The West's Awakeby Cormac MacConnell
- Looking forward to cutting ties to the ties that bind my throttle
- Bishop Eamon Casey served us well, and deserves our prayers
- A lovely tale of island life in the paradise of West Clare
- The Boarding Out orphan was a wonderful pick
- How do the Irish regard their American visitors? With pride
The humpty graveyard surrounding Kilbawn Chapel is exactly like thousands of graveyards in rural Ireland.
I swear that I am going to write something lighthearted this week. I'm going to avoid all the national and international tremors and tragedies and politics and plagues.
It will be difficult indeed under the circumstances, but dammit there comes a time to call in the clowns too. And we're there.
The Dutch Nation and the dogs and cats were all abed. The Christmas tree was still lit up in the corner of the front room of the cottage, and the stove was glowing redly. It was warm and cozy.
From the bottom of the little tree, down near the stand, the old familiar face of Mastitis leered out at me from behind a bulb in the shape of a holly berry. Though he looked quite frightening, I still raised my glass to him before beginning to write this piece, the last of the Old Year, the first of the incoming infant.