My dad was 80 this week. EIGHTY. That's almost a hundred, a life that has spanned generations, like the wings of an eagle, stretching across a vast sky and pushing into the sunlight. Long before I was born those generations flew into the shadows of my dad's own family, a fledgling with siblings and parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, and then after that, the nest expanding, the season's merging, soaring into a new path, a new story emerging, five of us, joining together with my father and mother as a family. And then we created our own, contributing to the generations with our own children who then in turn have come together in their own narratives, each flying beyond the moon and the stars carving their unique little worlds that merge and shine like the silver diamonds they were cut from.
We celebrated my dad's big day as a family; children, grandchildren and great grandchildren coming today in a frenzied burst of energy, sheltering under those broad brushstrokes of life, laughing, eating, chatting, pulling in the past and stretching out towards the future.
The future is so uncertain and yet so is the past. Is it as you thought it was, do the walls shift and merge at different angles as we move forward? If you step backwards the path isn't always where it once was, it changes direction as we grow and learn and become wiser. And the future's there, somewhere in the distance. Are we part of it and if we are what form do we take, what heights have we climbed to. Have we climbed?
The only moment with any certainty is the one that sits on your shoulders, turning with you, a shadow upon a shadow, a window to your soul. Grasp it, hold it tight and fly.
Author of 'The Birds That Never Flew', Thunderpoint. I work in the energising world of making television, telling stories creatively onscreen. I have an amazing son and daughter, both are beautiful, inspiring and engaging. My heart beats at its fastest when I'm at my home on Rathlin Island. Say hi on Twitter @MargotMcCuaig or at margotmccuaig.com
Sunday, 3 November 2013
Monday, 30 September 2013
what september brings
This afternoon I took a moment to look back on September, a month of changing light and incredible bursts of colour. Every day brought something different to my world, a morning view shared before I made my way into a new challenge with fresh eyes and hope in my heart.
Here's my month as it descended on each new morning, my first thoughts captured and then sent to Twitter before I had a chance to analyse or think or begin to try to change what was there in front of me. Hope your days were memorable and creative, too.
Sun: the breath of wagging tails swirls &
rusting leaves dance, stepping out on a path of beauty, the last melody before
the gaping sleep.
@MargotMcCuaig 2 Sep
Mon: wind pushes into the sky like ivy climbing a
chimney breast. A gull catches the swirl in its throat & glides, the
morning call piercing
Tue: clouds roll across a low sky & leaves
shiver in its gentle breeze, a bird dances on trembling bark & glides into
the shadow of morning.
Wed: the sky is silent & yet little puffs of
watery mascara float in the distance, the smoky tears of an angel washing her
sadness in morning
Thur: rowan fruit sheaths morning like strong hills
on the horizon, flaming stillness seeping into low grey sky & washing it in
pink promise
Fri: trees stand still less they break the silence
of morning, a late summer bloom watches, waist deep in soil, head bowed in
self-doubt.
Sat: a gull cuts a shadow on the chimney breast
& the misty sky watches it dance across time, a hidden message in a story
long forgotten.
Sun: a dog's bark glides the sky, its rafting twang
stealing presence like a child discovering Christmas, its gravity captured in a
smile.
Mon: beyond the naked eye misty rain gathers
effortlessly in fluffy clouds, its presence pulsing like yesterday's brightly
falling stars.
Tues: a cloud tumbles from the sky like an anchor
& morning catches it in broad arms that swim in the shallows diverting the
onset of rain.
Wed: polished wings brush sky, feathers sweeping
openness with artist's grey, the colour of a universe washed clean & left
to dry in the sun
Thur: the scent of autumn rain hangs like fabric,
entwined clouds part & sway, an audience that whistles like sweet music in
a careless sky.
Fri: tall trees brush the clouds in autumnal green,
the sun, bright & yellow, pulls back & glows a virginal white, beaming
fresh, new sky.
Sat: streetlights glow defiantly against a dawn
sky, shadows of wise old trees wink knowingly in the direction of the collision
of morning.
Sun: raindrops kiss the window, the merging day
pulsing in translucent drops that capture night & breaking dawn in a
kaleidoscope of colour
Monday: an angel's tear spills silently, its passage
captured by a passing bird that mimics its shadow & tumbles to the earth
like a stone.
Tue: a silvery hue threads unexpectedly through
swaying branches, the flood of a new day catching the solitude of distant stars
by surprise
Wed: the low light of morning glistens on east
facing windows, the shadows of tumbling autumn dancing like butterflies on its
projection.
