Just had a rather wonderful weekend in Kilkenny, the centre-point of which was watching a stunning performance of Trainspotting with some ridiculously great people. It deserves a post in itself and will get one when I have a little more time/energy/caffeine coursing through my veins.
I’m a little introspective tonight. Earlier this evening I received a cheque paid from the will of my grandmother, who died in February. My grandfather, still very much kicking, had included a brief letter with it in which he spoke of my grandmother’s great love for me and pride in me, as she held for all her grandchildren. I’m not sure I have ever heard the man say the word ‘love’, apart from when he was reading at his wife’s funeral, but he has a way of expressing the concept beautifully in very few words when setting his thoughts to paper. He did it once with a short note accompanying a gift to me of his own framed copy of the poem ‘If’ by Rudyard Kipling when I was at one of the lowest, most shameful points of my life. And he brought an unexpected moistening of the cheeks to me tonight, at a point where I suddenly realised how badly I needed the affirmation and love of those I respect and respected.
And it dawned on me that sometimes, when you don’t feel much love and pride in yourself, the major reason to keep striving for good and for better is to hopefully inspire that love and pride from those who matter most.
Disclaimer: I do realise what a strong element of cheese there is about this post but sometimes cheese, as in the case of a very fine Camembert, is just the goddamn truth.