That dream again. Haven’t had it in a while. Ken reappears and I don’t want to know him. He is Hopper from Stranger Things – not exactly Hopper, but someone a bit like him, although he is also very much himself too. He has been to a gulag, or some form of extreme confinement. He … Continue reading That Dream Again
“I think people are uncomfortable, so they say nothing,” she told me, “like people no longer saying his name.” Had that been the case with my husband, Ken, and with my dad, Barry, had my friends and family not been able to remember either anniversary landing on these days, speak either’s name, say something they … Continue reading We Should Speak of the Dead
I’m still in Portrush. Gales and more gales blow through, one trailing the other, bowling balls careening down a polished rink, on they roll, another, another, another. The wind abates for a day or two, then I’ll be lying in my upstairs bedroom at night and hear it gather speed, listen to it rise, rip, … Continue reading Letting Go
Parked up on a cliff edge in East Lothian, gusts of wind rocking my car, I waited for my friend and his two dogs to arrive. Our Sunday morning plan: breakfast followed by a walk. I stared out onto the bruised blue of the North Sea, looked upon the vast nearness of the Bass Rock … Continue reading When The Sky Falls In
There ought to be aversion therapy for tears; a programme targeted at those people who squirm when faced with someone else’s crying. If controlled exposure to spiders for people with arachnophobia is a proven means of slowly dissolving their fear of eight legs, then surely the same should work for people who are mortified by … Continue reading Crying Over You
I had never heard the phrase before and then (how does this happen?) I came across it again within twenty-four hours. ‘Happiness writes white,’ he said. ‘When I am content, I have no inspiration. Ease causes the muse to fly.’ I didn’t want to believe it, that one needs to be tortured in order to … Continue reading Happiness Writes White
There is an unbearable beauty about Edinburgh these days. All week I have witnessed nature’s exquisite performance; free displays so stunning to look upon that I am not sure if they are filling my heart with joy or wounding it with pain. It is too much to take in. I’ve come to think of my … Continue reading Unbearable Beauty
‘Every now and then life says, where do you think you’re going so fast?’ We’re apt to think it’s cruel but sometimes it’s a case of cruel to be kind.’ Those are a couple of lines from a Ron Sexsmith song called ‘Gold In Them Hills’. He’s a Canadian singer songwriter with a voice that … Continue reading Every Now and Then Life Says
My dad would have been 81 today but he died a few years shy of seeing another decade. It’s long enough ago for me to reflect peacefully, to cradle his absence from a place of stillness. Not that opening packages of memory comes without emotion, but now any pain I feel has a soft give, … Continue reading Whole
A late June night. I’d picked her up from the tram, and we were driving back along York Place. From there, we drove down Leith Walk, briefly passing through Haddington Place, before we turned onto Montgomery Street. She lifted her hand, an involuntary action, she didn't seem to know she was doing it, and pressed … Continue reading Absence
My Edinburgh Press 