Irish Soda Bread
All Irish ancestors are famine ancestors, in one way or another…. And inside this simple bread are all the whispers. So much complexity.
What the Grandfathers Want
In 2013 I traveled to Ireland for the first and only time thus far. I had studied the history of British colonialism in an academic setting but this was the first moment of touching into my own relevant root story, my reamhscéal…. the tricky sense of connection I feel to the land and story of Ireland.
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time I read fairy tales. Once upon a time I read a slightly subversive Victorian lady fairy tale to a virtual audience of about ten. We were all in little digital Zoom boxes, but outside of the boxes we were inside of homes.
20th Anniversary
It has literally taken me decades to understand why love is no one else’s business.
Blue Gray Rose Gold Wine
I was offered two goblets. I chose the smaller, luminous one.
Still Life
We have sat quietly in front of our computer screens in California, Washington, New Mexico, Mexico, India, Canada, and elsewhere – through pandemic, divorce, social unrest, insurrection, the death of loved ones, catastrophic wildfire…. Inside of all the turbulence, there has been still life.
Celtic Time Begins in Darkness
Last weekend, I either learned or was receptive enough to hear that Halloween, or Samhain, marks the Celtic new year. As in, the start of the cycle of seasons, not merely an autumn holiday on the way to the end of the year, as I grew up believing. The Irish teacher/guide who said this (in…
The Year That Could Not Be Written
This has been a year that does not want to be written. Out loud.
I had an essay in progress about the way my son was navigating loneliness but decided it was too private.
And then, fire.
Dear Eavan Boland
I pitched something to Lit Hub and they took it. A dream. But bittersweet. Because it’s for Eavan Boland. It’s about motherhood, and middle age, and passion and confusion and regret. So it’s also for all mothers who have art stirring, and waiting, inside them. Go be you. I know it feels hard. But do…
“The egg is this world we see. The bird in it is Love…” or, Waking Up with Simone on Easter Morning
Good morning. It is Easter and the sun just rose. Every morning recently I have been waking and sitting with my coffee, my journal, my cat, and Simone Weil. She was a radical philosopher, a mystic and marxist, a spiritual seeker and committed materialist, who relentlessly sought an experience of the reality of justice and…