Tag Archives: mothers

Where have you gone, Uncle John?

I remember how he would greet us, his four young nieces, with a cock of his head and a shy smile. Then without fail, that playful wink of his eye. And every time he winked at me, I felt like the most important person in the world. On each and every visit to our LongContinue reading “Where have you gone, Uncle John?”

The wit, courage, love, perseverance and humor of the Irish, particularly, my dearly departed mother☘️

What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in? “On the Road Again” “Your mother,” began Jimmy Dillon, who sat contentedly perched on the bar stool next to mine. It was Christmas Eve and the atmosphere rang of reunion and festivity. Publicans was our beloved hometown bar; a place whereContinue reading “The wit, courage, love, perseverance and humor of the Irish, particularly, my dearly departed mother☘️”

Whisked Away

My mother was a minimalist who disliked clutter of any sort.  Our home was beautiful, warm, open and airy but devoid of any type of knickknack, or paraphernalia she deemed unattractive or cumbersome. A snapshot of our living room: simple sheer white linen curtains, a silky cherry baby grand piano adorned with one family photoContinue reading “Whisked Away”

Please Mom, May I’ve Some More?

My mother, a splendid cook and never one for following a recipe, on Sundays only, always prepared a roast. Whether it was the traditional roast beef or a succulent loin of pork I recall the aroma as if it were yesterday. The evening always began pleasantly, peacefully, as my family sat around the dining roomContinue reading “Please Mom, May I’ve Some More?”

On the Road Again

“On the road, again, just can’t wait to get on that road again. Going places that I’ve never been. Seein’ things that I may never see again. And I can’t wait to get on the road again.” Willie Nelson “Your mother,” began Jimmy Dillon, who sat contentedly perched on the bar stool next to mine.Continue reading “On the Road Again”

Spare The Phone

While talking to my friend one morning on the telephone, I hear the distinctive sound of a child’s heavy breathing from the upstairs extension. “Is someone there?” Silence. “Can you please hang up? I am using the phone.” I hear an abrupt click followed by fleeing footsteps and the slam of a bedroom door. TheContinue reading “Spare The Phone”