
Haiku: End of Summer Trip
Twenty years ago
A little boy hops a swan
To float in a park

Haiku: End of Summer Trip
Twenty years ago
A little boy hops a swan
To float in a park

Do you know which great American city has been fighting authoritarians for 250 years? Sit down Philadelphia, because it’s Boston.
Fought on June 17, 1775, the Battle of Bunker Hill was one of the first major battles of the American Revolutionary War. Despite being technically a British victory, the battle showed that colonial forces could stand up to the British army, significantly boosting American morale.
In 1776, with the signing of the Declaration of Independence in Philadelphia (OK Philly we see you) the colonies formally declared themselves a new nation, requiring defense both on land and at sea. By 1794, with independence secured but U.S. ships vulnerable to attacks by pirates and foreign powers, Congress authorized the building of six frigates, including the USS Constitution.
In 1797, the USS Constitution was launched in Boston Harbor. During the War of 1812, she defeated multiple British ships in single day combat. In her most famous victory, British cannonballs bounced off her hull which was built with dense live oak (60% denser than white oak), thus the nickname Old Ironsides. The ship become a powerful symbol of the young republic’s survival and determination.
The ship in my photo is not a replica, it’s the actual USS Constitution. While she has undergone many restorations (her timbers have been replaced over time), her keel and much of her structure remain historic. She’s berthed at the Charlestown Navy Yard in Boston Harbor and is still an active U.S. Navy ship, with a crew of active-duty sailors who give tours.
Now check out Boston’s current mayor—Michelle Wu—telling overreaching, authoritarian President Donald Trump to go fuck himself in so many words.
Like Sex and the City, Rosie O’Donnell is very aligned to me culturally.
In case you don’t remember the 1990s, Rosie O’Donnell was HUGE—one of America’s biggest cultural figures. Her daytime talkshow The Rosie O’Donnell Show won multiple Emmys and the media nicknamed her “The Queen of Nice.” She was truly a household name. I watched her a lot. She adopted her first child Parker in 1995, the same year I became a mom. She kept me company during the day when I was home with my kids. She was funny, kind, warm and loved Broadway musicals like I did.
In the 2000s, her image shifted as she came out publicly and became a strong advocate for LGBTQ+ rights, which made me like her even more. Later, when she was on The View, I didn’t watch her as often because I was back working, but I know that’s when her public fights with Donald Trump really ramped up. My recollection is that it was primarily a beef between two New Yorkers that had history and absolutely hated each other in a way that only two New Yorkers can.
Well, lo and behold, thirty years later, Trump is the most authoritarian President the United States has ever seen and Rosie has escaped to Ireland.
I’m obviously TEAM ROSIE in this feud.
In fact, since I discovered her TikTok and Substack shortly before my trip to Ireland, I’ve been following her time abroad closely. She seems to really love living in Dublin, although she misses her family. I even went to the Dublin comedy club where she had been practicing her act for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. By all accounts, she was a smashing success there. She plays Australia next.
I’m happy for Rosie that things are going well for her abroad, but I’m very aware of the absolutely dystopian reasons she left the country.
We are in uncharted waters now.
We live in a time when an American President publicly threatens to revoke a natural-born American’s citizenship for no reason other than that he just really fucking hates her.

I think it is the nature of things for parents to care more about their children than vice versa.
Our children love us, but not how we love them. Oh how we love them. If they are struggling, sick or unhappy, it can be hard to function ourselves. If your parents live to be very old, you will be old too. You may be dealing with old people problems like osteoarthritis and macular degeneration at the same time as your parents. In some cases, very old parents outlive one or more of their children, which is obviously terrible for the parents. Nobody should have to bury a child. Ever.
But here’s what I think I want to say. You don’t owe your very old parents a myth of your own happy carefree existence. You’re old too. And things have gotten worse. The country has gotten worse.
I’m definitely not saying you should call up your very old parents and unload your problems on them. (If you’re still doing that at age 60+, you may have Peter Pan Syndrome.) I’m saying that if they call you a lot (and are of sound mind), it’s OK to be yourself. You don’t have to make up cheerful bullshit all the time just to keep them happy. Because that’s exhausting. And you’re old too.
On the flip side, if you’re having a good day and feel like chatting, call your mom. Nobody’s ever gonna love you like she does.




You know the top secret security question we all get asked at some point:
What is your mother’s maiden name?

Well, I never seriously considered changing my last name when I got married. So my kids have it easy: my last name is the same as my “maiden” name. I’ve only ever had the one surname. [Actually, I just thought of this: maybe I should secretly choose a “fair maiden” name—like Guinevere or Seraphina—and tell only my kids so they can have an extra tight security question.]

