My father turned 91 yesterday. My granddaughter will turn 1 next month. And this beloved poem from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, which I first read in college, still resonates so deeply with me.
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.”
Sweet Honey in the Rock’s version
After Kilkenny, it was onwards to Dublin—the great capital city of the Republic of Ireland. We approached Dublin from the south, which was described as the “posh” side of town.
After a lovely lunch surrounded by ancient giant trees at The Fern House (and quick shopping in the attached Avoca store), we headed to the city for something completely different— a moving tour of Kilmainham Gaol.
This historic prison is a powerful symbol of Irish nationalism, as it held many leaders of Ireland’s rebellions, including the 14 men executed after the 1916 Easter Rising. (On the way to the prison, the guide played Rod Stewart’s beautiful song Grace about Joseph Plunkett—one of the 14 rebellion leaders—who was allowed to marry his childhood sweetheart Grace shortly before his execution.)
The next morning, the sun came out and we did a walking tour and saw many of the city’s iconic sites:
Meanwhile, my son John (who had been in Sweden for work) joined us in Dublin, which was fantastic. It was so great to spend time with him!
We did several more museums with him, including EPIC (the Irish Emigration Museum) and the National Museum of Archeology. We also went to many pubs, stores and even a sold-out comedy show, where we were the only Americans and the comedians knew it. 🤣 (They did not hold back on the Trump jokes, which was awesome.)
And NOW, if you’re still reading, here’s the most amazing thing that happened in Dublin. You may remember that this trip was inspired, in part, by my Irish roots. Thanks to my mother’s extensive genealogy research, I have a lot of information about my great grandmother’s family, including the names and addresses of her parents—and their parents.
One night we walked by the address of the home where my great grandmother’s mother grew up and believe it or not, her father’s name is STILL on the door: Beverly Smyth.
I also found the church where my grandfather’s maternal grandparents got married in 1879:
And of course, I went inside the church too, because I’m like that!
I had two other Dublin addresses for the Barrys, but did not have time to see them when I was there, so I’ll have to go back.
But the bottom line is: I’m a DUBLINER people. My people were city folk. They were not digging potatoes in County Cork. So the next time I go to the Dubliner bar in Boston, I’ll know I belong.
It really is in a prime city location and currently up for rent! Here’s the street it’s on:
According to the realtor, the “Beverly Smyth & Sons” nameplate can never be removed because the property is on Dublin’s list of protected properties. So maybe someday my granddaughter will visit Dublin and see her great x5 grandparents’ home.
FINAL THOUGHT: we have far too many Johns and Marys in the family tree (on both the Irish and Italian sides). Giving your kids unique first names will help future generations keep it all straight. 😜
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Sitting in the yard
With our comfy hoodies on
Keep this memory
I’m losing my patience with rich old white people. And by “rich” I mean comfortable…people who are in absolutely no danger of not being able to pay their monthly bills and buy groceries. People who take vacations—without fail. And by “old” I mean people who were old enough to vote for or against Ronald Reagan at least once. People like me…and my friends..and my parents…and their friends.
We are the privileged. We can say what we want. We can protest publicly without fear. Nobody is going to deport us.
If people in this demographic haven’t publicly taken a side by this point, I really don’t want to sit around and make small talk with them anymore. Politely avoiding the big three (money, politics and religion) is so tedious. I really don’t give a shit if there’s a new Trader Joe’s opening near your house, if you haven’t done one single thing to denounce Trumpism. In fact, if you’ve never made it clear (through conversations, social media posts or other actions) that you do not support Trump, I’m just gonna assume you do. And in that case, I’m really done with you, with very few exceptions.
Other than a handful of federal judges, a couple of law firms, and Harvard University, there is really very little institutional power behind the resistance at the moment. The American people are the only thing that’s gonna stop this train.
And as a reminder, everything that we ever wanted for our children and grandchildren is at stake now—even for the rich white ones.
Public education, our great national parks, scientific research, the planet, equality, freedom, democracy, healthcare, world peace, the rule of law, economic security…we could lose it all.
If you think I’m exaggerating, please read this gift article from today’s NYT.
So, to my fellow old rich white people: be brave, do something, say something, write a blog or a Facebook post, contact your legislators, fly a diversity flag, make a sign, go to a protest (maybe your first!), confront your MAGA relatives, donate to the ACLU or another organization in the fight.
Then, maybe, I’ll be interested to hear a bit more about that new Trader Joe’s and whether or not they carry wine.
Yesterday we got together at my daughter’s house in central Massachusetts. My son drove out from his new apartment in the city. My daughter cooked a lovely meal for us. My granddaughter was able to sit at the table with us in her high chair. She watched us eat and talk and occasionally dropped one of her plastic stacking rings on the floor for someone to retrieve.
