The Conversation

Yesterday, when I visited Patrick in the hospital, we had a great conversation. As I walked up to the door that was partially open, I read the caveats on the door sill. "Please talk softly, don't upset him, etc." all of the precautions that one might expect with a brain injured patient. Through the crack in the door, I could see him smiling as he was talking to a lady that had been reading beside his bed. As Patrick introduced this lady, I had the feeling that I had stepped into the Academy Awards as his praise for her was so profuse.

"Hi, Unc, good to see you, are you just passing through?"

"No, actually Patrick, I came to see you."

He looked good with his dark beard and shaved head as he lay there in bed eating the finger food for lunch with his fingers.

"They feed me all the time here, but that isn't what I need most. I need to get to the Lighthouse, so I can do some rehab to help myself get better. Tomorrow, they are moving me there."

"Wow, that is great!"

Patrick quickly shifted the conversation, and I felt like I was being interviewed. "Still live on the river? How is the Mrs? How is that job going?" His humor was shining through, but the last question left me in a quandary. I retired a couple years back, and this question along with some other ones made me realize that Patrick's memory of the last couple of years was a bit scant. What should I do so as not to disturb him with this new information, but still tell the truth. I replied, "Ya, I retired. Spontaneous move, didn't give it much thought, but I'm glad I did it."

Patrick's follow up, "What do you do with all of your down time?"

"I haven't worked on Christmas music for many years, but I am now working on compiling a Christmas CD"

"Great, would you make me one?"

"I'll make the first one for you."

As the conversation took other turns, "How is the Mrs." again, I can see that Patrick is doing his standup comic routine, even though he is laying flat on his back. Then he said, "I have to go to sleep now, cause I need my rest." We finish up the conversation and I depart.

As I drive back, I really hope that Patrick will be moving to the Lighthouse today and that it isn't just wishful thinking on his part. Later, the lady at the laundry mat confirmed this fact. There have been three fund raisers for him and he is a celebrity in at least two counties, if not more.

What Kind?

In the sixties, the western branch of the Milford Quinlans lived at the end of Arrow View. This road was so bad that a veritable pond covered the road almost year around, just down from the house. Visiting "The King" and his family was quite a venture.

The oldest two boys, Michael Patrick and Patrick Michael, often played together in the same playpen. Patrick was very verbal and I believe could talk, long before he could walk. This is an example of the dialogue of a particular game at the time.

Michael: "Dogs can't do that!"

Patrick: "That's the kind of dog I am!"

Patrick is now fighting for his life after a motorcycle accident. I would like to say not only what a great human being you are, but many people are praying for your recovery.

Abby Normal

My dad Tony, hands down, is the quirkiest individual I know. Oh, sure, it's funny when, once a year, he cancels his phone, internet and cable services. Any idea how frustrating that is for his drunk-dialing descendants living in different states?

I called to harass after receiving his "preparing to disconnect" email, and was eventually able to leave a voicemail (after dialing a series of previous phone numbers), "How do you expect me to be normal* when you set this kind of example? Huh?"

*which is funny, actually, because I've never been a big fan of normal. It seems like a synonym for boring. 

He took my message and transferred it to his portable voice recorder, to serve as a reminder - go normal! Am I the tiny voice of reason in his life?

Day o' Fathers

"There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself." ~ John Gregory Brown

(*click on the photo to make it larger)

Mo Ghile Mear (My Hero)

Its that time of the year again. Its almost Fathers Day again. Im extremly thankful to of had a father like mine. Even though he's not with us anymore, the lessons that he taught me will last forever. He taught me to always treat women with respect and love. I also learned that it is okay to show your emotions. Not only did I learn everything i know from him, he also helped me become who I am today. My dad came to every band concert, wrestiling meet, football game, play and track meet. Whenever i succeeded at something, he acted like I had just won the Medal Of Honor. I always knew that he would be watching me preform. With him in the stands, it made me push myself that much harder. Every time i saw him in the stands, I always ran that much faster and wresteled that much harder. Never did he ever miss a day of work, a house payment or a car payment. We never went hungry even though he might of. He was honestly the best father I could ever wish for.

