simple-living – VR Stories

It was 6.30am in the morning and the landscape was blu-ing with cold. It was the third day of Samhain, and I was standing outside on the rugged ground looking out towards the mist dancing on Clew Bay. The wind moaned; it was a cold Monday morning, the beginning of the first week of Samhain. Everything is entitled to moan on a cold November Monday. The clash of fading Autumn leaves tumbling off the trees, falling onto a soggy path, made me pause – a moment of wonder I valued.

The robins are awake and are transmitting little staccato notes of surprise before offering their first tentative trills to the greying sky.

I turned my gaze around, and for a moment I was lost in the sight of my white lace curtains, window chimes, and hanging baskets. It may only be a mobile home, but it is home, and I was happy.

Much to my astonishment, I was approaching my eleventh month in Achill Island. I just couldn’t quite believe that something which I thought would be temporary had extended into another winter.

Despite a wind that never ceases to wail like a banshee with fury on her, and driving, darting rain, the weather brings life to my bones. There’s a wind on this island unlike any other in Ireland, and since I have lived in several places and travelled extensively, I can say that with a modicum of confidence.

My early morning routine includes 100 skips before breakfast, and as I skipped the rich, fragrant, dampness of the landscape, teased my nostrils. I want to keep the memory of it somewhere safe in my mind for the day when I must move on. The thought caused my feet to become tangled in the rope, but I elbowed the thought away and carried on skipping. For now, I can’t bear to think about the future. One day at a time, isn’t that what I tell myself? However, I am resigned that nothing lasts forever, and moving on is inevitable.

It was Monday, and Monday mornings are my Better Balance classes in Achill Sound. For someone who trained in dance, my balancing ability is almost non-existent. I made my way into my mobile home to prepare breakfast. There’s something heartwarming about breakfast in a mobile home. Perhaps it’s the wide panoramic windows that allow one to be privy to the ever-changing seasons and raw nature. There was the sound of tapping on the window, and it became a heavy pitter-patter. Its rhythm whispered,’all will be well.’ There’s no fast pace here in Achill. In the way we live, our pursuit of progress has disrupted the natural human pace, but with a thankful heart, I have withdrawn from all that.

I clasped two pears and a banana from my fruit bowl and blended them with some strawberry ‘Actimel’ and natural yogurt. Breakfast is a large bowl of porridge with a substantial dash of salt. To this day, I can’t get used to sweet porridge. It’s nothing but salt for me.

As I sat watching the sheep cozying up to each other under a cluster of trees to shelter from the rain, my lips curled into a smile. The sheep always bring a special joy; the sight of their scattiness uplifts my heart. I have reconciled to the fact that when one has sheep for neighbours, flowers in planters outside my home is not an option. The flowers make a scrumptious breakfast for them.

I have arrived at nearly ‘slow’. It’s taken considerable time, but my destination to fully slow is getting closer by the day.

I have always been slow; it is a large part of who I am. However, society pushes for a fast pace on us; for example, the skill of thinking on one’s feet is upheld as something worthy to have. Unfortunately, I have never had that skill; my words always seem to come out strangled when I speak. It is a different story when I write; then I can take time to ponder, and I can take as much time as is required. A valued skill when one takes a written exam. I don’t burn bright, I burn slow.

Society has conditioned many to believe that slow denotes limited intelligence, and one does not have a clue about what they are doing, and may require help. There have been several occasions when I must use the self-service machine in the bank in my nearest town, which is approximately fifty kilometres away. I often get the impression when using the machine that, due to operating at a slow Achill speed, I must be having a problem with it. Ah! Such is life.

It is fair to say that someone with my type of personality trait needs time to mull over concepts, and that is why I am not good at asking questions directly after a presentation. It is not because I am shy and feel inhibited about asking questions. That is certainly not the case. I need time to join the dots to create an overall picture.

It seems that there’s a part of a deeper instinct in modern life that requires everything to be explained and then labelled if necessary. We talk in theories, systems, mechanisms, and motivations. There’s a standard that people ought to attain to be considered ‘normal.’ Oh, how the word normal grates? I suspect that somewhere in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, there may well be a listing that describes me. However, I do not accept labels, as our society is often too quick to impose definitions or conditions on individuals. God has made so many different shades of people, just like He has made so many diverse colours in flowers.

