I came across a photo today. Another lifetime. My two boys having their first trip on one of Dublin’s double-decker buses during a holiday there. I’m feeling very sorry for myself George. I’m in Australia and my two boys are in Europe. I always said I wouldn’t be one of those mothers who pined when the fledglings . . . Continue Reading
George, I wish you still didn’t mention the fact that I didn’t bring you with me on my brief winter holiday here all the way back in 2011. You well know that with your delicate legs, you’d have broken that neck of yours on Prague’s icy cobblestones. Don’t forget it took you four winters to get the hang of them after we moved here . . . Continue Reading
You well know George why I couldn’t bring you with me to Prague for Christmas. So stop sulking. With your delicate legs, you’d have broken that neck of yours on the icy cobblestones. Anyway, as the New Year approached, even the easy-going Czechs mentioned resolutions. I thought as I do every year . . . Continue Reading
I would grin, relieved they liked me since most of them carried guns, while not knowing quite what to say. One day I responded by reciting the first verse of W.B. Yeats’ “The Lake Isle of Innisfree”. That did the trick.
In Australia, where I now live, people also say they like my accent but they don’t ask for more . . . Continue Reading
I will never get used to the harsh, guttural, nasal tones of the Australian accent. Even now, after all the years I have lived here, I occasionally have trouble understanding them. They love the Irish accent, or so they tell me. It’s somewhat softer. They seem to quite like the Irish too. It makes it easy for us to live here . . . Continue Reading