Thur: misty rain polishes pavements & the
morning preens itself in its reflection, a magpie with liquorice wings gathers
its secrets & flees
Fri: leaves sigh & part, tumbling like
feathers, too slight to imprint the sodden grass yet bold enough to make bended
branches & sky weep.
Sat: silence earths on washed pavements that
glisten in patches of promise, their secrets whispering in the throats of
passing gulls
Sun: branches bend & leaves tremble &
tumble, folds of green & yellow dancing under a blanket of morning rich
with silence & hidden light.
Mon: crisp white sky hangs like wet cotton sheets
on a still day, the breath of passing birds singing in hearts anchored in
yesterday.
Tues: night lingers, its hue pressing hard into the
shadows. A spider's web gleans from within the silence, morning embracing the
distance.
Wed: soft breeze circles the skyline & falling
leaves crumble under nature's sweeping palms, gathering like tombstones on
thickening grass.
Thu: sky falls in milky brightness, the frothy top
of morning kissing trees, its sap seeping into mystic roots that swallow
summer's pulse.
Fri: morning drops from heaven in a solemn cloud,
still breath hushed, its smoky grey settling calmly among the silent, uncertain
leaves.
Sat: White cotton ripples on blue sky like the ebb
tide on morning sea. A blackbird bobs in its vast waters, preening its majestic
shadow.
Sun: day mimics summer & sun kisses an
unsuspecting sky. Birds stop & stare, wings still & throats silent as
they soar into the husky chorus
Mon: pink angels embrace pale blue sky & the
world falls silent, the miaow of a cat swallowed by the darkest hour strolling
nonchalantly by.
Monday, 26 August 2013
betwixt and between revisited...
It was a whirlwind day but one that fuelled the soul and put a spring in a step so frequently slowed by the demands of a life that I am determined to live to its maximum.
I journeyed to Rathlin on Saturday, my heart sitting in my throat, the rapid thumping too heavy to swallow, too wild to contain so I set it free, everything that I am racing in front of me, knowing the route, chasing my dreams to the top of the hill and finding rest in the soulful space of Mullindress.
I caught up with my dancing heart just as the sun was paying homage to my home in the form of a rainbow, a colourful spray of yesterdays and tomorrows arching across the hillside in a protective curve. A pair of swallows were giving chase, their excited chatter unfurling a tale of the last five weeks, their impatience quickly outlining the changes to the build since my last visit. It was such an aura of noisy quiet, peaceful and yet all the while bursting with energy and life.
What can I say? The house is beautiful, so perfect that when I stood still for just a moment the magic of the soil and the passing air swallowed me whole, dusting me in a flush of welcome. And then I trembled, swaying a little against a sudden fear, the impending doom of chaos and disorder that surely must be en-route, swirling in a nearby cloud of grey just because it can... I trampled those thoughts and moved on, anxious to see the progress.
Wow! It's so amazing to see change, to watch shapes develop and create ownership of the space in which they are contained. The rooms are now recognisably such, proper rooms with plasterboard walls ready for skimming. The plumbing is ready to house radiators and the electrics are just about ready for appliances. It feels so different, but yet the same, another layer of future carefully added to the nest.
The outside walls have been beautifully crafted, the builder making use of every stone from the original homestead. Aside from the breathtaking beauty, the walls are a stunning homage to the past, a home of more than 200 years old lives on. There are two walls. One at the front (picture below) and a second at the back of the house, nestling the space between the mountain and the back garden, both protecting, the ancestors of Mullindress resting in my future.
We're cracking on now. This week the rooms will be plastered, the cement floor insulated and skimmed and then it's time for the beautiful white oak floors, staircase and doors and the fitting of the kitchen, utility room and bathrooms. Outside, the lawn will be laid, the driveway laid down and the patio (stunning blue limestone flagstones) placed in front of the gorgeous windows that have a heavenly view. The outside walls have been rendered and the guttering fitted.
The house at Mullindress isn't a mansion or a work of architectural genius, but it is a home that will be loved and love in equal measure.
Here's a few wee pics to show you I'm talking about!
Firstly, my gorgeous wall!
My lovely wall, and the view of the garden and Tommy's tree beyond it (from the bedroom window!)
The kitchen (you may have to use your imagination for this one!
The living room, almost ready for living..
I hope I haven't bored you, but I guess I have fallen a little bit in love!
I journeyed to Rathlin on Saturday, my heart sitting in my throat, the rapid thumping too heavy to swallow, too wild to contain so I set it free, everything that I am racing in front of me, knowing the route, chasing my dreams to the top of the hill and finding rest in the soulful space of Mullindress.
