Archive | March 2015



Every St Pat’s Day, I felt like I was missing something.I can’t say for sure why.   This was grade school, so it wasn’t the green beer, but there must have been something special about the day. Something that drew me in.  Four leaf clovers and luck of the Irish, maybe?

Back then, I didn’t know how good the whiskey was or how green the hillsides are said to be. I’d never heard the pipes cry “Danny Boy”.

But I knew there had to be magic in being Irish.

Deep down in my gypsy soul, I felt there was something special about it…maybe in another life I knew about the storytelling tradition; the folklore and fairytales.

What I wanted to be more than anything, what I  yearned to be…was Irish.

I don’t know when I found out.  I don’t know why no one told me.  They probably didn’t think they had to.  I don’t know why the Malone and Maley names in the family tree didn’t ring a bell for me.
I AM Irish.

Patrick and Delia

50% anyway.  My great grandparents were named Delia (called Bridget) and Patrick.  How did I miss that?

Their son, Frank, was born in the United States, but traveled back to the Emerald Isle when he was young.  He went to school there for awhile.  His schoolmates called him The Yank.  Maybe he didn’t know he was Irish either.

I don’t know if there’s a moral to this story.  Maybe the moral is to celebrate what who we already are.

Maybe it’s only to drink more whiskey and tell more stories.

Or just maybe, the moral is that we can be whomever and whatever we decide to be.
Now that I know I’m Irish, what I really want to be – more than anything – is a writer.

Maybe I already am.




Full Moon at Walmart

.full moon

-and the post office.

1:24 on a random Tuesday and and there are 15 pissed off seniors in front of me at the post office – being scolded by the manager.  She is trying to explain that the postal workers are, indeed, human and must eat lunch.  The crowd does not agree and they tell her so.  Loudly.

I wasn’t that concerned.  Going postal at the post office?  Perhaps expected.

I started to wonder when I got halfway through Walmart.  There were 5 people in line to open the door at the dairy cooler.  A senior (aren’t we all seniors here in Florida?) in a motorized chair chair asked the woman in front of me (whose “turn” it was) to hand him some half and half from the bottom shelf.  She passed it to me.  I put it in his cart.  The angry mob protested that it was NOT his turn.

At the register, I am again finally second in line when the register quits.  All the registers in Walmart stopped working.  I repeat All. The. Registers. In. Walmart. Stopped.  I think the AC might have quit too.  Or it was just the angst of the crowd that heated things up.

The man ahead of me wanted to take his stuff home and come back later to pay.  He was serious.  He started loading it in his cart.  The woman two behind me announced it was probably a terrorist attack.  Word spread.  She her companions, the group behind them and an old guy in the next lane who spoke no English all fled Walmart.  I think the rest of us where nervous too.

I thought about leaving or starting to sample the candy in front of me, but I hung in.

Can you imagine the scene if it hadn’t come back on?  Rioting? Looting?  People wacking each other with their canes and making off with cartloads of Geritol?

On the way home it dawned on me to check the moon phase. I remember from working in (pet) ER that two days before and two days after the full moon are the the danger zone.

I goggled “full moon at Walmart” and got lots of images I would now like to unsee.   Then I found an astology site.

Sure nuff.  Full Moon on Thursday.  Also our wedding anniversary.  uh oh?