That first book led to many wonderful moments for which I am extremely grateful. To School Through The Fields opened the door and then the story continued. For me, the day that the first copy of any book arrives is still a very special day. Up to then it has all been just a dream, but on the day you hold the first copy in your hands the dream becomes reality.

  But the greatest moments of all are when I meet readers or receive letters from people who tell me that my books have brought joy into their lives. Because in the heel of the hunt, that is what life is all about.

  From There to Here

  A beautiful moment experienced and savoured to the full will be recorded on the back pages of your mind. It can be reread and relived again and again. Poets do this for themselves and others. We all have our favourite poets who do it for us. How often have you read a poem and you are enthralled by the picture the poet paints. It could be a scene that you had forgotten and he or she brings it right back into your mind. They have been there. They have once stood where you are now. Their feelings are yours. Maybe it is one good reason for memorising poems – in life you may come on something quite wonderful that is beyond your word power to describe and the words of a poem from away back float into your mind. How wonderful. For many people Wordsworth’s poem on daffodils is the best example of this:

  … For oft, when on my couch I lie

  In vacant or in pensive mood,

  They flash upon that inward eye

  Which is the bliss of solitude;

  And then my heart with pleasure fills,

  And dances with the daffodils.

  Wordsworth’s recall while reclining on his couch have given pleasure to many down through the years. In this way the blissful moments of others can enrich us and open our eyes to the beauty that surrounds us. And don’t you love Robert Louis Stevenson’s childhood sentiment:

  The world is so full of a number of things,

  I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.

  I’m not so sure about the happiness of kings! But it was the child’s perception of a king’s world. His lines would indeed make one wonder as to why we are not all dancing with happiness.

  Down through the years poets have brought us into their experiences. There are times when poetry is far more appealing to read than prose. It can somehow capture an experience in a nutshell. Poets give the reader a key into their minds.

  A beautiful piece of music has the same effect. It dances into your mind and, through the performer, swirls you into the world of the composer. Unlike poetry, this is a three-piece experience and it works when each one is in harmony with the other. You glide onto another level. How often has a piece of music carried you to a place long-forgotten? It can be a great feeling. To bring the past into the now. Sometimes if I hear a favourite piece of music on the radio I dance to it around the kitchen. It brings joy to now.

  But sometimes if you are not in the now, a beautiful experience may pass you by almost unnoticed. One part of your mind may note it and later you may recall your lack of mindfulness with regret. A few years ago there was an oil spill out at sea and we went very early one morning to check for oiled birds on the beach. There were none. It was a breathtakingly beautiful morning, but for some reason I was not fully present. There was something else that I cannot now even remember that was occupying my mind.

  Then

  Early spring morning,

  Nobody on the beach.

  We came searching

  For oiled birds.

  And found only

  Sparkling sunbeams

  Riding bareback

  On leaping waves.

  A sunlit world

  Alive with sea music.

  It was a picture

  To be painted

  When the scene was fresh;

  I cannot

  Now recall

  All the magic

  That was then.

  I had allowed that golden moment to pass me by.

  My first experience of ballet provided a never-to-be-forgotten moment. As a child I remember admiring wonderful pictures of Margot Fonteyn in a magazine. She brought to mind a bird in flight – this is something we witnessed daily all around us in the countryside.

  Many years later I was on holiday with my daughter in Boston and she booked tickets for Romeo and Juliet performed by the Boston Ballet. It was mesmerising. The movement, the colour and magic were unforgettable. I was spellbound. That night opened the door into subsequent memorable ballet experiences.

  Even when you are in deep pain a shared beautiful experience can leave a lasting memory-print on your mind. Once I attended a performance of The Nutcracker with a beloved sister whose time on earth was limited, and that evening was a treasured memory long after she was gone. On another occasion, while deep in grief, I visited the Musée d’Orsay in Paris and there stood in front of a painting by an impressionist artist of a windswept figure in a snowstorm. It was a beautiful, bleak picture of someone lost and lonely in a frozen storm. As I stood there, the picture reached out and encompassed me. The artist, though long gone, was there with me. His picture brought me comfort. There are no time barriers in creativity.

  But the art of creativity is not confined to writing, painting and music. It stretches into many other fields of life. The deep satisfaction derived from baking is captured beautifully in a poem by Brendan Kennelly which was inspired by the memory of his mother making a cake. If Brendan got joy from writing the poem, how much more did his mother get from the actual cake-making that inspired it? It was probably her exuded pleasure that prompted his poem.

  When we are deeply engrossed and completely focused on the creation of anything, no matter how ordinary, like gardening, wood carving, knitting or sewing, we are satisfying a creative need that is deep within us all. Nothing satisfies the mind like the fulfilling of that creative need. It brings us into the deep joy of now.