I’m not a team outlier; I participate fully, but fast-paced discussions can overwhelm me. This used to cause me significant stress and, of course, affected my well-being. Putting yourself out there is tough for some of us, and not everyone is naturally outgoing. I would maintain that flaws are the currency of being human. Perfection is boring. How can one so slow survive in a world that is so fast without becoming drained?

The twelve months of 2024 were long and weary, so much so that my face became lined and my shoulders stooped low. I can’t pinpoint when I lost the essence of the real me, but by the end of the year, I was ill, and when I ventured out, I wore a mask, but no longer.

As I write, I am looking out towards the winter sun sparkling on the rain-soaked leaves, a sight much better than fairy lights. For the first time in what seems a considerable time, I have peace. A canopy of raven black is covering the landscape, and rather than having to turn on the lights to keep working, I can now retire into the easy pace of the evening. Perhaps I will have an early night, switch off my computer, and read a book.

Until next time.

The wheel of the year is speeding towards Samhain, the season of remembrance. November is one of my favourite months, perhaps it’s because when the days shorten and the sun courses low, it allows for reflection and renewal. Memories; the place where my bygone days gather always gives me an invitation to visit at this time of year.

I have always preferred the scents of Spring and Autumn. I must confess that I don’t like heatwaves at all. Yes, I admit, I am holding my hands up to admit that I am one of those annoying moaning persons when there is too much sun. At this point I would have to say that it is my opinion that seasons have changed since I was a child. I did like summer as a child but they were less scorching. I will expand on this in a later post but for now I am reminded of the annual end of October occurrence, the visit to the shoe shop.

October always prompts me to the memory of getting new winter boots. As a child I much preferred boots to shoes. My favourite boots were what I would describe as tufty boots, they were beige, fake fur line and tied up at the front. Boots allowed better freedom for climbing and a favourite winter pastime – sliding. My tufty boots had the perfect soles for sliding. The latter two weeks in October pavements were more than often dusted with frost. It was also the time when the greengrocer had an abundance of fruit, and my grandmother would bake my favourite treacle scones. A batch of which would be sent over to us. Oh! the memories of those long frozen slideways of November. One by one, us children would line up, then tear down a long thin stretch of ice. Of course, there were scraped cheeks, limbs and unfortunately the occasional broken bone. I was fortunate, my only injuries were on my hands, I disliked gloves, but I was always padded up in a hat, coat and boots. However, we were brave, and no scrape stopped us from having winter fun. Until that is, some adult, would spoil our fun by destroying our slide by throwing salt on to melt the ice.

Ah! back to the present, enough of wandering down memory lane. Wisdom would suggest that residing in a rural area necessitates timely preparation for the winter season.

So, with that in mind I went to Achill Sound earlier today, to buy some provisions to store. Some of the items that I like to keep in storage include lentils, pasta, flour, suet, powdered milk, and although I don’t usually use instant potatoes, I’ve bought some to have on hand just in case. I also purchased tea bags to get through long, tough nights without power. With tea bags I can cope with the long nights at home. I also have books ready in case stormy weather knocks out my WiFi.

Achill Sound is a small town; smaller than many villages I’ve been to, but you can get most of what you need. The nearest towns are Westport and the county capital Castlebar. I do not miss living near a large town at all. I have discovered keeping my shopping simple has allowed me to be far more creative in my cooking and I save money because I have learned to buy only what I need. Nowadays, I always have a pot of soup on my stove, and I love experimenting with different vegetables and ingredients. My latest creation which is bubbling away on the stove is Cauliflower and Onion. It is so simple to make and very tasty, especially with a slice or two of garlic bread.

I’ve noted that I will need to order more oil for heating. I certainly don’t want to be sitting with no heat bluing with cold. Brrr, No! I have also just bought a hi viz vest for walking to the bus stop in the dark and have got easy access to items such as candles, a torch and matches. I have also treated myself to an electric blanket, ah the comforting thoughts of warm nights in bed, listening to the pitter patter of the rain on my windows – lovely.

As my life is simply ordinary there is nothing more but to write about the mundane things. However, I value my life style despite it may be classed as boring. I may be boring, but if so I don’t care. I enjoy my simple life. I have peace. Currently, I spend most of my time working on my comic. Unfortunately, I have had to revisit my comic, so it is taken longer than I originally thought. I will go into the reasons further in my next post.

Thus, it is just another day on Achill Island.

Until next time.

VR Stories

The Road Lies Ahead, The Road Lies Behind.

Tag: simple-living

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