The Shirt

Now there are many great things about the Quinlan Family. One thing is their story telling ability. But I think that one of the most endering qualities, is that they are more then willing to give you the shirt off of their backs. It reminds me of one of my favirote memories of my Uncle Tony. It was back when we still owned our cano livery in Roscommon. One of the yearly traditions that my dad and I participated in was, almost every weekend we would go up north on Friday night. When we would get there, my dad would order a large pizza and an order of hot wings. At about that time my dad would go over to my Uncle Tony's place, which was literaly maybe two miles down the road. They would sit around and shoot the breeze while having a few beers. While they were doing their thing, I would be at our cabin, eating pizza and watching T.V. Well one of the times, my dad and Uncle Tony were doing their thing, Uncle Tony was wearing this T-shirt that said "Why Cloning Should Be Illegal." Above that was a dozen pictures of one of Three Stooges. When my dad saw this he said something to the effect of, "Man, that is something that Connor would love." So with out a further word, Uncle Tony took the shirt and gave it to my dad. To this very day, I still have that very same shirt and I still wear it. To this day, every time I see that shirt, I cant help but think of my dad and Uncle Tony and what a cool family i have.

Actual Wedding Picture of Skeet & Jenee'

Beautiful wedding, happy couple, new little family!

"What'd the five fingers say to the face?"

SLAP. Now that’s something that Rick James would say. My nephew, Rick Collins, on the other hand would say something along the lines of ‘Keepsin’ it reals’. I’ve never encountered another human being capable of so many name changes in such a short amount of time.

At the mere age of seven he grew tired of his birth given name, and decided he wanted everyone to call him “Flint” (this was his grandfather’s nickname on the track team). Flint had a ring to it, but not enough of a chime to carry him through middle school. Seeming a bit more established, he let go of the name Flint, and decided to go by ‘Rodney’. Always being a revolutionist of sorts, my nephew was a head of the game in so many ways. No sense walking this planet having people call you by anything other than your absolute favorite name. He was highly aware that his destiny was in his own hands.

Fickle to some, but a genius to me, he went back to his roots and let go of the name Rodney. Well, a form of his roots, and started to go by the name Rick. I’m sure his teachers couldn’t deny the logic in Rick being short for Patrick. Where in the spelling of Richard do you see Rick? If you’re going to shorten your name, and ‘go by’ something else, the reasonable etiquette should be… just cutting your name in half.

It would have been nice to have a ‘Rick Collins’ pave the way for me. I was abnormally envious of those kids, who corrected the teachers during roll call. They all seemed so smug, and why were they “so cool” to “go by” something other than their actual name. In reality it was just a club I wanted to belong to. At the age of seven, my nephew decided to topple this club and make it his own. He was able to fine-tune the rules, as he grew older, and extend its membership to his peers. I like to think he gave the David’s of Enterprise High School complete confidence in saying, “It’s not David; I go by ‘Vid”

The artist, formally known as ‘Rick Collins, is now going by RC Collins. I’m guessing college has broadened his horizons to this name game, making it clear that initials are yours for the taking as well. I’m not sure if the formula is as simple as previous name changes, merely cutting the name into half. It appears you just take the initials of your first and last name, move them once to the left, and re-add your last name for flair. Voilà. And there you have it. Seriously, how much cooler does TQ Quinlan sound? (Maybe the world viewed Albert Einstein’s Aunt a bit wacky as she went around talking about how great E=MC² was, but who's laughing now?)

Today RC Collins turns 21, and has already shown the world, that you can be whomever it is you choose. If you want to be of Russian descent, then so be. If you want your name to be Rodney, then so be. As Cat Steven's would say "you can do what you want, the opportunity's on." I for one am excited to see what other revolutions that RC has in-store. I know it's impossible to duplicate one of the best, but this world could use more cats like him. Keepsin' it reals' 24/7.




(Side note: I would have played a more 'crunked song to dedicate to you on your birthday - but these lyrics have one of your names written all over it.)

Dudas, Do Dat

[I originally posted this in my own blog in 2007, and several commenters noted our similar leaning posture. I hope to eventually steal her walk].

Tall (5'9"), lanky, and naturally thin, my mother eats more than any other woman I've ever known (my dad is the same way, but did they pass those stellar metabolisms down to moi?? Of course not.). She had a baby a year after I did, when she was forty-two and her energy level makes me wonder if she found the secret fountain of youth (if that's the case, I plan on aging badly, thankyouverymuch). My mother is a goddess and today is her birthday.

