About This Marriage Kerfluffle...

estaratshirai said:
Copy this sentence into your livejournal if you're in a heterosexual marriage, and you don't want it "protected" by the bigots who think that gay marriage hurts it somehow.

And I don't qualify, queer folk that I am, so I moderated it a bit:

Copy THIS sentence into your journal ANYWHERE (not just LJ) if you believe the fucking government should keep its lousy nose out of the estate of "holy Matrimony", period, and leave it to the religious communities in which it rightfully belongs....

A proud Unitarian Universalist Witch, legally married in both my churches, which are the only locales I believe have the right to verify, or not verify, my matrimonial state.

Get the government out of your marriage. Pass it on

Looking At A Musical Ancestor Of Truth....

Watching some movies with Brie on the Turner Classic Movie channel, and saw The Singing Nun, with Debbie Reynolds. It did make me think fondly of my own memories of that movie, and of Soeur Sourire, "The Smiling Sister", and of what listening to her music when I was in high school did for my own music, poetry and sense of self. I can still sing all those songs, and I still have the 33 1/3 vinyl of her one recording. And I still love and remember that heart-lifting feeling of just seeing someone bursting out into song because they are just so happy with life, and with god. And her later life brings her even closer to my own soul, as she left the convent, mostly because she was sure the Catholic Church had it wrong about birth control (she even wrote a song in praise of the pill), and also because she was coming out to herself, and finally gifted herself with a lover and soulmate, Anna Pecher, in 1975. And both of them, faced by increasing financial and health problems, lay down together and died of their own free will in 1985. So hail to Soeur Sourire, today's ancestor of the heart! I admire your talent, courage and dignity. Sleep in peace. And no, I don't believe in a god who would condemn you to hell for deciding to end your own life with your beloved. Somewhere, the two of you are together, singing.

Soeur Sourire
DOMINIQUE
Paroles et musique: Soeur Sourire, 1959


Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

A l'époque où Jean Sans Terre,
D'Angleterre était le roi
Dominique notre père,
Combattit les albigeois.

Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

Certains jours un hérétique,
Par des ronces le conduit
Mais notre Père Dominique,
Par sa joie le convertit

Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

Ni chameau, ni diligence,
Il parcourt l'Europe à pied
Scandinavie ou Provence,
Dans la sainte pauvreté

Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

Enflamma de toute école
Filles et garçons pleins d'ardeur
Et pour semer la parole,
Inventa les Frères-Prêcheurs

Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

Chez Dominique et ses frères,
Le pain s'en vint à manquer
Et deux anges se présentèrent,
Portant de grands pains dorés

Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

Dominique vit en rêve,
Les prêcheurs du monde entier
Sous le manteau de la Vierge,
En grand nombre rassemblés.

Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

Dominique, mon bon Père,
Garde-nous simples et gais
Pour annoncer à nos frères,
La vie et la vérité.

Dominique, nique, nique
S'en allait tout simplement,
Routier, pauvre et chantant
En tous chemins, en tous lieux,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu,
Il ne parle que du Bon Dieu

Counting Down The Ancestors ~ 10/10 to 10/18

(From my LiveJournal)

Today's Living Ancestor....

• Oct. 10th, 2008 at 11:00 PM

Went to Ellie's fourth birthday party tonight, at Emeliee's house. And I can't think of a better ancestor to honor today than my wonderful mom, Mary Duffy...Sitting in my daughter's livingroom and seeing all my daughters and all their kids and knowing this little lady was the reason we all happened...It doesn't get any better than this. I hope we have her around for a long long long time...
Here is beautiful mom. Ninety next year...this photo was taken last year....WOW....

• Location:Mah Chayuh
• Mood: grateful
• Music:Mana Mana

An Ancestor For Today....

• Oct. 11th, 2008 at 10:34 PM

A teacher this time....one I will never forget. She was Soeur Marie Patrice, a Holy Cross Sister who taught me French at St. Mary of the Wasatch when I was in high school. She was a native Parisienne, and she was a tiny little woman with a huge heart who never spoke a cross word to anyone and always maintained perfect order in all her classes because she had the ability of seemingly effortless engagement of her students. My mother and I referred to her as "Ma Belle Chat" in a loving manner, because she had that feline self-possession that is so exquisitely elegant to watch. I was washing dishes by hand today, and I always sing at the top of my lungs when I am doing that, and since several French tunes came across my radar (Aupres de ma blonde, Dites-moi, La Marseillaise) and she did, too. Bon voyage, ma belle chat! Wherever you are, may your road be smooth....

