Ruth Writes

A room of one’s own

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  • Free-wheeling

    As many of my blogs have already indicated, I like holding everything in my life in a very tight grip.  Already, my health has flown the coop, and the children always teeter on its edges.  But now, it’s the car.  The unbiddable, unpredictable, enfuriating black pest.  The low point was definitely being towed, helplessly, to…

  • In the stillness

    I break away from all things, all people and, after a few steps of dragging responsibilities, I start to look ahead.  Looking around will come later, I hope.  The ground’s unsteady, so I concentrate on the tree roots and rocks, vaguely aware of the blinks of sunlight catching my head through the pine trees.  I…

  • Good walkers, good writers

    I read somewhere last year that acclaimed authors including Joyce and Dickens were also great walkers, an attribute that is reflected in their work.  Hmmm.  I am most definitely not a great walker, and wonder if this inability to wander the streets, or climb mountains, is always going to condemn me to what someone recently…

  • Pink shoe, pygmy shrew

    My first memory of it was when I was 7 or 8.  Some time before the conversation, I had discovered a little pink shoe washed up on the shore, and thought it was something worth telling people about.  One evening, I was listening to my cousins chatting about their discovery of what I thought was…

  • Behind the door at no.56

    It was an ordinary thing, something they used to do every summer, except for last year. Last year, there was no spring, or summer, or any season at all in fact.  Last year, it was all cold and grey, even though the sun shined for everybody else.  Nothing shone for them.  The days all clumped…

  • Alien in the playground

    “Hi.” She looks at me, a rabbit caught in headlights, and shakes her head. “Sorry, my English-” “That’s ok.  Can you understand – my name is Ruth, what is your name?”  I smile, trying not to look as terrifying as she obviously finds me. “Anna.  My name is Anna.” After this barrier has been crossed,…

  • A sticky situation

    So, I think I’ve told you before that, thanks to a neurological flaw, my legs don’t work as they should.  I can say this here, I can tell a select few, but my fear of being defined by one humiliating thing mostly stops me from revealing it.  Which brings me to my dilemma.  Every time…

  • Digging in heaven

    Twice this week, I have had an extraordinarily happy time doing something very ordinary.  During those two times, I have remembered people who aren’t here any more, and felt closer to them.  What was I doing that created this magic?  I was gardening. Earlier this week, my mum, my daughter and I dug in potatoes. …

  • The visit (Saiorse cont.)

    Saiorse stood and waited to be buzzed in through the clanking metal gates.  It was the first time she was old enough to go in herself, and as nobody had ever bothered to take her, it was the first time she had ever been.  She smoothed her hair down, checked her clothes, and then thought…

  • A torrent of words

    As the years go on, and the more self-aware I become, I’m realising that I often give more information than I need to.  There comes a point in my accounts of experiences when I should stop, see the glazed look on the listener’s face, and shut up.  One sentence too many turns an interesting conversation…