Although she's extremely intelligent, kicks ass at all things mathematical, has memorized bridge hands for the past 20 years, and has flawless grammar skills, she is still able to embrace her inner fruitloop. When I was an angst-ridden teen, these idiosyncrasies would annoy me because I always wanted her to be serious. And Martha Stewart, dammit. Years later, however, these are traits I find most endearing:

Her odd medical mystery tendancies, like watches breaking from her electromagnetic energy? And the fact that she was hypoglycemic until she gave birth (now she's fine), or that she gets asthma if she stops smoking. Mosquitos never bite her and perfume turns rancid because of..too much vitamin B?

She would, and still does, stare at me in the car, drying my hair, while talking on the phone..."you're so beautiful," she'd say, "I can't believe I gave birth to you." Now that I'm older with my own son, I see this for the true psychological torture method it is.

She would laugh, especially in public with my aunt Susie. Gleeful, uninhibited, loud laughter that mortified me to no end. Now when we're in a quiet pub or at home, I'm proud to be sharing a space with someone so capable of expressing joy.

We'd be having a conversation, or so I would assume, when her end of it would suddenly stop. Thinking that the was the end of the discussion, I'd retreat back to my head...covering a range of several other thoughts when she would respond to the intial conversation. "Yes, I think so, too." Uh...huh? What?

Every time she pulled the car into the driveway, she' d say, "Honey, we're home." Every. Single. Time. In my head, I'd be yelling, "Duhhhhhhhhh, where else would we be?" (because I was obnoxious like that), and it makes me laugh now when I still hear her say it.

One year, I saved my allowance for several weeks to buy her a "hot to trot" keychain because I thought it meant she was beautiful. Happy Birthday, mom, and I still think you're beautiful!

Good Irish Women

"Here's to good Irish women. May we know them, may we raise them, may we be them."

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I took a second look at this quote. For a moment I realized why every woman in the Quinlan family has a decoration of some sort starting that very thing. When I think of good women, I think of Quinlan women... and they so happen to be Irish.

Before I start my mushy gushy rant, my disclaimer is that just because I'm only talking about how wonderful the women are, doesn't mean the men aren't too. I happen to be female, so they get the blog for the day. Plus it is mostly the wonderful Irish women of my family reading this blog!

What does being a "good Irish woman" mean?

It means that when your Godson needs to come home, the United States Marine Corps doesn't stand a chance against you.

It means you move across the country to chase your dreams and take chances.

It means you house nieces and nephews while they get on their feet or before their mother's want to cut off their feet.

It means at 60 you are still plotting cross country trips.

It means you cry when you want to cry and you don't wear a bra if you don't want to.

It means you raise your kids, or your nieces and nephews with pride, humor and love.

It means you get kicked out of hotels in Las Vegas for laughing too loud.

It means you publish books, read poetry, make quilts, craft cards & produce movies.

It means you still have weekend long sleepovers with your sisters.

It means you protect the virtue of the ones who can't on their own.

It means you travel hours across two states to attend a funeral of a man you met once or twice because you wanted to be there for people you loved.

You teach, you empower, you tell it like it is, you cook for your family, you laugh at things that aren't even that funny, you wear purple.

Being a good Irish woman means you take risks, love until it hurts, and always, always, always look after one another.

Each aunt, cousin, sister & mother in my family took a part in raising this Irish woman. I have had the honor of growing up around good, strong, powerful women. I know them, they've raised me and therefore I can only hope to be one like them.

** I originally just wrote this for my own blog, but when I realized no one wrote something representin' the Quinlan's on St. Patrick's Day-- I had to spread the love. So if you read this on my blog, sorry for the repeat, but SOMEBODY has to pick up the slack on here ;)

Skeet's Wedding

Skeet is getting married next month. Actually on the 11th, 1 day before his 30th birthday. It will be small (to say the least). Him, Jenee, her parents, Al and me. An unexpected throw back to Wm. T, Ryan doesn't want any "Dog and Pony Show". Funny thing, marriages, births, deaths, we all have to take life as we are able to handle it. Taking it isn't nearly as hard as handling it...

Gone Fishing

I used to cry in the arms of my mom, when my dad was away in Roscommon. I remember a time when she asked me, “Do you cry this much when I’m gone?”

I still cry in the arms of my mom because my dad isn’t coming back this time. But she never sees the tears of missing her, because I am too busy being happy when she‘s with me.