• Location:In front of the tv
• Mood: recumbent
• Music:aupres de ma blonde

Ancestral Anomalies....

• Oct. 12th, 2008 at 8:25 AM

So, you have to take the whatever with the whatever, doncha? So today, we have a rather odd choice of ancestor...someone I am quite certain isn't related to me in any way whatsoever, except for a name. Today I am thinking about my Uncle Charles Duffy...ok. Yes, he's related to me. And he was someone I never got to know, strictly by circumstance, since he and his family lived in Saranac Lake NY and we only saw them on summer vacation, until we moved to Utah when I was nine, and then we never saw them again that I remember. So...why am I disclaiming a relationship with the brother of my father, since indubitably we were related? Well...I can't get inside his head. He shot himself, leaving a wife and four children, for no discernable reason that anyone could ever figure out. Of course, no suicide is really comprehensible to anyone left behind. And I have certainly felt bad enough over the years about a lot of other things about which I could do nothing. But I really don't understand what happened to Uncle Charlie, or how it affects me now. I know somehow it does. So I am going to give him my thoughts today and try to figure it out. For all he was, and for all he makes the family remember, we are grateful.

• Location:just waking up
• Mood:puzzled
• Music:Morning Mood from Peer Gynt

Today's Ancestor Is....

• Oct. 13th, 2008 at 6:42 PM

Walter Duffy, my father's first cousin, who goes in the family by the name of Bud. As far as I know he is still alive, and he is writing and researching more genealogy than a person can possibly absorb in even a few sittings. It is, apparently, his obsession. And I am grateful for it. He has collated so much family information and lore that has become the basis of my own research...Just to say "thank you" to Bud, my great-uncle, in both senses of the word....

• Location:In the Cave
• Mood: thoughtful
• Music: Harrigan, That's Me!

A Cultural Ancestor....

• Oct. 14th, 2008 at 11:25 PM

JRR Tolkien, whose amazing world-building has inspired three generations of marvelous fantasy writers, linguists, and creators of art and music. I can't begin to explain the amazing influence this man has had on my own worldview, so suffice it to say I would be far narrower and less happy a person had I not encountered his wonderful writing and fallen under his arcane spell....John Ronald Ruel Tolkien....Mae govannen!! Elen sila lumenn omentilmo!!!

• Location:Awake, Unfortunately
• Mood:reflective
• Music:The Road Goes Ever On And On

And Today's Ancestor Is...

• Oct. 15th, 2008 at 10:54 PM

...Patrick Ball, another Celtic Harper who also happens to be a personal friend...Yes, he's been to my house. And he brought his harp, and he played for us, something he was just then working on...One of the most influential players of the "folk harp", the one who pioneered the break from pedal harp technique and fingering, who made Irish harp music accessible to people who had never heard a harp, one who brought back the role of the Celtic storyteller to modern times. Every time I play my harp, I think of him. Thank you, Patrick.

• Location:Mah Chayuh
• Mood:reflective
• Music:Patrick Ball's rendition of "Castle Kelly"

And Yet Another Ancestor of Culture...

• Oct. 16th, 2008 at 11:45 PM

Amazing Dorothy Parker, inspiration of an entire generation of outspoken women, whose wit and ability for repartee is practically unmatched in modern history...I was reminded of her by brigidsblest , who put several of my favorite quotes on her blog today. But it wasn't just her wit I admire...it's her life. She was a rogue in an era of non-conformity, and her founding of the Algonquin Round Table brought together such literary figures as Robert Benchley, Robert E. Sherwood, James Thurber, George S. Kaufman, Edna Ferber, Franklin P. Adams, and many others.

Regina Barreca wrote, in the introduction to Parker's Collected Stories, that "Parker's wit caricatures the self-deluded, the powerful, the autocratic, the vain, the sill, and the self important; it does not rely on men and small formulas, and it never ridicules the marginalized, the sideline or the outcast. When Parker goes for the jugular, its usually a vein with blueblood in it."

According to Barreca, many of the critics of her time painted her as having "sold out" and "wasted herself by writing about narrow topics." Nevertheless, her works paved the way for other realist writings by intellectuals, and other writers, which transformed American thought. As a woman before her time, she represented with her witty and satirical writings a select few women who became independently successful. This was a difficult accomplishment during this period that was moving away from Victorian ideals--a time when women were just beginning to see that women can have their individual identities separate from their male counterparts.

