what I read. I could go on but suffice to say that it is a marvellous novel by a writer that I knew nothing about but will seek out for my future reading. It struck me while reading it that Richard Yates had a good take on all of us, meaning the whole human race. He seemed to possess an insight into the human psyche that was so sensitive and true or else he was just so honest to write about what we all go through in one way or another but most of us are afraid to state. I wondered after finishing the book if I too lived on Revolutionary Road. Take today for instance, my husband, there, sounds very Revolutionary Road to me, my husband, well, okay, lets not say husband, how about, my love, the love of my life got up and after making breakfast of eggs and toast proceeded to put together a Guinness Stew for dinner tonight. After that he wheel barrowed two very large Laurel plants down the road (ones that we did not have any use for), about half a mile to a neighbours house, where he placed the plants in their garden as a gift. Then he walked back up the road with the empty wheel barrow and a very large smile on his face. I know because I watched him from the bedroom window as he strolled back home, I shouted out to him ''ye don't go nowhere without yer ole barrow''' to which our mutual uproarious laughter ensued. We went into town for a quick few errands after that, some avocados from Marks and Spencer and a decent Chilean Wine they sell for six euro and ninety nine cent. I love being with my ''husband''. He makes me laugh. We still brush off of eachother like sheets of fine silk at this stage but still, if we don't live on Revolutionary Road, YET, I do know many that do. I have seen how easy it is for the romance to wear, for the doubt and regret to set in, for all the petty little things to mount up and before you know it, you learn to hate that person facing you at the kitchen table. I realise that. But I'm not talking about my life here, maybe, well, I don't know, because maybe we will be one of the ones to survive. Maybe because we don't have others, other lives crossing our paths, distracting and dissecting, maybe because we have always had to rely on eachother, to count on ourselves for survival, those are the reasons we survived. Twenty five years isn't a bad statement on how much you think of someone else, on how long you expect that persons shadow to be beside yours when you walk along the roads, crossing the open bog and stopping to bend and pick some heather, a deep purple tinged with white specks, while the other person hovers beside you, yes, he waits patiently, casting his jade green eyes to the sea beyond.