  Refeathering the Nest

  The fledglings are reared and have flown the nest and your best friend may have gone on ahead of you into the great unknown. You are home alone. The family nest, once a hive of activity is now strangely quiet. After a period of readjustment, contemplation and assessment you come to the conclusion that you need to get your act together. A change of direction is required. Your mind needs to shift gear from your previous role to whatever may evolve. Life is about enjoying the rest of the journey not arriving at the destination.

  You are at a crossroads, with different roads stretching out around you in various directions. And, to quote Robert Frost, you would like to ‘take the road less travelled’ and hopefully it might make all the difference.

  But first a big decluttering needs to take place. There is a theory in life: ‘Tidy your house, tidy your mind.’ It is now time to put that theory to the test.

  When the fledglings fly the nest they take no luggage with them. It is all left at base camp and eventually you realise that they have no notion of coming back to collect. Their clutter is now your problem. If your partner in their rearing was into minimalist living you are lucky, and if not you now have a double whammy with which to contend. So clearing the clutter is first on the agenda.

  When you are about to make a long journey into the unknown you need a guide for the journey to enable you to arrive at your desired destination. In this case a decluttered house is the desired destination. A book on how to achieve this is a necessary requirement. Otherwise you are setting out on your journey with no sense of direction and no specific destination in mind. What you need is a ‘rules of the road’ book to guide you. There are a lot of books on this subject, but you need the best. And the best, in my opinion, is Spark Joy by Marie Kondo. Now, Marie Kondo is a tough taskmaster but she will set you on course.

  A decluttering journey is mentally and physically exhausting, and not without its agonising moments of remembrances and indecision. But Marie is an expert and she gives you the coping tools that guide you through all kinds of dilemmas. It will take time and patience, but eventually you will get there.

  Your house, after a long, dedicated haul of sorting, clearing and recycling, is clear of clutter … well almost and a fresh wind of change blows through your home and through your mind. You discover that the ‘clear your clutter and clear your mind’ maxim is indeed true! Your house can breathe more freely and so can you. That’s the house done, but now, what about you? You now have more time on your hands than you ever had. So what to do with it?

  Of course, we could all cod ourselves into believing that we are very busy – busy doing nothing! But that is not the aim of the game. The children don’t need an appendage to their lives. They now have their own lives and we need a new direction. There are many doors open and we must choose carefully as there are no endless years stretching ahead of us, and we want to appreciate and enjoy those that are left.

  When faced with this situation I did a mental survey. What are the things that I put on hold while having other priorities in life? Over the years there were many pursuits that I might have enjoyed but at the time, out of necessity, they had to be sidelined. So now, like Fagan, this is the ‘time to think it out again’.

  Now is the time!

  It Takes so Long to Say Goodbye

  They have had it. There is no more in them. They have given it their all. And they are falling asunder. Yesterday part of a heel came away. Their day has finally come. They and I have done a lot of living together and they show it. And if the truth be told, so do I. But when my time comes I will be boxed up and shoved into the ground. No choice. Which is no bad thing.

  But I am forced to toll the bell for my dear old friends. This is boot euthanasia. It seems so thankless after their long years of service. I owe them a lot. They and I have shared great times and now it’s time to say goodbye. But I do not want to part with them. We have been together for such a long time. A marriage made in heaven. We have had such good days walking in so many places. We originally came together for gardening and walking the woods. While climbing hilly slopes they lovingly took care of me underfoot, and massaged my toes and ankles. A warm love affair kindled. A relationship that is far more long-lasting than a sudden flare of passion that might soon burn itself out. These friends have gone far and away beyond their original call of duty. Polished up, they sneaked into posh shops and top-class hotels, where more elegant-looking footwear is the norm. Elegant footwear may look good, but often is not kind to fragile feet – though I am very impressed by ladies who balance on clifftop high heels and master the precarious art of walking in them.

  As we grow older and hopefully wiser, undesirable passengers, like corns and callouses, cling like barnacles to the underside of the carrier and become part of the cargo. My old friends softly encircled them all in their embrace. They were infinitely accommodating to any painful condition that came to live with me, shielding me from their worst efforts. They were loving and caring in all circumstances and situations. True and trusted friends. Once I slipped into them, I was assured of a relaxed and comfortable journey. Surely such faithful service deserved a just reward? How would I say a gentle goodbye to them? What would I do with my faithful old boots? Could they continue in another format? How about reincarnation for old boots? Do I believe in reincarnation? Why not!

  Maybe my old friends and I do not have to part, after all. Why not fill them up with lovely soft compost and plant them with wild-flower seeds? Our roles will have changed. Up to now they were the carers and now it is my time to care for them. Gradually they will soften and slowly fade away, and eventually become part of the earth, as will I. We need never say goodbye.