Throughout literary history, many people have written works which have added to the tradition of the American Jeremiad. Much of Dorothy Parker’s literature is a good example of the American Jeremiad which has revolutionized American culture and beliefs. Her work has had a tremendous influence on women’s history. There have been continuing arguments over our nation’s founding principles: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Parker’s ideas brought to life a profoundly realistic depiction of the rampant sexism and inconsistencies between those principles and the various social classes, races, and sexes in the life of America in the 1920s. She stated, referring to the renegades of the 1920s,

They come clean with the news that war is a horrible thing, that injustice still exists in many parts of the globe even to this day, that the very rich are apt to sit appreciably prettier than the very poor. Even the tenderer matters are not smeared over with romance for them. They have taken a calm look at this marriage thing and they are there to report that it is not always a life long trip to Niagara Falls. You will be barely able to stagger when the evening is over. In fact, once you have heard the boys settling things it will be no surprise to you if any day now one of them works it all out that there is nothing to this Santa Clause idea. (Parker, quoted in introduction to Dorothy Parker: Complete Stories, p.xi.)

Her voice is still heard in quotes that are used without attribution all over the world, because they just absolutely express the bon mot, the exact right way to say it. Here are a few of my favorites:

"The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity."

"You can't teach an old dogma new tricks."

"Heterosexuality is not normal, it's just common."

"That woman speaks eighteen languages, and can't say No in any of them."

"I'd rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy."

• Location:Somewhere else...
• Mood:inspired
• Music:Eric Clapton, "White Room"

And Today's Ancestor Is...

• Oct. 17th, 2008 at 10:02 PM

...Martin Fennelly, who with his brother Patrick (my great-great grandfather) and their sisters Margaret and Elanor moved from County Kilkenny to Connecticut in 1896. They started a guesthouse in Ansonia Connecticut, and apparently made money enough to buy a home and got pretty well established. Martin has come down through the family as the quintessence of a gentleman...one who took care of his sisters at the expense of his own happiness, apparently, until finally in his later years he married a younger woman, whose name we have not yet ascertained for sure although it might have been Elizabeth. They produced progeny, she being younger than he, and lived with his 2 spinster sisters to be sure they were "well-taken-care-of", since of course in those days a woman without a husband was at anyone's mercy. From him stemmed the "other Fennellys", the ones who didn't all move to New York, and created an enclave in Derby Connecticut which was home to lots of other displaced Irish folk. So hail Uncle Martin! You kept us together...

• Location:On my way to a long, hot bath
• Mood: tired
• Music:Roscommon

Today's Ancestor Offering

• Oct. 18th, 2008 at 9:02 PM

Goes to another Cultural Ancestor, Susan Cooper. "The Dark Is Rising" is not only a wonderful series of books,. it is witchy in the extreme (for a set of books based on Xtian theology, it's amazing) and has become a centerpiece of our family and coven wheel of the year. Reading these books every year at the appropriate time (starting at Yule) used to be a family tradition. We need to start doing that again. In any case, I tip my Witch Hat (see previous entry) to Susan Cooper this year, and wish her well....and really, really wish she'd write something else.

• Location:in bed
• Mood:calm and sleepy
• Music:Rock My Soul In The Bosom Of Abraham

WItches High Tea 2008

...and a grand time was had by all....





The full set is on my Flickr

My Ancestor Goddess...Literally.....

Brighid Duffy of Kildare, one of the folk manifestations of St. Brighid, who is also the Goddess Brighid, who is regarded by my family as a blood ancestor. If I could find it, there is some poem my mother knows part of, starting out "Brigid the daughter of Duffy, Was not like other young things..." and talking about her sainliness. In any case, even before I was Pagan, I wore a St. Brigid medal, having been dedicated to her as a child. She is a huge focus of my Craft, and I do keep looking to find more stories about her as a Duffy. For today, though, to honor her as an ancestor, here is my daily prayer:

THE GENEALOGY OF BRIGHID
Every day and every night
That I say the Genealogy of Brigid
I shall not be killed,
I shall not be harried,
I shall not be wounded,
I shall not be put in a cell.


No fire, no sun, no moon shall burn me,
No water, no lake, no sea shall drown me.

For I am child of Poetry,
Poetry, child of Reflection,
Reflection, child of Meditation,
Meditation, child of Lore,
Lore, child of Research,
Research, child of Great Knowledge,
Great Knowledge, child of Intelligence,
Intelligence, child of Comprehension,
Comprehension, child of Wisdom,
Wisdom, child of Brigid

A Couple Of Ancestor Journal Entries....