There were six of us around the table. And I loved it so much. My heart is full.
My kids are nearly six years apart in age. My daughter is the oldest and is now a mom herself. She owns a home with her partner. She hasn’t lived at home with us since 2018. She’s all the way grown.
My son graduated college in 2024 and has been gainfully employed for ten months, but since his job is nearby, he’s been living at home to save money. Now that’s about to change—as it should. He and his buddies found an apartment in the city and he’s moving out Tuesday.
I will miss him, but at least he’s not moving to New York. I know I’ll get to see him. Heck, he could even come over for dinner after work (our house is that close to his job). Still, it is the end of an era. If all goes well, he won’t move back in with us, probably ever. No more seeing what he wears to work each morning. No more casual chats with my husband after work about the Patriots’ latest roster moves.
I didn’t intend to space out my kids by six years. It was more like I was very happy with one child, but then when the biological window started closing, I had second thoughts.
But maybe it worked out in my favor? By spacing my kids out so far, I became a grandma before my nest was truly, permanently empty. Having an adorable baby granddaughter in my life takes the sting out of my own little birdie flying the coop.
Babies don’t keep.
Before I became a grandmother, I asked a couple of people to describe how it felt to have a grandchild. I wanted to know exactly how it felt, as compared to becoming a parent. Do you love the grandchild just as much as your own children? Or is it a little bit less…like a “once removed” sort of feeling? How did you feel during labor & delivery? Do you worry about the baby’s health and safety constantly, like you did with your own children, or are you able to leave the worrying to the parents? Would you throw yourself in front of a moving train (or jump into the shark tank at the aquarium) to save a grandchild? Did you love the grandchild immediately (like a parent does) or do they need to grow on you over time?
Inquiring minds wanted to know!
To be honest, I never got a good, straightforward, detailed answer. Everyone just said things like “it’s amazing.” Some said, “it’s even better than being a parent.” My own mother said it was “exciting.” (Gee mom, that’s all you got? Not much of a description!) My sister-in-law said she “just wanted to cry.”
So, I’m going to go ahead and answer my own questions for other inquiring minds:
Do you love your grandchild just as much as your own children?
Yes. And I felt love the minute I saw the detailed ultrasound pics, with a clear little head and hands. It was primal. I wanted to cry. And the feeling of holding my child’s child for the first time was like…experiencing the greatest gift the universe has to offer. There’s no emoji for it!
Or is it a little bit less…like a “once removed” sort of feeling?
No, it’s not a once removed feeling. It’s actually doubled, because you love their parent so much too. It’s like you love each of them individually and you also love & celebrate the parent/child “couple.” I like happy pictures of my daughter and granddaughter together almost as much as cute pics of the baby alone.
How did you feel during labor & delivery?
Extremely anxious! Not going to lie—it was not fun! It may be worse when it’s your own daughter in labor.
Do you worry about the baby’s health and safety constantly, like you did with your own children, or are you able to leave the worrying to the parents?
Fortunately my granddaughter was born healthy to two responsible parents, so I do not worry about her healthy and safety constantly. But I do worry. I worry about infectious diseases and environmental toxins. I also worry about car accidents.
Would you throw yourself in front of a moving train to save a grandchild, if you had to?
Yes
Do you love the grandchild immediately (like a parent does) or do they need to grow on you over time?
For me, it was immediate.
My granddaughter is just under six months old, so that’s my report for now!
Today my baby girl turns 30 and I am verklempt 🥺. When I turned thirty, I had the cutest little 4-month old baby girl. And now history is repeating itself and my daughter has the sweetest little 4-month old baby girl. It’s a joy and a blessing almost too poignant for words. It’s like once you have a child of your own, you finally understand how much your mother loves you.
Joni Mitchell’s song The Circle Game keeps playing in my head and bringing a tear.
Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like when you’re older must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
And they tell him take your time it won’t be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There’ll be new dreams maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
© March 22, 1966; R. Joan Mitchell, then August 22, 1966; Gandalf Pub Co
I really do not want to leave Key West and go back to the cold and snow tomorrow. We’ve had fantastic Caribbean weather this whole week. It’s been gorgeous – day and night.
On the bright side, I get to see my granddaughter this weekend.
That makes going back easier.
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All of these immigrants arrived in the United States dirt poor from Southern Italy in search of a better life.
100 years later, their great, great granddaughter, a United States citizen, has just learned to roll over.
It’s wild to think that if any one of these immigrants had been sent back to Italy, my granddaughter wouldn’t be here.
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