Having A Ball

A Portrait Of Youth Blog : Anne Timmons : Having A Ball

I write this at gran and granda's. Their home is so peaceful compared to what I've grown used to. No matter what room you're in a clock ticks every second and I remember being little and granda teaching me how to tell the time without looking. "It's all about the beats" he'd tell me softly. He's grown more mischievous with age and watching them it would be hard not to believe in true love. I am so content here. Lately my life has been 24/7 and I've spent my all my waking minutes in the city. I've not been here in so long, at least not to stay. I've missed it. I forgot I was something of a country-girl once.

As I type my grandfather points to a deer and various other wild creatures that run across the field outside the window behind me, the hilly field I once used to sledge down on a tray. He makes soup from the veggies he's growing in the garden, the patch of ground watched over by a somewhat large statue of St. Francis of Assisi. When you grow up in an large Irish Catholic family, things like statues of saints in the back garden are things you just don't question. I've kinda grown to love that statue, although none of us grandkids have ever found out exactly how it got there.

On Saturday afternoon I go to see my little cousin for her fourth birthday. She is crazy with excitement and yet ridiculously overwhelmed by everyone's presence. I take her hand and together we run into her new tent, a pop up post office. Her little play tent feels like magic, as if the living room we're sitting in has merely slipped away and  we’re the only ones who have ever set foot in it. She makes me 'tea' with the tea-set I got her. She probably won't remember this day at all, but I hope she remembers being surrounded by love. A girl I knew once when I was younger is home for a while and I almost don't recognise her. I would never have known it was her although I can't claim to have known her well. She is so different to the girl I imagined her to become.

Here, the simplicity attracts me. I realise I want to capture everything, exactly as it is. The old fashioned locks on the door and how much I love the brick that surrounds the stove. We go for walks around the waterfall nearby and come home through fields. One early morning granda is hysterical as a cow makes a run for me. I get over the stile just in time but in my haste one of my wellie boots falls off while I land bottom first into a puddle of mud. Granda is still laughing about it when I leave.



  1. I just wanted to say I love reading your blog! You have such a lovely, poetic style. Look forward to reading more!

    Amy x

    1. Awww thank you so much Amy! That's so sweet of you :Dx


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