Confessions Served with Coffee

Confessions Served with Coffee

  They used to be on shelves in groceries stores: True Story, True Romance, etc., etc. I don’t see them there any more. Are confession magazines (we called them Confessions) now a thing of the past, folded for lack of readership? When I was a pre-teen and a young teenager, those magazines were taboo. My mother would […]

A Swirling Mist of Irish Green

A Swirling Mist of Irish Green

    A visitor to Ireland returns home surrounded by a mist of Irish green from Ireland, that mystical island across the Atlantic forever within her heart–a fabled land where ancient towers still keep watch on the countryside. I close my eyes and see swans floating on the River Shannon surrounding King John’s Castle. Swans […]

The Benefits of Worrying

Every day as I listen to the news, I find a new reason to worry. I think it’s time to re-print a poem by an anonymous author. Worry? Why worry? What can worry do? It never keeps a trouble from overtaking you. It gives you indigestion and sleepless hours at night and fills with gloom […]

And Invisible Visitor

And Invisible Visitor

  This is a re-print of a St. Pat’s Day post I wrote a few years back. It’s still a good memory for me. I hope you enjoy reading about an exciting leprechaun tale of a good many years ago. “God needed laughter in the world, So he made the Irish race, For they can […]

A Wild, Completely Imaginary St. Pat’s Story

A Wild, Completely Imaginary St. Pat’s Story

  Warning: Best read with tongue in cheek. An Amazing Leprechaun Story  Some of you may remember that four and a half years ago, I made a trip to Ireland. It was the fulfillment of a lifetime dream. Ireland is a mystical country and, when the mist lies low on the hills and the shamrocks […]

Cleaning Out That Junky Attic

Cleaning Out That Junky Attic

  A friend of mine is getting ready to move to a different location. She is going through everything in her house, deciding what she wants and what she doesn’t want. I don’t think she has an attic, but if she did, she’d be sorting through it, keeping, discarding. Why can’t we do that with memories? […]