Recycling

I'm nothing if not a recycler -- here's an old one from Thursday December 15, 2005

Ten Degrees

That's the temperature not the degrees of separation thing that hit Broadway. Yowzer it is COLD. But in the scheme of things it could be worse. My mother would always cringe when I tried to smooth over the bad event of the moment by saying that . "Don't worry", she'd say, "They'll get there." Yup, I come from a long line of optimists. We always were told that we weren't Irish on my mother's side. How all the other family members on that side were and we weren't never puzzled me. After all, they were all Catholic and we weren't so if that is possible, why not the Irish thing. My father's family was Scottish in every direction you looked so in my mother's view, so were we. That Irish surname and brogue of the older aunts could just as easily have been Scottish. As I get older and fall into what my aunt (on my mother's side) would call the blues, I realize that it's a gift from my Irish genes. The Irish do have that melancholy unlike any other group. It's deep and mystical as well as musical. They, or I should say I, weep without warning and go inside to uncover old hurts and pain. We sigh a lot and isolate to curl up, listen to maudlin music to blend with our thoughts. Then, it seems, equally without warning, we find something so startlingly funny about the worst thing imaginable that we laugh as inappropriately as we cry and back to level, life goes on.

So I go ----