But I digress…before I even start.
The point of this post is that my mother’s maiden name is Powell, which is neither Italian nor Irish—the two ethnicities I have explored the most. I’m half Italian (all of my father’s grandparents were born in Italy) and at least one eighth Irish. (I did a deep dive on that Irish great grandmother on my recent trip to Ireland.)
Well, the ethnicity of the man that my Irish great grandmother married and had six children with (including my grandfather) is more of a mystery. Thanks to my mother’s extensive research, we know his name was David Julian Alonzo Powell and that he was born in Jamaica in 1876. They married in Liverpool, England in 1903, shortly before emigrating to Brooklyn, NY.
He worked as a mechanic and a fireman and died of syphilis at age 43 in New York. His race was listed as “white” in census records and on his death certificate.
Now, David’s brother Henry, from the same two Jamaican-born parents, was classified as “mulatto” on the 1920 US census and worked as a minister in several black churches in the US south before returning to Jamaica.
One of the US churches he served was in Asheville, NC, where a newsletter noted that Rev. Powell was “a quiet cultured Christian gentleman, whose record in the city has been as clean as a hound’s tooth. He is every inch a priest in the Episcopal church. He has been a credit to the colored people in Asheville and they have in turn put a true evaluation upon him.”
Soooo, one brother (my great grandfather) lived as a white person in the US, and the other one (my great granduncle) lived as a mixed-race or black person in the US. Their father, William Henry Powell (my great great grandfather) lived his entire life in Montego Bay, Jamaica. His 1902 death certificate listed his occupation as “baker.” His race is not listed, but it seems almost certain that he and his wife Elizabeth were of mixed Afro-European descent. (Fully white Europeans were a very small percentage of the Jamaican population at that time and typically did not live and work in downtown Montego Bay, whereas Black Jamaicans and mixed-race Jamaicans frequently worked as bakers, carpenters, tailors, and other tradespeople.)
Of course, this begs one of the most challenging questions for those who seek out their roots: were any of my ancestors enslaved? And for mixed-race people, the even more more challenging corollary: were any of my ancestors enslavers? It seems likely, as slavery is how black people got to Jamaica in the first place.
I guess now I’ll have to do some reading on the Afro-Caribbean diaspora.

So, my mother’s maiden name leads to Jamaica 🇯🇲

What’s behind your mother’s “maiden” name?
______________________________
UPDATE: I’ve just learned from Elle’s blog that today (August 1) is a very important national holiday in Jamaica. It’s Emancipation Day, which celebrates the abolition of slavery in the British colonies in 1834.
Happy Emancipation Day, Jamaica. 🇯🇲
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“Summah” is Boston for “summer.” The truth is I’ve never had much of a Boston accent and my husband has mostly lost his, but I do like to hear it when I’m away from home. There are different versions of it, based largely on socioeconomic class. In my opinion, the upper class “Kennedy” version is fading away. You rarely hear it. (Listen to JFK say “summer” at minute 6:00 of this speech.)
The middle class/blue collar version of the accent is way more common. Former Boston Mayor Mahty Walsh had a good one.
We’ve got four distinct seasons here in Massachusetts and there’s just no doubt about it…
Summah’s the best.
OK, I’m starting to sense a certain outlook change now that I’m 60.
I’m sure there are lots of people out there that start wonderful new adventures at age 60, but I think, for most of us, that feeling that the path is wide open is over. That “open road” feeling you had in your 20s, 30s & 40s—that life could still potentially take you anywhere—has passed.
If you haven’t already done it, you’re probably never going to:
—move to Paris
—became a famous musician
—join the Peace Corps
—become a doctor
—become so rich you never have to worry about money
—move to the other coast
—buy an RV and travel the country (actually, I think some people DO do that in their 60s)
—leave your spouse and run off with an old flame
—have children
—learn to cook
—get a graduate degree
—make the Olympic team
I’m not saying these things can’t happen in your sixties, but they usually don’t. Those big forks in the road are in the rearview mirror and your focus shifts to the twenty good years or so that you hopefully have left. Sadly, too many people are consumed by health and money worries in their 60s, but if you’re lucky enough to not have to worry about basic needs, you may want to return to fulfilling creative pursuits like painting or writing, or focusing on being fully present with family and friends, or traveling to your bucket list destinations.
The dreams are different now. And there are fewer of them.

I just turned my house upside down looking for our “America the Beautiful” National Parks Annual Senior Pass that we bought last year to go to Yellowstone and Grand Tetons. It lets people 62+ get a whole car full of people into any national park for free. (It only costs $20, if you buy it in person.)
Good news! I found our pass in my husband’s wallet, even though he checked there himself. (Senior citizens cannot be trusted in these matters!) And even better, it’s good through September 30. So, I can book a post-Labor Day trip to one of our great national parks. I basically have to, right? I can’t let that Senior Pass go to waste!
I thought about Yosemite, because it’s such a wildly popular national park, especially for international travelers, but that’s a big commitment for people from the East Coast.
So, the national park I’ve most wanted to return to for many years (I haven’t been there since 1976) and that my husband has never been to is….
Drumroll
In the great state of Maine.
I’m going through my Bucket List so fast you guys. I’ll be good to kick it by the time I’m 65. 😉

My parents have traveled a lot. They’ve been to many countries and seen many things. And one thing I’ve noticed is that they’ve forgotten quite a few specifics of late. I’m not blaming them (they’re pretty darn old), but I’d like to not forget as much as possible.
Typically, I take photos of signs or menus to remember where I was, but now our phones tell us exactly where each pic was taken (which is handy).
In any case, this post is mostly for me, like a diary. And possibly for my kids or grandkids who may someday wonder where exactly we went in Ireland on that trip we took back in 2025.





































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