Double Vision with Charlie Adley
I’ve temporarily transported myself to a house atop a mighty hill, high above Lacken Bay, north Co. Mayo. Beyond the Black Stump, as my Aussie friends say. The universe has been inordinately kind to me at a time of great need. I think 15 years ago I very briefly met the woman who owns this house, but she doesn’t remember.
More to the point, she doesn’t care.
Explaining who I am to her on the phone consisted solely of mentioning my friends here, in and around Killala.
In turn, I have grown to know her a little by looking at the books that line her windowsills, the seed packets on her shelves and her DVD library, which has sustained me through long midsummer evenings.
There is no TV and I have no desire to use the internet.
There come exceptionally few days in our lives when the universe wants nothing from us. It is even rarer that when those days come, we are able and eager to greet them, but this week that combination arrived together, which I greatly appreciate.
I very much like a window to write beside. Ideally it would be on my left, but directly in front is lovely too. Whoever designed this house understands windows, as through the one ahead of me here I see cattle grazing far away towering hillsides, long grasses waving in the wind, the tallest buttercups I’ve ever encountered and wild roses growing out of ancient hedges.
One of my friends in Killala told me yesterday that she prefers to write in a windowless corner, and there you have it.
Neither of us is right or wrong. Apart from death there are no absolutes, so when I have described myself in this colyoom as weird, because I sometimes need to be alone, I confess now to being disingenuous.
Judge me weird or any way you want, but do not condemn me for mere introversion.
There are over three billion introverts on this planet right now. You might not know it, because we don’t tend to advertise meetings.
To read Charlie’s column in full, please see this week’s Galway City Tribune.