Mary Wilkinson's Blog
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Mar.27.2013
You can muster up an awful sense of grá for this country when you drive across it at seven a.m. on a Saturday morning, when the grey dawn lingers longer than expected for this time of year and the trees on the lonely hills loom out of the mist like hungry ghosts in search of recognition and the new...
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Mar.21.2013
John arrived up from County Clare pulling a big trailer behind his jeep. He was here to pick up the couches. I was happy to see him and once he carried out the furniture with H's help it seemed that the living room was once again allowed to breathe new air.
They loaded the couches into the trailer...
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15 comments
Mar.19.2013
I tend to confuse the two;
Barstow, Bakersfield
I suppose I can blame it on the B's
the blur of places I've passed through.
It was December - I am sure of that
Snow coated the desert
like a thick sifting of icing sugar
We kept the heating in the Dodge Colt
on high
and stopped over at a...
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Mar.16.2013
Someone dabbed the sky with paint. Used a wide brush and swept it carelessly across the apricot canvas, randomly dotting it with a deep grey, close to black. I made enchiladas and counted my blessings. I always do that. Count my blessings as if I am unable to just be. I suppose I was brought...
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14 comments
Mar.12.2013
It was so cold last night that the daffodils and tulips in the garden keeled over and remained that way for most of the day. A small icicle formed on the outside faucet. The cars had transformed into igloos. The sky was egg shell blue.
I started to feel the chills coming on at noon. I couldn't...
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18 comments
Mar.10.2013
I needed Bach tonight. I sought him out, rooted through the stack of CD's to find him, vowed I could not proceed without him. My heart yearned for his soothing, his lilt and poignant ways, his touching of my soul. I found him in-between Miles Davis and Jackson Browne and popped him into the player...
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Mar.07.2013
I met a friend last week. I hadn't seen her in ages and the first thing she said to me was 'chalk paint'. Had I heard of it? She seemed incredibly anxious to tell me about it and was quick to say that it reminded her of me. She said it was natural, a little uneven, a little....she hesitated...
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5 comments
Mar.06.2013
I would not dare to count the number of times I have pulled the curtains and drawn the blinds on this house once the darkness has set in. I don't why anyone should even be curious about it. But it is an act that always fills me with a sense of closure. As if I am slowly pulling the strings to the...
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3 comments
Mar.05.2013
I've been racking my brains trying to find a gift to send to Huntington. As in Sharp. As in Red Room. I really want to. He has been good to me. Tolerated tons of emails, questions, moods, discontent, happiness, in fact years really of ups and downs and in-betweens.
And it's not easy finding a gift...
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21 comments
Mar.01.2013
I'm in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. Happy. The house is empty but for me. I dig myself into the place, wipe down the table cloth and stack the dishwasher with white bowls stained with pesto and parmesan cheese. There is nothing to bother me. I've texted my son in Dublin. He was home from...
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18 comments
Feb.27.2013
I got you buried in my hand; a melting ice cube, a rough rose coloured crystal for luck, butter to grease the pan. Full moon and foxes in the gorse fort at the end of the garden. I got you buried in my hand like crushed walnuts ready for mixing and a teaspoon of vanilla essence the colour of...
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Feb.26.2013
How suckled we all are on this Spring day toing and froing with our chores, laden with hope, everlasting daylight, slow lazy sunshine creeping onto the back patio as the sun finally labours northward. Our dogs snooze in the gift of light. I spring into a fresh place. My step defined with change....
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8 comments
Feb.23.2013
We walked on into wind laden with ice from the East. Telling ourselves that we were great to be
out, that we owed it to the dogs and noticed how few other souls were braving the arctic air as
we were. Still we moved on, bracing
ourselves, bundling up our scarves like we were fooling ourselves that...
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8 comments
Feb.19.2013
The women of the Magdalene Laundries have risen! Faith is restored.
Our ash tree celebrates by raising it arms in triumph and thanks to the sweet evening sky at the closing of this beautiful February day.
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Feb.16.2013
The evening sky was awash with grey and white waves that I knew would never crash to shore. Instead they remained aloft to tease and cajole me like meringue spread on top of a pie, expertly etched by a palette knife. The sky teased my senses. Caused me to stop and ponder on the beauty of nature....
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there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.
”
—Raymond Carver
About Mary
I live in the west of Ireland. I enjoy writing in many forms, prose, drama, poetry and short pieces for radio. I am also a fanatical baker.
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Mary’s Favorite Books
Stag's Leap - Sharon Olds, The Picture of Dorian Grey - Oscar Wilde, The Bell Jar - Slyvia Plath, Unless - Carol Shields, A Moveable Feast - Hemingway, The Sea...
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