I caught up with my dancing heart just as the sun was paying homage to my home in the form of a rainbow, a colourful spray of yesterdays and tomorrows arching across the hillside in a protective curve. A pair of swallows were giving chase, their excited chatter unfurling a tale of the last five weeks, their impatience quickly outlining the changes to the build since my last visit. It was such an aura of noisy quiet, peaceful and yet all the while bursting with energy and life.
What can I say? The house is beautiful, so perfect that when I stood still for just a moment the magic of the soil and the passing air swallowed me whole, dusting me in a flush of welcome. And then I trembled, swaying a little against a sudden fear, the impending doom of chaos and disorder that surely must be en-route, swirling in a nearby cloud of grey just because it can... I trampled those thoughts and moved on, anxious to see the progress.
Wow! It's so amazing to see change, to watch shapes develop and create ownership of the space in which they are contained. The rooms are now recognisably such, proper rooms with plasterboard walls ready for skimming. The plumbing is ready to house radiators and the electrics are just about ready for appliances. It feels so different, but yet the same, another layer of future carefully added to the nest.
The outside walls have been beautifully crafted, the builder making use of every stone from the original homestead. Aside from the breathtaking beauty, the walls are a stunning homage to the past, a home of more than 200 years old lives on. There are two walls. One at the front (picture below) and a second at the back of the house, nestling the space between the mountain and the back garden, both protecting, the ancestors of Mullindress resting in my future.
We're cracking on now. This week the rooms will be plastered, the cement floor insulated and skimmed and then it's time for the beautiful white oak floors, staircase and doors and the fitting of the kitchen, utility room and bathrooms. Outside, the lawn will be laid, the driveway laid down and the patio (stunning blue limestone flagstones) placed in front of the gorgeous windows that have a heavenly view. The outside walls have been rendered and the guttering fitted.
The house at Mullindress isn't a mansion or a work of architectural genius, but it is a home that will be loved and love in equal measure.
Here's a few wee pics to show you I'm talking about!
Firstly, my gorgeous wall!
My lovely wall, and the view of the garden and Tommy's tree beyond it (from the bedroom window!)
The house, all rendered and ready for a lick of brilliant white paint!
The kitchen (you may have to use your imagination for this one!
The living room, almost ready for living..
The Mull of Kintyre from my bedroom window. The view looks out to the east where the sun stretches into the sky each and every day. New possibilities!
I hope I haven't bored you, but I guess I have fallen a little bit in love!
Friday, 23 August 2013
noctilucent clouds...
A wee story I had a flush of pleasure writing has been included in a collection called In On The Tide, and published by Appletree Writers.
The collection is inspired by the sea and all profits from the publication are donated to the RNLI. My wee narrative inspired by, well, when you read it you'll see, is called noctilucent clouds.
You can read the story here - noctilucent clouds and you can purchase a copy of the book and do your bit for the RNLI here - In On The Tide
The Appletree Writers website is a community of writers who want to tell stories. It's a fine place to be.
The collection is inspired by the sea and all profits from the publication are donated to the RNLI. My wee narrative inspired by, well, when you read it you'll see, is called noctilucent clouds.
You can read the story here - noctilucent clouds and you can purchase a copy of the book and do your bit for the RNLI here - In On The Tide
The Appletree Writers website is a community of writers who want to tell stories. It's a fine place to be.
it's official then, soon there will be paper, ink & a flurry of page turning (should you be so kind..)
The Birds That Never Flew, by Margot McCuaig.
ThunderPoint Publishing has signed Margot McCuaig, Managing Director of mneTV, and will publish her first novel, The Birds That Never Flew, in the autumn of 2013.The Birds That Never Flew is a tale of loss, exploitation and revenge set in Glasgow. The novel is written with a strong Glasgow influence and tragically conveys the impact of poverty, drugs and abuse, with the surreal vision of a Glaswegian Virgin Mary acting as guardian angel to the lead character.
The Birds That Never Flew was shortlisted for the 2012 Dundee International Book Prize, under its working title of The Dandelion Clock. The Dundee International Book Prize is supported by the University of Dundee and Dundee: One City Many Discoveries campaign, sponsored by Apex Hotels. The 2012 competition was one of the most hotly contested years of the prize, with 500 entries from across the globe.
@MargotMcCuaig has produced and directed numerous programmes for the BBC and other organisations and has previously written newspaper columns and TV/documentary scripts on subjects relating to social history.
Margot is co-owner of digital TV company purpleTV, and has developed a suite of innovative interactive apps called purpleTrails. The first product to launch, the Edinburgh Book Trail, invites users to explore the rich literary heritage of the Scottish Capital city. purpleTrails is a Major Sponsor of the 2013 Edinburgh International Book Festival.
