Editor
The writer hails from County Antrim and has lived in the desert southwest of the United States for over 20 years. Her blog is her virtual home away from home.
-
A Call, Coming of age, Death of parent, Dennis O'Driscoll, Dispatch from the Diaspora, Father Daughter Relationships, Father's Day, magic and loss, Saying Thank You, Seamus Heaney, The Diviner, Those Winter Sundays
what love sounds like – for father’s day
We knew love. It wasn’t a matter of declaring it. It was proven. ~ Seamus Heaney I am part of a tableau of ordinariness in which a cold beer sweats on the kitchen table, and an artichoke simmers on the stove. A man who makes me smile checks for doneness. Again. It is not quite ready, so his daughter adds more water. Laughing and lovely and impatient to eat, she spies…
-
Damian Gorman, Devices of Detachment, Dispatch from the Diaspora, Mass shootings, Orlando, The Troubles, Themes of childhood
blood on my hands and yours . . . from sea to shining sea
Since he took office, President Obama has had to publicly address sixteen mass shootings in these United States. Sixteen times he has stared into a camera and uttered the best words for the worst of times knowing he will probably have to do it again. Each time, we listen to him, we ask why, and we shake our heads and shed tears…
-
Ali – you shook up our world. No mercy.
Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. The hands can’t hit what the eyes can’t see. It’s the summer of 1987. I have no job and no clue where I’m headed other than toward some vague notion of America. I arrived at Kennedy airport, complete with big hair and a backpack full of nothing useful except a Sony Walkman…
-
Aging, Art, Bob Dylan, Daniel Kramer, Dispatch from the Diaspora, It's Not Dark Yet, Michael Gray, Photography, Positively 4th Street, Street Legal, Tangled up in Blue, Where Are You Tonight? Subterranean Homesick Blues
Bob Dylan – Someone You Want To Photograph.
May 24 2016: Happy 75th Birthday Bob Dylan Bob Dylan has always been almost as old as my parents. He has also always been forever young, staring up at me from the cover of the book that has graced my coffee table for decades. I don’t remember when what he sang first mattered to me, yet I can’t remember a time when it didn’t, a time…