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Category: General

U2 and Love and Death and Hope

I once had a friend I’d like to tell you about. Actually, he was my brother Paul’s friend–one of his best–and, in that cool space of time in my and my brother’s late teens and early twenties, when a lot of our interests and friends mingled and bounced off of each other, when we hurtled back and forth to each other’s cities in South Orange and Philly and Carlisle and Baltimore, I guess his friend was mine, too. I only knew him for a little while–and certainly not as well as my brother did–but the memories of this friend have stuck with me for years. I have snippets of memories of him: the way all seven of his siblings jumped on him when he came home, for instance: they actually came RUNNING out of rooms and through doorways and leapt on him in absolute excitement to see him. The way he was unapologetically enthusiastic in his faith is something that made a huge imprint. I remember talking with him one day–we were sitting in my ancient ’88 Accord outside a restaurant…

You Have Your Normal, We Have Ours

We were in the car on the way home from school after sibling picture day. What follows is a completely typical conversation. For us, anyway. Quinlan, from the back seat: “When we were getting our pictures taken Saoirse kept telling me to stop.” Me, driving: “Oh, no! Why?” Quinlan: “Because I kept licking her.” And you wonder why I drink…

And Yet I’ve Never Been Diagnosed With Anxiety

The night before last, Quinlan, still recovering from allergies or a cold or something, appeared beside our bed (always my side) and said she could’t sleep because she’d had a bad dream. So she spent the night (again) with us (on my side. Of course). It’s become a pattern that, frankly, I’m too tired to break. Judge not unless you’ve heard a weeping child say that the shadows in her room give her nightmares. Last night, Quinlan slept through the night, in her own bed (well, not her own bed. She was in the bottom bunk in Saoirse’s room. Because this child has some issues with being alone that we should probably work on, if we weren’t so tired to do so). Cian, though, was up at 3:17, fussing because of a wet diaper and a chilly room. David went in to get him. Fastest one out of bed wins. Or loses. Whichever. My alarm went off at 5:30. I was going to get up and work on Book #2 (a new project is finally, finally, starting to bloom), but when your eyelids don…