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Memories….An Urban Myth
The prompt was – what was your earliest memory of being in danger? Well I can’t tell you that but I will tell you about the time I was nearly abducted by an urban myth instead. I lived for the first 3 years of my life in a local authority house on the northside of Dublin. The house was nothing special – what suburban terraced house is – but it was home and it was safe, or at least that’s what I thought. It appears though that it wasn’t as safe as I thought it was. As the story goes, shortly before we moved across the city to another end-of-terrace house in a very similar local authority estate, I was rescued by the quick thinking of our next door neighbour’s daughter. Apparently I was standing on the…
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GETTING AROUND TO PROCRASTINATION
Now there’s procrastination and then there’s my brand of procrastination. Here’s what I mean: my Dad died almost two years ago and shortly after the funeral my two siblings and I spent a brief and miserable evening sorting out his ‘things’. He was monklike in his approach to possessions and so there was very little to distribute and dispose of really (a seriously large and diverse collection of rosary beads being the exception). After carefully selecting some ‘keepsakes’ to be distributed to his grandchildren (a decision made by parents whether said grandchildren want the keepsakes or not), most of what he carefully gathered and guarded over his 91 years on planet Earth was, not to put too fine a point on it, rubbish. So where’s the procrastionation in that? I hear you ask, although I didn’t mean…