I missed posting for a couple of days, so reading down:


October 7, 2008

They were a brave lot, my Folk. In some ways, brave to the point of Stupid. But I am proud of that, anyway. I have a little story to tell about today's ancestor, in the regard of being brave. Seems my father's family had a knack for being Irish at all the wrong times....Let me explain. My great-uncle, Francis Emmett Duffy, always called Emmett, was a rather large man in stature. His mother, through the years, has become famous within the family for often telling people, "I had thirteen children, and Emmett!" I suspect that might have made some kind of a difference to him throughout life, because from my father (who was born on his Uncle Emmett's birthday), I have always heard that Emmett was rather a quiet, gentle man, who collected bugs and butterflies, and who sang in a sweet, high tenor voice in church...But who, because of his great size, was seen as a threat by smaller, lesser men, and was always having to prove himself worthy of being the biggest man in whatever room it was. The incident of which I am thinking happened when Emmett was just 19, at a craic being held in one of the pubs in Lake Placid, the largest city close to where he lived in Saranac Lake, New York. There was a huge Italian population in Lake Placid, and most of the drinking establishments were owned and operated by members of Little Italy. So, since it wasn't home, the people who frequented the pub didn't know Emmett, and since it wasn't his customary Irish-American culture, he may have felt a bit out of place. And of course, with the drinking going on, someone got a wee bit into his cups, and decided Uncle Emmett needed to be brought down a peg or two. How dare he come in here flaunting his six foot six, and daring to only have a single whisky and not even get tipsy? Not to mention having about the best voice at the craic, so that a few Italian-American beauties were apparently eyeing him speculatively. So of course, there were words. I believe the way the story has come down through the family, the assailant came up to Emmett and said something akin to "Show me what you're made of, besides stretch, you stupid big lug" or words to that effect, and deliberately spilled a drink down the front of Emmet's shirt. Apparently Emmett realized that in a battle of wits he would be attacking an unarmed man, and ignored the insult. Instead, he simply turned around and bent over, across the bar, reaching for a towel. The bully pointed at him, laughing in mockery and saying, "So, you're running away from a fight, eh, coward?" And Uncle Emmett crooked his head back over his shoulder and said, "I am simply making it easier for you to Póg ma thoin, boyo." And, thinking he had saved his honor, Emmett turned back to the bar, only to be felled a moment later by a beer mug applied directly to the back of his head. Apparently he had chosen to insult, in an Italian bar, one of the few other persons inside the room who knew enough Irish to know he had just been invited to kiss Emmet's arse. So...Uncle Emmett's on the floor, bleeding from the head, and the man who clonked him one makes an abrupt exit. No one tries to help him. And he lies there for about half an hour, before he wakes up, shakes his head, stands up, gathers his dignity about him, and simply walks out the door. His cousin, Tommy Riley, had been in the bar with him, and saw him home, but apparently hadn't chosen to say anything to the bully or take any action to help Emmett. He told the story, though, to everyone who would listen. And the next week, Emmett went back to the same bar, and found a sign on the door (not unusual in those days) saying, "No Irish here. Drink somewhere else". So....history was made. And I think Emmett won, no matter how you look at it. Cheers, Uncle Emmett. Hope where you are they are a little less truculent, and the drink is better.

October 9, 2008

I am lighting candles today for another cultural ancestor. Her name is Frances Xavier Cabrini, and she is a saint of the Catholic Church, whose name is my middle name, making her my patron saint. She was an unique woman for her time. She was born in Italy in the mid-1800's. She was the first American citizen to be canonized by the Roman Catholic Church. In fact, I knew her as I was rowing up as "Mother Cabrini" because she was the founder of her own religious order. As a young woman she had wished to enter religious life, but she contracted smallpox when she was seventeen, and never fully recovered. When she tried to enter into the Daughters of the Sacred Heart, she was refused admission, even though she had potential in her, because of her frail health. She apparently was told, "You are called to establish another Institute that will bring new glory to the Heart of Jesus." She supported her parents until they died and helped the family on the farm. She and six other sisters that took religious vows with her ultimately founded the Institute of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Mother Cabrini composed the rules and constitution of the order, and she continued as its superior-general until her death.

