Truth is I need to pray to a Mother God sometimes… not a Father God. One who’ll understand without more explanation than I have the oomph to give. Which is really odd, in my case, as my Mother never understood and my father always did, but still the mythos of being gently Mothered must live [ Read More ]
I grew up talking to God… an Irish thing to do. Walking down the street saying, Hi God, it’s me Cathy, how are You today? That’s a great tree You made. Thanks for the sunrise. Please help me with my math test. Please make it easier for my mother to breathe. That kind of conversation. [ Read More ]
My mother could foretell death. She’d inherited the family banshee, the Irish harbinger who shrieks her fatal message to one member of each generation to let them know that someone is about to die. “What a pity about John,” she might say, “he’ll be gone by June 15th,” and close family members knew enough not [ Read More ]