You can find out a wee bit more about the lovely folks at Thunderpoint here - http://www.thunderpoint.co.uk/
It's rather exciting! More excitement to come, a trip to Mullindress to catch up with Grand Designs Margot in the morning...blog and pictures to follow!
Thursday, 4 July 2013
home is where the soul is
It’s almost a year since I met my
beautiful grandson Tommy, my first grandchild, the little boy that pushes to
the forefront of my mind on a daily basis. The day of his arrival was
bittersweet. His skin was perfect, as soft as the first fall of snow of winter.
I left my inquisitive touch lingering on his cheeks, a statement of his
handsomeness chiselled high on his perfect face, his lips pursed in a kiss, confident
arches drawn with the precision of an artist’s brush. His beauty was
astounding, his silence overwhelming and yet he lives on in our hearts and our
minds, always a part of the family that love him with the intensity of lashing
rain that polishes pavements and seeps into the very roots of our existence.
Yesterday was the anniversary of
my grandmother’s death and symbolically I paid homage to them both, granny and
grandson, my loved ones that straddle the ladder of my life, stretching high
into an expansive sky that bends and folds and carries our memories in the
bright stars that burn brightly even when we can’t see them. Somewhere out
there, beyond the vast wings of the heron that sweeps majestically from the
misty clouds, they watch us and guide us and push and prod us and make sure we
know they are with us.
I’m on Rathlin, watching my home
at Mullindress take shape, its broad shoulders rising from the roots of that
lashing rain that is everything that I am and always will be. It’s coming on at
pace. The house is watertight, the roof fastened tightly like a rain-mate
tucked under the chin of an old lady pushing her way into the morning showers. The
windows are fixed, each frame a looking glass, a reflection of the beauty that
shapes every nook and cranny of the land and the sea that beams with pride,
shouting me, me, me as if poised in front of a camera. Its jaw-dropping beauty is
there at every turn, and it is within this nest of wonder that my house sits,
arms outstretched, pushing beyond the garden and hugging Tommy’s tree, it’s branches
in turn fondly embracing the memories of a grandmother whose warmth lingers in the
air with the intensity of the freshly baked bread she greeted the world with
each morning.
So, we’re getting there. I won’t
bore you with the detail but the kitchen is on its way (from Germany no-less),
as is the material for the bathrooms. The white oak floors and doors, wood with
a story to tell, will find its way to Mullindress soon, its message no doubt
strong and wise and protective. The first fit electrics are this week.
The dream is becoming a reality.
I just know that the stars will push closer tonight, a bright light penetrating
the darkness.
Saturday, 18 May 2013
beyond betwixt and between, grand designs update
When I have the opportunity I watch Grand Designs, relish the drama in Kevin McLeod's swagger as he unfolds the narrative surrounding yet another mishap in the over-arching story arc of a build project that has hit as many snags as the Turin Shroud.
And yet it was a journey I embarked upon, not so long ago now, heading into the fray with the understanding that deadlines were there for ignoring and plans were written in pencil primarily for the fact that their existence is purely in the imagination.
At the heart of all that was a story that had to be written, a journey of destiny. A decision of magnitude and overwhelming significance.
So far so good though.
The home, conjured up in my head when I was still young enough to have to push myself on to my tip toes to peer over the garden wall at Mount Grand, the Rathlin Island home of my father, is coming to life.
And it's there for everyone to see, both real and imagined. Even visitors to the island who, if they look carefully enough, will be able to see a bubble of magic bounce colourfully upon the hillside at Mullindress as the ferry boat pushes through the tempestuous tide and into the bay.
So, what stage are we at? I was over two weeks ago, a journey combining two things, the beautiful wedding of islanders Fergus and Tania, the very good friends of my children Daniel and Siobhan, and to check progress on the house.
When I had visited previously, the original dwelling was still in place. A subsequent visit, taken by my brother, his wife and son and my parents captured the founds in place, the cornerstone of my very existence vilifying my crazy creative urges. You'll remember those blue sky images from my last post.
At the visit a couple of weeks ago we tumbled around the corner at the top of the lane to discover the timber was on its way skyward, reaching high into the landscape, its strong back collecting the weight of the broad shoulders of the hillside with ease. A cursory glance of contentment winked back at me from the gaping eyes of the open roof as I bid farewell after a hectic two days visit. I waved farewell to this...
Remember this image, me standing in the living room door frame of the old dwelling...
