A Pocket Is No Place For a Smile Anyway

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family, fear, health, love, panic, parents, siblings, support, travel

Family is funny. Take mine for example. We are small and powerful and tend to overreact to most situations. We can bicker over politics and then laugh over drinks. We involve ourselves in each other’s business, whether we want to or not. And personally speaking, although being told what to do and not to do by siblings, parents, and even aunts and uncles can be frustrating at 35, it comes from the truest, most sincerest parts of all of our hearts; we care. We probably care too much.

This past week, I just wanted to see my parents. I wanted to catch up with them and just spend time. SPEND TIME. And we did just that.

My trip to Ireland a few weeks ago did not go as planned. I was traveling with my uncle who had two major health issues while we were there. The first was he was super sick–pneumonia sick. And the second was he collapsed on me twice in a Tesco in Killarney, and was rushed via ambulance to Kerry General Hospital in Tralee. I followed in the rental car for 30 minutes, debating whether I should call my parents. The only time I lost it in front of him (and fortunately, he was completely passed out) was when he collapsed, and I was screaming, yes screaming for someone to help me.

We were checking out and had water and crackers, and he looked at me, said he was dizzy, and that was it. He’s a big guy, and somehow I managed to catch him–sort of,

Fences Mean Nothing

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driving, Eels, family, freeways, Gram, happy, Jude, lilacs, love, mom, Side of the Road, surprises, winter blues

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the sides of the road. Odd, I know. Maybe not since I spend 2 hours in the car each day commuting. For instance, the picture above is a  work of “art” I found…you guessed it…on the side of the road. Not a freeway or highway, but Gough, a decent enough, heavily trafficked street in San Francisco. So that counts.

Every year on my main highway, when the daffodils and mustard greens pop open yellow, I send my mom a picture. Don’t worry–I just aim while keeping my eye on the road. It usually takes several takes to get a decent shot, and even then, I have to zoom and crop. But I know how much she loves the pictures, as do I. And once upon a time, I would print those same pictures, and bring them to my Gram, who treasured their timely arrival. It’s just something I do, I guess.

In early March, I saw an abandoned, very brown Christmas tree on the side of the highway, and I laughed out loud. And the best ever Side-Of-The-Road-Experience was the burning mattress. For that one, fortunately, I had a witness. We were dying laughing. The sides of the road mostly produce trash, laughs, and the occasional pieces of strewn clothing. I remain vigilant to my constant scanning, and usually, it produces

And I Will Know When it’s Time to Go when All the Love’s Been Made

Tags

Dingle, family, Ireland, love, Mundy, peace, place, writing

I’m in love with the southwest of Ireland. i have been since 1998. Phew. I finally got that off my chest. I was on the Dingle Peninsula today, and it just smells like home. I wish I could explain it.

When I saw the Atlantic and all the green, I welled up.

The song that popped up tonight and resonates most with me is Mundy. The last time I was on the Beara Peninsula, heaven on Earth, I rented a car. This was 2004. Every time I would travel, I’d go to an HMV or Virgin Music and buy the local top cd, and that was Mundy.

They never made much in the States, but it reminds me of what I was ten years ago–more lost than I realized.

So here’s to Ireland, making a writer of sorts out of me a decade ago. I’m still going strong, and even wrote about the comfort of burning peat in my novel.

I have spent time in the south with friends, my Dad, my Mom and Dad, and now my uncle. But most importantly, I spent it with myself–something I didn’t recognize was important at the time, but now realize its significance.

Southwest Ireland, I will always love you. Until the next time we meet again.

Ps–sorry about the generic photo–real pic in my big camera.
——-
Listen to What the Man Said–Paul McCartney

Sloop John B–the Beach Boys

I Love You But I Don’t Know What to Say– Ryan Adams

Red Hill Mining Town–U2

Rip This Joint–Rolling Stones

All the Love’s Been Made–Mundy

They are Tangled Up in the Light

Tags

DPchallenge, Dublin, Guinness, Ireland, love, travel

It’s my 8th time to Dublin. I’m a snob, I know. I’ve seen Bloomsday in 1999, seen U2 at Croke Park in 2008, and know the Irish Punt. Ireland is like a second home. And as I am here once again, with a fresh set of eyes with my uncle who is a first-timer, I know why I love it here.

In my 7 previous times, I have missed two important things in Dublin–the Guinness museum, and the National Library. As always? I’m here when the Library is shut, which is unfortunate because the two missing links in our geneology is when my great great great grandparents came over in the famine. I guess I’ll have to book another trip

But I did get to for the first time go to the Guinness factory and let me tell you–amazing!

Guinness is one of those iconic figures in my life. I love IT. The beer, what it stands for, and now the brewery. It is gorgeous. Anyone, including those who don’t drink, will find themselves in awe .

Glass, barley, water–it has all.

To steal from the Jayhawks line, “I never knew how it should be”.

So here’s to Dublin. Here’s to the place that keeps reinventing itself. Here’s to the place I never thought could once again impress me. It has.

—
Moonlight in Vermont–Willie Nelson
Love Don’t Wait–Michael Franti
Hide Your Colors–Jayhawks
Elderberry Wine–Elton John
Orphan Girl–Emmylou Harris
The Finer Things–Steve Winwood

All that I Need is to Believe in Something Like a Summer

Tags

10, 1980s, childhood, Counting Crows, Dirty Dancing, innocence, Music, summer, writing

It must have been 80s Friday in Peet’s this morning. Roxy Music was on when I entered, so it felt like a great start to a much deserved weekend. It’s funny how the beginning notes of a song time-warp a soul back to a specific place, and like an out of body experience, you can look through a window at how you once were.

I moved to a new town in 5th grade and despite the other kids at school not being into music as much as I was, I remained true to my pink boom box with its turquoise strap, and my record player, and beloved KWSS radio station. I loved music; I knew the latest songs, and would even practice them in front of my mirror.

That Christmas, my Gram bought me four records from Tower Records. I am pretty sure my mom either picked them out for her, or went with her to purchase them. She must have asked the sales person, most likely pierced, tatooed, and mohawked, to suggest some