Tag Archives: Love


Moms are magic. I imagine other moms are like mine, the embodiment of magic.

Sunlight stutters through overhanging trees, leaves rustling in the summer breeze. The warmth nurses my arthritic bones.

My siblings and I not only received our lives, but we were shaped and directed by mom’s beliefs, her choices. Who would I be if not for this magic? Certainly not myself, not a writer.

Children play in the park fountain. Happiness nourishes me from peels of unfettered joy.

A squirrel glides and pauses across the lawn. Her gait is blemished, and I realize she is old, like me. Continue reading Legacy

Silk and Hat

Yulia has her version to tell. Just one of those chance moments when two people’s lives intersect. Dice cast on the felt table of possibility. She’d call it chemistry, credit pheromones, liken it to molecules colliding, gravitating together, charges drawn across an abyss.

Peter smiles, laughs, and puts his arm around her. Science is her religion. It explains everything, including its own limitations. Continue reading Silk and Hat

Queenstown Passage

I had taken a small room in Queenstown for a single night. It was barely more than a cupboard, but it was sufficient for my needs, which were few to none. I was only too happy to pay Mrs. O’Brien my last shilling for any dry space. I’d have slept standing up in the corner of her kitchen, like a broomstick, if nothing else had been available. The day had been gloomy, but that night had been a howling storm.

This was the beginning of a passage from one life into another. I planned to embark on the Minnesota on the morrow for my new life in New York. My dearest Ireland would disappear; dreams, stolen by recent misfortune, crashed about my head. Excitement and—I will admit—fear jangled nerves raw as I tossed. Mr. Sullivan quaked the floor with a sound like a rough saw through hardwood from the neighboring room. Sleep had skipped passed me this last evening. Continue reading Queenstown Passage