She lived in New York City where our family lore said that she met my grandmother, Mabel Fennelly, because Mother Cabrini was involved with charity to the poor, whom my grandmother also taught. she obtained the permission of Archbishop Michael Corrigan to found an orphanage, which is located in West Park, Ulster County, NY today and is known as Saint Cabrini Home, the first of 67 institutions she founded. She was naturalized as an American citizen in 1909 even though all her life she had to deal with the same prejudice against Italians that my grandparents encountered against the Irish....Maybe because of this, she is now the patron saint of immigrants. I was always taught that she was a person to admire and to pray to, because we shared the idea of being condemned for where we came from, and my Grandmother was certain that as long as I wore the St. Frances medal she had given me, I would never be harmed by anyone just because they "Hated the dirty Micks." So, today, I honor her, because she was a strong brave woman and because emulating her in my childhood has helped me to grow up the person I am.

And then there's today:

Dear Derek Bell, harper extraordinaire for the Irish band, The Chieftains, until his death in 2002. I had the privilege of meeting him several times, and was so honored that he ever remembered who I was, but he did....both times I spoke to him after the first time. His music was extraordinary, his singing and speaking voice both bespoke the bardic craft handed down through his heritage, and I do believe he was a good and gentle and loving man the world will always sorely miss. In any case, I miss knowing he is in the world. Slainte, Derek, and may wherever you are be a place where the harp is welcome.

God Save My Ancestor...

Queen Elizabeth the First, who had the great good sense to be born on MY birthday, preceding me by some several hundreds of years. I admire this woman, not because she was a queen, but because she was herself. She didn't kowtow, not to Essex, or daddy Henry, or sister Mary, or anyone else, including Sir Francis Drake, pirate or patriot depending on your POV. In any case, she was a strong, powerful woman, and her example has inspired me more than a little. So...today, Hail To The Queen!!

A Wee Bit O' Blarney, Albeit Out Of Season..

Flattery will get you everywhere, I think. I hope. Because I have just spent a great deal of time having an online conversation with a person I don't like much. And I didn't say anything which wasn't true, because there are things I can say that ARE true about what this woman does, and they are good things. Someone doesn't have to be someone I like to do work that I admire...but that doesn't mean I have to like her, or who she is, or how she treats me....So...why do I feel dirty? Why do I feel like a hypocrite, when nothing I said to her is untrue? Because I said those things to her because I want something? But she knows what I want, and she is ok with it. It's just that I know that I wouldn't be talking to her at all if there weren't something I want. And I would prefer to say how I really feel about her, TO her, and I don't feel like I can. So...I make nice, online, to get her to do what I need her to do. And I go offline, to this blog, that is a place I can be honest with the world, and say that it makes me feel like a bad person, like a liar, even thought I never told a lie at all. It is completely irrational to feel the way I do. I will have to figure out WHY.

Just A Nice Day, And My Ancestor....

Ru came over today, and we had some time together....a movie we really wanted him to see, "Boat Trip", and I am so glad he thought it was funny, because Brie and I think it's hysterical. Right up there with "Miss Congeniality"....And we did some deranged business, but somehow we're always somewhat deranged when we're together. And Ru was a witness to the most recent development in my personal magical life...just ask him. He'll tell you, I really can levitate!! So we sat and relaxed and watched the movie, and now Brie and I are watching an episode of SVU that I don't remember seeing before. And it is another quiet day, just the two of us now, and dinner will be the rest of the roast beef, and we are just hanging out together and loving it. I guess I really am either getting old, or I am just waaaay the eff overextended, because I am beginning to really cherish the quiet times when nothing much is going on. A call from Sara and one from Mom, as well as a call from Jody. Lots of folks talking on LJ that I am going to be responding to. A few little bits of household stuff....oh, and I gave Ruadhan the chicken soup, because there was so much of it and we have already eaten it twice. And it is really time to take Quin to the vet to get the mats out of her hair. And I do have grapes, so I will be brewing even though I thought I had nothing to brew with. And.....For me, this was a busy, as well as a peaceful, kind of a day.

And as far as my Ancestor Journal....today, it's a cultural ancestor. Here's my entry:

"..now that I have one son and two grandchildren who play the flute (an instrument upon which yours truly can't even make a noise), I must acknowledge the breadth and depth of musical enjoyment and insight I have received from the work of James Galway, Flautist Extraordinaire. His amazing versatility and technical knowledge make listening to him a true mystical experience. I am thinking of "Annie's Song" as well as his Saltarello, and loving hearing it in my head. Sláinte, Seamus!!"