I had a big enough dilemma in deciding to go for the grey window frames. But I've learned a lesson there. My heart was drawn to them immediately I saw them, but I was persuaded by other things to go for something I really didn't want....until someone on Twitter said if you don't stick with your instinct every single time you look at those frames you'll wish you'd chosen the colour your heart desired. Grey, like the landscape and sky, fits beautifully. It was the perfect choice. Why go against a heart that has been driving this project for a lifetime. It knows what fits better than anyone or anything...
So, I'm on the lookout for a couple of instinct shops ahead of the next site visit in a couple of weeks!
And yet it was a journey I embarked upon, not so long ago now, heading into the fray with the understanding that deadlines were there for ignoring and plans were written in pencil primarily for the fact that their existence is purely in the imagination.
At the heart of all that was a story that had to be written, a journey of destiny. A decision of magnitude and overwhelming significance.
So far so good though.
The home, conjured up in my head when I was still young enough to have to push myself on to my tip toes to peer over the garden wall at Mount Grand, the Rathlin Island home of my father, is coming to life.
And it's there for everyone to see, both real and imagined. Even visitors to the island who, if they look carefully enough, will be able to see a bubble of magic bounce colourfully upon the hillside at Mullindress as the ferry boat pushes through the tempestuous tide and into the bay.
So, what stage are we at? I was over two weeks ago, a journey combining two things, the beautiful wedding of islanders Fergus and Tania, the very good friends of my children Daniel and Siobhan, and to check progress on the house.
When I had visited previously, the original dwelling was still in place. A subsequent visit, taken by my brother, his wife and son and my parents captured the founds in place, the cornerstone of my very existence vilifying my crazy creative urges. You'll remember those blue sky images from my last post.
At the visit a couple of weeks ago we tumbled around the corner at the top of the lane to discover the timber was on its way skyward, reaching high into the landscape, its strong back collecting the weight of the broad shoulders of the hillside with ease. A cursory glance of contentment winked back at me from the gaping eyes of the open roof as I bid farewell after a hectic two days visit. I waved farewell to this...
Remember this image, me standing in the living room door frame of the old dwelling...
Well, before I left the island a couple of weeks ago, the lounge of Mullindress looked like this... Quite astonishing really to see such a big development since my brother took the previous pictures...
It was an incredible sight, and all the more precious because Daniel, Emma and Siobhan were there to share the moment with us. It's surreal really, seeing what has always been a figment of the imagination come to life in such an extraordinary way. While we were there, after consuming the drawings in a three dimensional context for the first time, we decided to make some changes to the layout of the house.
I gulped and panicked, listening to the first moment of high drama funnelling through the open roof of the homestead. No drama though, after a chat with the architect and a walk through the new ambitions for the upstairs floor of the house it was all sorted within a matter of hours. I have to say, Kevin MacLeod would be tearing his heart out looking for the moments of jeopardy required to keep an hour of television ticking over with enough interest to compel the viewer to watch on.
So, I shouldn't be too cocky, and indeed I'm not, I'm aye expecting an unexpected moment of drama. Don't get me wrong, 'things' keep adding themselves surreptitiously to an already creaking budget but, ah well, I'll worry about them another day. But it's going okay. Overwhelming really.
Well, I thought it was overwhelming. But that moment of magic was still to come, and did just a week or so later when my good friends on the island, Jessica and Stephen, sent me some update snaps they had taken when my uncle took them on a little tour of the burgeoning site.
The windows are in, the blocks are up, the chimney has climbed into the sky, and there is a front door. I REPEAT, THERE IS A FRONT DOOR. This is a house, galloping with some aplomb towards becoming a home. Wow.
I guess you'll be wanting to see what I'm talking about...the pictures star my uncle Loughie and my friend Jessica.
So, now comes the really tough bit. Selecting the content. There's an increasing urgency to sort out the kitchen and bathrooms and then there's wood and tiles and an endless list of other things. But, there's a lot of badness in the world so these are amazing problems to have. Yet, those who know me will understand that shopping is not my thing.... I had a big enough dilemma in deciding to go for the grey window frames. But I've learned a lesson there. My heart was drawn to them immediately I saw them, but I was persuaded by other things to go for something I really didn't want....until someone on Twitter said if you don't stick with your instinct every single time you look at those frames you'll wish you'd chosen the colour your heart desired. Grey, like the landscape and sky, fits beautifully. It was the perfect choice. Why go against a heart that has been driving this project for a lifetime. It knows what fits better than anyone or anything...
So, I'm on the lookout for a couple of instinct shops ahead of the next site visit in a couple of weeks!
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