My mom sent me a picture of the shells she collected while roaming the beach in Florida for the past couple weeks. My mom has a shell-collecting problem: Whenever we would go near the waters, she picks up any shiny or colorful piece of junk she sees on our walk. Then lugs them back in armfuls, trying to pawn them off on her kids to carry.

At home we have cups and shelves and bowls and plates dedicated to displaying her collection. Because once she picks them up, she won’t set them back down.

She told me she didn’t want the shells to feel sad. That someone picked them up, then decided they weren’t good enough to keep. So she keeps everyone she touches So they all can have a home, my home.

Which makes it a little hard for me to dust around them.

Make-up Class

A week or so ago Karly, Jack and myself decided to take Grandpa to the doctor in Traverse City. Big day for us and Grandpa. Grandpa had super news at the doctor and the kids enjoyed the fact there was an elevator....who knew the day could be so awesome.

Do to our change of venue that day, we had to miss Jack's gymnastics class. His teacher was very kind and decided to let Jack take a make-up class this week because he enjoys it so much. Anyway, as we wait for the class to get started I go over and over it with Jack. "Jack, this is just a make-up class, your friends will not be in there, it will be full of new people. You will probably not recognize these people. Are you sure you still want to go because you don't have to?"

Jack reassures me, "Mom, it's OK...I want to go....umm...do we put our make-up on before the class starts or do we put our make-up on once we get in there?"

Got to love the minds of the young....I laughed through the whole class.

Heart of ......

"The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness. Gravesend, and farther back still seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest, and the greatest, town on earth."
English is the second language for this author. Who is the author?

Wedding Song

This song reminds me of Brian and Susie's wedding. Bill, Susie's dad, who I believed discovered the song, would always give his absolute zany laugh whenever it played.

Jump Start

By the calendar, things are hard to work out on time. Sometimes feeding the dog gets in the way, or there could be a snow storm, or something wrecking that doggone calendar. When the day does arrive, too much is happening at once.
This is a freelance prelude to a special day. The winter has been so long that a change is in order. Well...we can't change the weather, but we can add something different to the atmosphere i.e. an electric charge. I'm not suggesting that we start the Saint's Day early, but it is a birthday after all.

Break Neck Diet

It has been a wild and Crazy time with Randy laid up for 6 weeks, we went through the scary " what ifs to the Holy Shits.. but equally as scary. He had 8 vertebrates fused in his neck and was in pretty a painful state for about one month. He did hallucinate to the point that I started questioning myself. He actually told me his wife was a "Bitch "
Really, I replied, so what do you think about me?" Your golden he replied with a big shit eating grin on his face.. " But my wife plans on selling this house and buying a boat and just leaving!" I smiled, " Yea, I think she is thinking about it!"

COLA

Wm T. would often say, "It only cost a nickel more to go top shelf." When he sent you to the store, no one dared point out inflation, or the Cost of Living Allowance. These weren't relevant. This basic fact still held true. Quality isn't much more expensive than cheap. Plus the fact that quality is much more enjoyable to use while you are using it.
In the book world, I have been torn between my eReader and hard copy books, for I love them both for somewhat different reasons. Last week on a quirk, I went scouring the internet for leather bound books. An Edgar Allen Poe book went for eighteen dollars, but some leather bound classics were over a thousand. I took Bill's simple approach by buying a leather cover for my Kindle for a mere thirty five bucks.

Revisited

Brian wrote the following story when he was at the cottage. It is a bit scary, so read at your own risk.

