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For My Grandfather – Dulce et Decorum Est.
My grandfather died on June 22, 1977, a decade before the Enniskillen bombing. Had he been alive on that day, he would have been wearing his pressed suit, with medals and a poppy attached to the lapels, not unlike those pensioners gathered respectfully at the Cenotaph where at 10:43am where, with chilling choreography, an IRA bomb exploded, killing eleven and wounding 68. Granda would have done it not for show, but to remember his dead pals. Tomorrow, Remembrance Day there, Veterans Day here, I will remember my grandfather, who fought in the Battle of the Somme and at Passchendaele, and I will remember those old men gathered to remember at the…
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Art, Awesome Women, Breast Cancer Treatment, Breast Reconstruction, Culture of breast cancer, Feminism, Kellys Cellars, Mammograms, Mother Daughter Relationship, Nipple Tattoo, P.INK DAY 2013, Pink Ribbon Culture, Pink Ribbons, Pinkwashing, Sexism, Shopping, Themes of childhood, Tina Fey, Writers
A mastectomy by any other name . . .
NOTE: A version of this post appeared on October 20, 2013, as Breast Cancer Awareness Month was winding down. The pictures on this post offended someone so much that she or he reported them to Facebook and asked to have them removed. And I thought the cancer was the offensive thing. The story that follows is mine. I chose to share it. I make no apology. I did not choose the cancer that inspired its telling. I don’t remember when tattoos became mainstream, only that I was late to the party. I had never considered a tattoo for myself mainly because of its permanence, the very thing that others find appealing. For…
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After death of a spouse, Animals, Arizona Humane Society, Best friends, Dog Rescue, Dogs, Friendship, Love, Mary Oliver, Memoir, Mother Daughter Relationship, Rites of passage, Themes of Childhood, Van Morrison
dog days ~ an emotional rescue
Sometimes in the early hours of the morning, when I am contemplating all that has happened in the past couple of years, I find myself wanting to be reassured that as his fragile heart stopped working, Ken's last interaction on this earth was tender, with three pounds of unconditional love curled up like a comma on his chest.
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There’s a better home awaitin’
Ben, my favorite uncle, died this morning, and the world is instantly dimmer. I have been thinking about him a lot recently, unable to watch the Ken Burns documentary on Country Music without being mentally transported to Ben’s kitchen in Magherafelt, where he would deliver to anyone who would listen, a lengthy treatise on the contributions of Flatt and Scruggs Ben was a talented and versatile musician, his guitar or his banjo an extension of himself. He started playing when he was a child, able to do so because my father, – just ten years old at the time and good with his hands – made him a guitar. And,…
