I live in Aran


The Aran Artisan

When I was age twenty-five, someone very dear to me died tragically in a motorcycle accident. In nearly identical circumstances my father was also taken twelve years prior. I never truly mourned the first loss, therefore I spent most of the next year grieving doubly. Hours a day walking the beach proved very therapeutic. As a self-employed seamstress I afforded this indulgence by working until the wee hours of the morning, awoken from sleep by the sunrise and my enthrallment with collecting sea glass. Perhaps someday I would make a glass curtain, the kind I remembered my dad had, only his was beads in a doorway that chinkled when we unavoidably brushed through them to enter his music room. Steely Dan, Doobie Brothers, The Rolling Stones, Boston, and Aerosmith were his favourite vinyl choices. I more often preferred my mother’s picks of ABBA and John Denver, but they are all…

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