What’s this about me feeling like I’ve lived in three centuries? I’d like to tell you that I’m older than I look, but that would put me at a minimum of 125 years old, and no one’s buying that.

I was blessed (and occasionally cursed) with a matriarchal Irish grandmother, who arrived in New York in the 1920s. She made sure our family on both sides of the pond remained well connected. In 1966 at age eight, I made my first of a couple dozen trips to Ireland. All told, I’ve spent about two years of my life there.

We still own the land and house where my grandmother was raised. It’s around 25 acres, much of it now planted in oak trees.

Rural Ireland in the 1960s and 70s was more like rural America in the late 1800s and early 1900s. During my earliest trips to stay with my uncles in rural Roscommon County, there was no electricity, no running water, no bathroom, no cars. Continue Reading →