Pride

Maybe some day, some one will be able to articulate what it meant to be part of a YES Equality canvass team in the Marriage Equality referendum? Some have said it was the best experience of their lives, that it lifted them out of hopelessness about political change, that it gave them back a sense of pride in their true identity. Others who voted NO are saying they had no idea how much a YES vote would mean, and now wish in retrospect that they had voted differently....

Some day we might figure out how it happened that Ireland, a once conservative, Catholic society where abortion is still illegal, mobilised and voted to enshrine equal marriage in our constitution? Where our young people came home to vote from all over the world, where Grandparents spoke in favour of something which for their generation had been unheard of. Where we all wept one minute and grinned our ears off the next and couldn't believe in the goodness of some people or then in the downright meanness of others.

What swung it? How did the likes of us, end up here, marching in this Pride Parade with 50-60,000 others? At that first meeting in the Mother of Pearl Cafe in Tramore, I wondered how we could possibly pull this off and how devastating it would be if the country voted No?

8 weeks later.....it seemed as if the world had changed.....

For me it was always about creating safety, belonging, love. We were asking for something so positive, a YES. We were asking Ireland to grow up, to embrace diversity, and citizenship. And in keeping with my own work of 30 years in Framework it was also about progressing equality which would impact on everyone. 

Looking back I now see that while it's a step in the right direction it needs to be the beginning of lots more positive change.  Having been involved in this work most of my life, I have no illusions that getting here took a long, long commitment by some absolute legends who dedicated their lives to it. There are still other areas of inequality which remain shamefully and blatantly off the agenda of the powers that be, in spite of similar commitment over years. Finding the key to the next steps will be a challenge for us all. 

I am still caught up in the romance of it because love won!!! All of you who played your own part, walked side by side with the LGBTI community and went out to vote YES were a part of that. Today along with other campaign teams from across the country, we celebrated our #Pride and privilege of being part of an amazing community and a life changing event in our history.

And look at the great team we had in Waterford!! (Too many to mention but you know who you are xxx) 


There are some sweet memories here in the Yes Equality Gallery

Sweet nothings

He gathers windfalls and leaves them on the white washed gate post. I used to think it was an invitation to help yourself. Now I know it's a stash he's keeps for the horses.

As the evening sun sparkles on the lake, he takes a few in his pocket and wanders down towards the waterside field. I was there tonight and heard him talk horse.

"There there girl, that's a good girl, ..........."

She pricks up her ears and walks towards him.......

"Do you want an apple? Sure you do, you do, you'd love an apple. What have I got? Have got one for you, have I have......."

She nuzzles, sniffles at his hand.......

"Who's a good girl, O here's himself now, (laughter......as the other horse approaches) would you want an apple too now sir......you would sir, you would......O you would indeed......."


Sweet nothings, coaxings, words of love.

Woman to woman......

I lost my mother to cancer at the young age of 33. In 2013 it will be 50 years ago. The memories I have of her are scarce. I just know that she gave us her best years, a parting gift of unshakable love and a caring respect for those who struggle through life with a broken wing.

One of my earliest memories is of my mother bringing women into our kitchen to feed them and make hot milk for their babies.  Craggy faced women in big shawls, wet from walking the roads. Children wrapped close to their bodies. My mother, only a fresh faced girl, was confident and at ease with them. I remember being in awe of their tales. Where they had been, who they had seen. When myself and my sisters outgrew clothes my mother made little parcels and gave them away. I was shocked one day when I saw "our pram" down the town with a scruffy little boy sitting up in it.

I like to think that even though she couldn't be present, she influenced the rest of my life, my work and my creativity. Fully absorbed in her love of music she had access to a precious inner world. I used to think she was feeling sad, now I understand that she was moved and connected to the beauty of it.

As I blaze a trail through life as an older woman, something she would never do, she is becoming more of a presence in my life again. Or maybe we are crossing paths as I make my way back towards my own childhood roots to meet her again, woman to woman.......




This post was written for Vision and Verb a global gathering of creative women, why not pay a visit, make a comment on any post this week and be in with a chance to win a set of 10 beautiful cards.

Love

The swans are back on the lake for the winter. Just one pair, they come every year.

I have to go deeper into the forest to glimpse them up close. At first they are hidden by the reeds but as I step into the water they stir and swim towards me, elegantly posing side by side.

They mate for life. As I have.

My mate is building a wall. He faces the sun which warms his hands on the cold stones. Blissfully happy out in the air, away from the writing and the issues he wrestles with in the world of change.

We glide past each other in opposite directions. We chat. He talks to me about stones. He points out dozens of seagulls coming in to wash in the lake. He speaks of weather fronts coming in from the north and searches the sky for blue patches.

I talk to him about creative struggles. Should I explore a new location? Will I begin to tweak my photos a bit more? Maybe I need to alter my workspace?

Later he is on his way to empty the kitchen bins. One for cooked food one for uncooked. He is meticulous about this. I am the one who messes it up..... all the time. As he passes he puts an arm around me and says my name.........with such enthusiasm! I laugh. His mucky old hat is askew on his head. His grubby old jacket dusty from the stones.

I have heard stories about love. About mating for life. About swans who live in peace all their lives.

And now I phone him from the forest. "The swans are back again!" And I know that he, the one who holds the key to my heart, is cheered by this ordinary piece of news in a way that only he would be..........


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