  Both Sides Now

  Yesterday in the garden I remembered her. When her husband died suddenly she came to stay with us. It was supposed to be short-term, but she stayed until she died fourteen years later. ‘Never grow old, my dear,’ she warned me in her precise, articulate Anglo Irish accent. ‘It’s an appalling condition.’ She issued this proclamation one day as she slowly climbed the stairs.

  But she handled her ‘appalling condition’ with the expertise of a skilled boatman brilliantly manoeuvring a voyage through troubled waters and avoiding as many rocks and rapids as possible. Like Oscar Wilde, she believed that the most unforgivable offence in life was to be boring, and she never fell into that trap. Her quicksilver, enquiring mind kept life around her full of vibrancy. But it was this active mind that sometimes became irritated by the limitations of her less active body.

  During the fourteen years that she spent with us, she taught me many valuable lessons. One was ‘Never indulge in self-pity, it destroys you and annihilates other people.’ Another was: ‘There is nothing more boring that other people’s operations and grandchildren.’ And the final one was: ‘If you put up with too much, you get too much to put up with.’

  Yesterday in the garden I remembered her. Like her, I am now slowing down – or should I say having to slow down. But yesterday in the garden I discovered that that too has its compensations. A few years ago I would have come into this garden in the early morning and worked here all day, stopping only to eat. Now, not so. Not so!

  Yesterday morning I came out full of enthusiasm to spray my roses. Roses are beautiful but demanding ladies, and mine are blighted with black spot. A few weeks ago I was at a talk by Dermot O’Neill and he cast forth a gem of wisdom: mix a tablespoon of baking soda and a tablespoon of Phostrogen in a gallon of water and spray regularly, having first cleaned around the base and fed the roses well.

  By the time all this was achieved I was whacked! It was time to sit and recover. So I brought out my lunch and afterwards sat and sat and sat … The sun was shining and the birds were singing. When you sit quietly in the garden, after a certain amount of time the birds decide that you are part of the garden furniture or a new shrub. They resume their normal activity.

  Beside me the bare branches of Uncle Jacky’s apple tree became a flutter of activity. Some birds flitted from feeder to feeder, others perched on the side of the little black skillet pot full of rainwater and dipped in their tiny beaks. Also hanging off the branches are three small copper pots that I had got tired of polishing and had turned into watering wells for the birds. Not until you sit and watch them, do you realise how much water birds drink. As they flew around, they chirped and sang. They were a delight to hear and to watch.

  Suddenly a movement caught my eye. It was on the rose bush at the top of stone steps beside the tree. Up there, partly hidden by rambling roses, is a nesting box in the shape of a caravan. This was a gift from a bird-loving friend and because I could not pin it to the high stone wall with all the other nesting boxes I had put it up there, safe from visiting cats. Thorny roses are a great deterrent to climbing cats. Last spring it remained unoccupied.

  Now as I watched, a little bird known to me as a ‘Jacky Black Cap’ landed on a rose branch and cocked a wary eye around him – I decided it was a ‘he’. Then he hopped onto another twig a little bit closer to the circular hole of the box. Then a little bit closer, always with an observant eye. Then he disappeared inside. I could hear a regular pecking sound from within. He was getting his home ready for a new nest. Then he emerged and flew away. Shortly afterwards another arrived. At least, I think it was another. They looked identical and as I am no Derek Mooney I did not know the difference. However, I hoped that I had a male and female moving in and planning a family in their new home. Then while the second arrival was hovering around the branches, back came the other one, so that confirmed my hopes that I had a nesting pair. They proceeded to fly back and forth, becoming gradually more relaxed as they established their ownership of their new home. As I sat watching them, a robin landed in the bird bath slightly to my left and proceeded to give herself a good shower. She merrily swished water in all directions and then took off with a flutter of sparkling wings.

  At nesting time, the garden is a delightful place to be. But yesterday I would have missed it all but for the necessity of having to take a rest.

  About the Author

  Alice Taylor grew up on a farm in North Cork. There, out in the quiet fields, seeds of joy and mindfulness were planted. Since then she has learnt the importance of being present in each moment to better absorb and enjoy special times as they happen. Even very ordinary experiences may be shot through with rays of delight. But we have to be in the now to enjoy these golden times.

  Alice has written many books about country living and the changing face of Ireland. In this book she takes us on a mindful journey through everyday, ordinary living.

  OTHER BOOKS

  Memoirs:

  To School through the Fields

  The Village

  The Parish

  And Time Stood Still

  The Gift of a Garden

  Do You Remember?

  The Women

  Tea and Talk

  Home for Christmas

  Fiction:

  The Woman of the House

  Across the River

  The House of Memories

  See the complete list at www.obrien.ie

 

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