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Anahorish, Art, Bellaghy, Coming of age, Death and dying, Family, Fathers and sons, Loss, Memoir, Northern Ireland Culture, Personal Helicon, Poetry, Seamus Heaney, Soundtracks of our Lives, Writing
a kite for seamus heaney – in memoriam
I can barely bring myself to type the words. Seamus Heaney is dead. There is no way for me to adequately convey the inestimable impact of his words on my adult life. He has been with me every day for as long as I can remember, like a pulse. Somehow, I always imagined our paths would cross, and I would…
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Amy Winehouse, Antrim, Awesome Women, Back to School, Coming of age, Education, Memoir, Mother Daughter Relationship, Sephora, Shopping, Valley of the Sun, Whoopi Goldberg
breaking bad & back to school . . .
It is 7:30pm, it is dark, and, unbelievably, it is 108 degrees Fahrenheit (that’s 42.2 degrees Centigrade for my friends back home – and no, dad, I didn’t do the mental arithmetic the way you taught me. I used bloody Google). I am hot. I am bothered, and I just don’t understand why we can’t wait for September to send our hot…
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Birthdays, bombing, IRA, John Hewitt, Loughinisland, Memoir, Northern Ireland, Omagh, Peace, Sectarianism, The Good Friday Agreement, The Peace Process, The Troubles, Themes of childhood, UVF, W.B. Yeats
omagh – this is our life
In the summer of 1998, I took my new baby daughter home to Northern Ireland, my lovely, tragic Northern Ireland. It was my mother’s sixtieth birthday, and between my father, my brother, and a handful of relatives who could keep a secret (an impressive trait in rural County Derry) we planned a “This is Your Life” style surprise. It was delicious, knowing…
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Borders, Bruce Springsteen, DREAM Act, Human Rights, Kai Wiedenhöfer, Memoir, Northern Ireland, Photography
achtung baby . . . if walls could talk.
I always thought Robert Frost was right to ask so plainly in a poem we had to memorize for school, why it was that good fences make good neighbors: Before I built a wall I’d ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offence. Something there is that doesn’t love…