A poem for Thursday (and Friday links)

I haven't been here much this week. I guess I've been distracted, finding it difficult to find time to wrap words around thoughts, feeling like a half-formed idea all week. But I'm happy for a long weekend and will share some links with you today instead:
- Seamus Heaney's North
- The full moon, eclipse that just passed. Perhaps I'm in the wake of it. A churn of things new and old.
- It Will Look Like a Sunset
- "Artists put down their brushes and stole my objets trouves, my staple guns and glue guns." - Simon Doonan
- Dutch Masters flowers
- Tumblring

And a poem, by Frank O'Hara.

To Jane, Some Air
Now what we desire is space.
To turn up the thermometer and sigh.

    A village had gone under the water
of her smile, and then, quickly, it froze clear
so that the village could know our whereabouts.
And had you intended it?

I found a string of pearls in the tea bags
                               and gave them her
with what love?

            With the love of the camelopard
for the camel, for the leopard.

                                   Oh space!
you never conquer desire, do you?

You turn us up and we talk to each other
and then we are truly happy as the telephone
rings and rings and buzzes and buzzes,

    so is that the abyss? I talk, you talk,
he talks, she talks, it talks.

                                   At last!
You are warm enough, aren't you?
And do you miss me truly dear, as I miss you?
    I don't think I'll return to the zoo


Since we're having a winter relapse, no better day to share some knitwear from a new-to-me designer Nido.

Sunday best: Nothing special

There are no epic schemes right now, no lofty missions. Yesterday, I bought some new plants — a jasmine and some succulents. My sago palm is not doing so great so I troubled over that a little, moving him to a different spot, running my hands over his fronds trying to exert some healing powers. Not everything bursts forth in blossom and colour when spring arrives and I guess many of us need some gentle coaxing.

I'm enjoying the simplicity of going outside right now. Throwing on some clothes, some shoes, walking out the door. Not bracing for the cold, not scared of the sidewalk. I've been walking up and down the hill at rates to rival the Grand Old Duke of York.

Today will be more of the same; just walking, grocery shopping, reading. Nothing special. The perfect Sunday.

Products: Rag & Bone jeans from Net-a-Porter | Xana Henley Top by Etoile Isabel Marant from Steven Alan | The Lip Slip from Sara Happ | Sel Marin from James Heeley | ERES Lumière Lydia bra from Net-a-Porter | Crescent Moon Earrings from Satomi Kawakita | Bloch London flat from Gravity Pope | Resurrection Aromatique Hand Balm from Aesop


A week of unexpected things, progress of sorts, I suppose.

My mind was cast home for many little reasons, but this post is about one of my favourite places at home that I've always kept a little to myself (unintentionally, I guess I never thought to share it when I had visitors). And it's nice to have a place that you keep to yourself so that when people come and go, as people do, and it changes the places you saw together, there are some things still selfishly unaltered.

I've been looking forward to the weekend since Wednesday, feeling Friday ought to be closer all the time and now it's here at last and there's a dinner at my favourite local with a lovely friend tonight. More links:
- Sleep as resistance
- We are all very anxious
- Car of my dreams
- I love this bracelet

Still inspired by Doreen's, I'll shop for plants on the weekend instead of buying flowers. I'll sleep and watch Hannibal, the only TV show worth watching if you ask me. I'll pick through some pages of my book. I'll keep my eyes wide open.

Happy weekend!


Of late, I've felt pretty immune to decor spreads. I mean, I can admire them, but it's rare that one spurs me into action or inspires in more than the most abstract way. Rather, I've been hunkering down in my own space and letting it whisper to me, guiding my next move. This feels like a less harried way of finding inspiration and of evolving decor.

All this temperance was suspended dramatically when I saw the pictures Doreen shared of her home on the weekend. I suspect Doreen's home is precisely the vintage and design of Dublin home that I love the best. And what inspires me in these images isn't so much this paint colour or that sofa style (though, wow) as the sense of home and family and the life lived in this space that comes through these images.

When I was little Mum and Dad took to me to visit Eric Barrington's house. He was an elderly gentleman we knew and his house was so full of treasures he'd conduct little tours of it. Every item had a story and Eric was just the sort of grandfatherly man to tell those stories to children in ways that made each thing an adventure come to life. I guess I always think homes should have objects like this. Beautiful, yes. But with a reason for being there that goes beyond their beauty.

And this too is the sense I get from Doreen's pictures. That if I stepped into this room and picked something up, a story would be told. And it makes me realize that the things I love in my own home have their own stories too.

On the way home tonight, I picked out some new plants. I definitely have to credit Doreen with that too. Beautiful light hitting greenery never fails to lift the spirits!

All images by Doreen Kilfeather and used here with her permission.

A poem for Wednesday

I just walked home. Midway, I sat on a bench to Instagram something and a dog came over to say hello. His name was Bob and he's just moved here from England. I wondered how differently the world smells to him here. Even I can smell the difference between Dublin and Toronto; there's a wet-stone mustiness to Dublin. All drenched moss and heather, salty rope, peat and grass. Bob probably thinks he's hit the squirrel bonanza here. Wait until he meets his first skunk.

It's still easy for me to feel outside of all this too. I sat in a meeting this morning and everybody talked about curling. Several minutes of curling talk. And I just sat there and thought, I really live in Canada now. It never goes away -- the little things that trigger feelings of novelty and giddiness. Bob and I aren't that different, I guess. This is another one by Mary Oliver.

The Dog Has Run Off Again
and I should start shouting his name
and clapping my hands,
but it has been raining all night
and the narrow creek has risen
is a tawny turbulence is rushing along
over the mossy stones
is surging forward
with a sweet loopy music
and therefore I don’t want to entangle it
with my own voice
calling summoning
my little dog to hurry back
look the sunlight and the shadows are chasing each other
listen how the wind swirls and leaps and dives up and down
who am I to summon his hard and happy body
his four white feet that love to wheel and pedal
through the dark leaves
to come back to walk by my side, obedient.