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Act Two, Blog Awards Ireland 2015, Dispatch from the Diaspora, Great Concert Venues, Great teachers, Memoir, Nick Hornby, Northern Ireland, Phoenix, pop culture, Record Shops, Seamus Heaney, Soundtracks of our Lives, The Troubles, Themes of childhood, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Van Morrison
on the list . . .
I love a list. It has a beginning and an ending. It’s a certainty. A sure thing. Naturally, then, I love Rob Gordon, a kindred spirit erstwhile hapless record shop owner in Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity. A compulsive maker of lists, his “top fives” run the gamut of pop culture, eclectic compilations that include his top five episodes of Cheers, top five Elvis Costello songs, and…
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racism – when you can’t breathe and you don’t speak.
It is the anniversary of Nelson Mandela’s death, and I am thinking about why Mandela mattered so much to so many of us. To me, he represented what could be. Like Martin Luther King‘s dream of what America could be and like the peace once envisioned for Northern Ireland by Betty Williams and Mairead Corrigan, Mandela’s vision of South Africa…
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Art, Belfast, British Army, Christmas, Memoir, Photography, Saying Thank You, Thanksgiving, Van Morrison, Writers
thank goodness, thanksgiving & astral weeks
In the Fall of 2012, I enrolled in a college photography class, something I had been meaning to do for the previous three decades. I just never got around to it before, what with all my busy-ness and so much time spent bemoaning the pace of life as a woman trying to play equally well the roles of mother, wife, daughter, sister,…
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Bunratty Castle, Celtic Tiger, County Clare, craic, Dromoland Castle, Ennis, global partnerships, homesickness, hurling, Irish American relations, Mark Twain, Memoir, Phoenix Sister Cities, recession, Shannon Airport, The Burren, Tourism, trad, Travel
a long, long way from clare to here . . .
It’s not taking time to rain today in Phoenix – I might as well be looking out at the playing field that stretched between our house on the Dublin Road and Lough Neagh. It is – according to the 11 Levels of Irish Rain “REALLY lashing . . . hammering down.” On such a day, I can expect inexplicable pangs of homesickness, that old,…