Ancestor Journal, October 4

Today, it's raining and cold and overcast and absolutely wonderful here. I love this kind of weather, and I love the contemplative, cosey, snuggled-up-at-home feeling I get in this kind of weather. And it reminds me....

My grandfather, John Kyron Fennelly, (middle name spelled phonetically on purpose so it could not be mispronounced, since no one who wasn't another Irish Immigrant knew how to say "Ciaran" correctly) was a very quiet, reserved, dignified man. I never remember seeing him outside of a suit, a white shirt, and his characteristic string tie, whose bolo was a tiny pin of the Irish Flag. I never heard him raise his voice to another person, and I hardly remember his smiling, certainly not laughing out loud. He walked slowly, and spoke seldom. We would walk together to the druggist three blocks away from his house, every time I visited him, to get the papers, my seven-year-old self listening mostly to the crunching of the pebbled sidewalks under our feet, because there was scarcely any conversation going on. I remember thinking how dry, warm, and soft his hand was, my little fist securely encircled by his fingers. He smelled of bay rum aftershave, and always had a mint in his mouth, because he did not want to offend with his breath, since he smoked cigars (never in front of the women or the children). The only time I ever remember hearing him express any emotion at all was the one situation in which I DID hear him raise his voice, and that was when, after a whiskey or two, he would argue politics with my uncles, especially waving his fists and shouting about "ROOOsevelt" (said as if it rhymed with "ruse", not "rose"). BUT....there was one thing about him. One thing that makes this his day to be my honored ancestor. He loved rain. Loved it in a way that made him become all excited when he heard thunder, and had him digging in the closet for his "wellies" and walking out in it, bareheaded, face lifted to the downpour, and squatting beside the lilac bush in the back yard to inhale huge breaths of the soaking-wet fragrance. He it was that told me there were fairies one could only see in the rain. He it was who taught me to smell the rain before it came. He it was who made me listen, really listen, to the different sounds of falling water hitting, diversely, leaf and roof and driveway and grass and car hood and flowerbed and my own outstretched hand. I had chronic sinusitis when I was a child, and for me getting a cold in the head was a disaster. But I never recall getting ill after a foray in the rain with Grandpa, because it was as if we were in some kind of a place that nothing bad could enter. Only the beauty and mystery of falling rain. And in this storm, today, I honor him. I love you, Grandpa.

Make-Believe Maverick

This is by far the most comprehensive portrayal of the REAL John McCain that I have ever encountered, from Rolling Stone Magazine, of all places. I am totally appalled that some of this information hasn't been shared in other places, but for those of you reading this, here it is. And now tell me why you haven't yet registered to vote as a Democrat?

Ancestor Altar and Journal

Today, I am thinking of Aunt Betty. My mother's sister, Elizabeth Fennelly. She died several years ago, and she was always an enigma to me. My mother's next-to-youngest sister, never in all the time I knew her had a man in her life, a little distant, a dedicated traveller (first in the family to re-visit Ireland), she never let anyone know her very well. She was a legal secretary and law clerk for many years, and she also took care of Gran (and appropriated whatever she liked after Gran died, to the upset of many people in the family, but she believed she deserved it). She was so unlike all the other women in our family that I never made a connection with her. Since I have been thinking about her, over the past several years, a few specific things have come to my mind. In her era, there was practically no such thing as a woman who was single by choice. I find myself wondering if perhaps she might have been a lesbian, with no way of knowing that nor any resources to become who she was. She also spoke bitterly against the Catholic Church in private, whilst scrupulously keeping to every iota of religious observance in the public eye. I wonder how she really felt about the church, and why? She is the one who taught me to read the tea leaves and to discern the weather, and answers to questions, by the flight of birds and the movement of clouds. She had a reputation for scrupulous honesty, but she also helped her sister Ellen do a spell to take away all her ex-husband's money because she thought Harry had mistreated Ellen. She was a very complicated person, and I hardly knew her. Now that she has died, I keep wondering if I missed something. I will be inviting her to Dumb Supper this year, and see if she will come and talk to me.

I will be posting pictures of the ancestor altar when I take some. On the dining room table this year, being the focus of the entire room, as I feel is appropriate.

And tonight I watched the Veep Debacle....erm, debate....and I am not at all sanguine about what might happen in November. Something is wrong when SP does not sound like an idiot. I am really afraid she cleans up too good to be as ridiculous as she really is....