All posts tagged: friends

Soulmates

I was 16 and sitting in my art class. The boy I was madly in love with, in the way your 16 year old giddy heart can only love, leaned across the table and asked ‘So do you actually believe in “The One” Caitríona?’ I was delirious. My pupils dilated, I felt faint, churning sick, beautiful and achingly aware of my Hammerite braces. I wanted to run or else make a Bronte leap into his arms. This was it, he feels it, and he knows he is north-west Donegal’s Burton to my Taylor. He wants to take my hand as we step into my lobster-like vision of us sailing through a cotton cream life where we end up in the kind of home where our kids roll their eyes every time we dance around our grey-haired cosy kitchen to ‘Memories are made of this.’ And we laugh and remember when our joints didn’t hurt as much or when we made love like insatiable, insane creatures or wished we had started saving for our pensions earlier. …

In praise of kindness

I am always heartened by the kindness that occurs every day if you look for it. Despite the ugly and horrific things we read and see, it is happening all around us. Is it the person who puts their change in the charity box at the till? Is it the person who cancels their plans to be with a friend who is having a rough time? Is it the parent who donates their bone marrow to their sick child? Is it the person who brings you a coffee because you are tired, or sad, or just because it’s Saturday? Is it the locals who rally round a family when they have lost someone they love? It is all of these things. It is one of the single most rewarding and healing connections we can make, or have, with another person. Being kind is being vulnerable, it is forgiveness, sacrifice, selflessness and rewarding. And there can never be enough of it. People will always respond to kindness because if you are treated kindly you are instantly …

Farewell at Fumbally

I’m fed up with goodbyes. In the last year I’ve had some very dear friends move to a country or continent that ends with the letter ‘A’, has seven star hotels in aggressive heat or somewhere you can’t get ‘proper Tayto.’ The destination was London for the latest parting friend. His talent hasn’t had the chance to be rewarded here, so he has made the brave and, in his mind, necessary decision to leave. The day before he left we decided to meet for lunch. Lunch is easy for goodbyes. You can’t cry over soup and sandwiches. He suggested a new cafe called ‘The Fumbally’ in Dublin 8. Dublin 8 has always fascinated me. Since moving to Dublin from Donegal 10 years ago, it’s still a postcode that seems to go on forever with places within that are equally hip and horrific. Perhaps that’s the trick of it, and I always get lost there, even when I lived there. The Fumbally, just off New Street, is a place I knew I would get lost trying …