Lace

Today is my Lace wedding anniversary. It's been thirteen years since my wedding. My dad, my mum, and obviously my wife, were all there. Now they're all gone. Lace doesn't say much to me today. I mean, I mean I could probably work up an extended metaphor about the fragility of relationships, the endless sophistication of life's unreadable patterns, or I could go dark and suggest that the word lace is derived from the vulgar Latin laceum, meaning noose or snare. But that would just be piffle. The closest I get to lace these days is the fine trellis of suds left in my beer glass. No trace of lace in my life. Except for my widower's veil, I suppose. 

This is also the first anniversary where Kelly has no Facebook presence. She got hacked earlier in the year and Facebook, in their infinite wisdom,  decided to just take her page down. I wrangled with them for a while, until her parents let it be known that they'd actually quite like the page gone. So I left it.  Another thing gone. Another reminder lost. 

I shall go down to your grave, and I shall leave some flowers. And if its a nice day, I'll go to the Seamus Heaney Centre in Bellaghy - only four miles away. I'll have a coffee and a sit down, and I'll listen to the trees, and the birds in the trees, and the wind in the trees, and the quiet. And I'll think about things.