My Wild Irish Prose

Everytime I sit here in front of the computer, my eyes travel to a small grey and white sharp stone that rests atop my scanner. It's really nothing out of the ordinary, but it holds a library of memories for me each time I see it.

The stone came from across the Atlantic ocean or as the Brits would say, "across the pond." Yes dear reader, this little grey and white stone with the razor sharp edges was once a part of the land where my ancestors lived. You and I know it as Ireland.

Now when I see it I always think of the vacation Billie and I spent there. More specifically, I dream of the days when I returned to our room and talked about the sights we saw and the adventures we chronicled on our ipads and cameras.

The first day we were in Limerick, my cousin, Michael, prepared a huge meal with family and friends at his house in the countryside of Tulla.  When I saw the faces of the people who greeted me, I understood how my uncle Eddie felt when he was warmly welcomed to Ireland over fifty years ago.

Paddy Spaight, (my grandfather), tended bar as his first job in America. Here he is about sixty years later at Gallagher's in Brooklyn. He made me the same drink (cherry juice) each time mom and dad took me to see him. He was a happy man.

Michaels dad, Thomas, a rudy looking gent with an envious crop of white hair appeared extremely happy and resembled his uncle Paddy, my grandfather who passed away forty or more years ago.

Michael King (son of Mary Spaight King) and nephew to Paddy Spaight

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That first night after I was digesting a delicious meal of mushroom soup, potatoes, and lamb, I sent all my friends back in the states an update of my first day in Ireland. I was amazed at the number of responses, comments, and likes I was getting after only a few minutes online. It felt as if so many back home were taking the trip to Ireland with me.

The weather on the first day was grand. Blue skies and picturesque fluffy clouds shaded me and the golden sun warmed me - all without a hint of the rain I was expecting.

It was an ideal day to roam the streets with family.

Noreen, Debbie, and Michael, went with Billie and myself to the Frank McCourt Museum.

Frank McCourt was an Irish pulitzer-prize winning author of the book "Angela's Ashes" which is his memoir as a child growing up in the poverty-sticken section of Limerick.

The tour is a stroll through the Quays and Lanes where Frank lived as a child. It begins at the Civic Center(near the Shannon river) and ends here at the museum.

Bronze bust of the famed Irish author

This woman was in charge of the museum and designed the bust  of  Frank McCourt (see above)

This is a drawing of Frank's mother, Angela.

One of the many awards on display at the museum

Me (Paddy Spaight), my cousin, Noreen, Billie, and my cousin Michael

Mary Kerin Spaight (cousin) is the daughter of  Martin Spaight son of Michael, brother to Paddy my grandfather. Mary lives in SixMileBridge, Co. Clare with her family 

Debbie Simons, cousin

Mairtin, cousin and son of Mary (pictured above)

Michael Killeen King, cousin

Orla Killeen, Michael's wife

Orla and Noreen

Shauna Kerin, cousin and daughter to Mary (pictured above)

Debbie (cousin), me, Noreen (Debbie's mum), and cousin Michael. It's hard to believe, when I see this picture, that the lovely people above were only FaceBook friends a year ago. Now I feel as if I knew them all my life - meeting them is my greatest irish blessing.


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More to come

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