Stories about the ordinary things that stay with us: a room, a voice, a meal, an object or a place. Written from Kerry, Ireland, but often travelling much further, these are personal essays about memory, belonging, friendship and the lives we make around one another.
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The Photograph in the Envelope
A brown envelope of old photographs opens into stories of family, politics, marriage and loss. Some names are remembered, some are crossed out, and one photograph needs no name at all.
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The Third House
Helen and Gary had already built two homes before Hatfield House. Their third carries what those earlier houses taught them — about rooms, gardens, five children, and the way a family makes a house its own.
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A Piseog About a Ciotóg
Someone once told me that every ciotóg began as a twin. I have no idea who. Years later, that strange little piseog still has me wondering — about left hands, twins, Irish folklore, and the things we somehow remember without ever remembering who taught them to us.
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The Room I Nearly Didn’t Enter
I joined for the exercise. I stayed, it turns out, for reasons that had very little to do with fitness at all.
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Tell them about the time…
Why do we ask someone to tell a story we’ve already heard? Perhaps because we’re listening to more than the story — the voice, the gestures, the laughter, and everything happening around the telling.
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When You Step Back Far Enough
Photographer Stephen Phelan has a knack for seeing what the rest of us might miss. Sometimes all it takes is a little patience, a different angle — or knowing when to step back far enough.
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The Journey is the Point
A retirement gift, a first tattoo and an afternoon in Killarney. What began as a passing remark became a heron, a line and a rather unexpected way of thinking about what comes next.