The Visit, by Brian

He crouched at the edge of the bed on one knee alternately pulling at his sleeve and HITTING him on the ear with his social finger cocked against his thumb to give it more spring when it was released. This could be painful enough to bring tears to the eyes of many a victim. Finally Brian wakes from a fitful sleep to see his brother Butch crouched by his bedside with a big mischievous grin on his face. “ What the hell are you doing here?” You’ve been dead for over two years now for chrissake” said Brian. "Where did you get all those stitch marks all over your face? “You look like hammered shit and your scaring me.” “I’m not really dead” said Butch. “They put us all in a camp. Everybody thinks were dead but we’re not. They just have us all hidden in this big camp. That’s where all the stitch marks come from on my face, from me trying to get through the wire when I first got here. I never did get out and I was starting to think they were lying about us not being dead.” Brian rolled over to one side and propped himself up on one elbow. ”look , in the first place I wake up fifty percent of the time with nightmares from that bullshit war in Vietnam and now I get woke up by you thumping me on the ear and telling me you’re not dead. I cried at your funeral until my knee caps went dry. When the red cross notified me that you were dead I told myself that ma had just pulled some tricky shit to keep me stateside and not have to go to Vietnam. You know how tricky Hope could be, so I went along with the gag all the way home having a good brace of gin on the plane and praying that was the case. When I got home I called my friend Bill and told him I would be over to see him because Hope had just pulled some shit and pretended Butch was dead so I wouldn’t have to go to Viet Nam. He said ”I don’t think so Brian I saw your brother Mike coming out of the funeral home today and yes it was true, you were f..... dead. I don’t even think you are who you say you are even now.” “oh yea” said Butch,” i even brought my thunderbird with me for the weekend.” The one you and I got in trouble with.” Remember the time on a Friday night when I picked you up off the sidewalk on your way home from school?” We went to Sandusky to buy a new shirt for the friday night dance and ass kicken contest? we went down that side street that that state cop happened to live and he chased us down the street in his own car and gave me a ticket on an empty match box. I tore it up in his face and threw it on the side walk and told him if you’re going to give me a ticket you better have a real ticket book, a real police car and a uniform,go f... yourself.” “you bet I remember said Brian, If it weren’t for Hope and Tony you wouldn’t have had time to die. You would still be in court. Do you remember how when we went home after you got done buying your new friday night shirt to either get into a fight in or get lucky and we told the story to Hope? She got all nervous and realized the cop had taken your license plate number no matter what he wrote your ticket on. She decided to nip it in the bud. In her devious mind she realized that Tony was of the same size and stature as you and could almost be a twin. She had Tony put on the hooded sweat that you were wearing and off we went to the state police post. Hope, tony and myself drove that eight miles in about fifteen minutes and didn’t rehearse a thing on the way. We had Tony take your place because Hope knew that he wouldn’t lose his temper like you and want to fight the old cop. You stayed home and drank beer while we went on this mission to save your ass. We walked into the police station and I gave Hope the nod that it was the same cop on duty desk that Butch and I had encountered on his way to work. There was nobody else in the station but this old sergeant about to retire and stuck behind the desk until that would ultimately happen. After Hope got my signal she was on. ”Hello Captain, I’m Hope Quinlan and I guess you already know this pair. When they told me what happened this afternoon I told them to jump in the car and show you some respect as in apologizing. I never raised my kids to be disrespectful of older people period, LET alone an officer of the law. They are here to apologize and I apologize myself if I have missed something in their upbringing I did not raise any of my twelve children that way but we all know nobody is perfect. perhaps you may have made a mistake or two in your lifetime but if you did I’m sure they were small ones.” “God that woman was good.” The cop kept looking at me and Tony. He was possibly not buying the scam that Tony was you. His superiors might start claiming dementia or something AND SCREW HIM OUT OF HIS RETIREMENT. HE EITHER BOUGHT THE LARK OR WAS TOO EMBARRASSED TO CONTEST IT. IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL THING. TONY STARTED TALKING TO HIM ABOUT A DRUG POSTER ON CANNABIS AND DIVERTED HIS ATTENTION. FINALLY THE COP JUST TOLD HIM IT WAS SERIOUS BUSINESS TALKING TO AN OFFICER OF THE LAW THE WAY HE DID AND TORE UP HIS NEW TICKET HE WAS ABOUT TO MAIL ONCE AGAIN YOU WERE LET OFF THE HOOK.
I DON’T KNOW IF YOU ARE ONE 0F THE DARK MINIONS OF THE NIGHT PLAYING THE ROLE OF AN IMPOSTOR OR MAYBE WE HAVE CROSSED PATHS. YOU LOOK LIKE MY BROTHER BUT I HAVE BEEN TRICKED BEFORE. IF THE ONLY TIME YOU CAN VISIT ME IS AT NIGHT WHEN I AM TRYING TO SLEEP, THAN I DON’T THINK YOU ARE YOU. I THINK YOU ARE ME. I REALLY LIKED THE VISIT FROM ME TO ME. I WAS THE ONLY ONE IN THE ROOM. YOU DIDN’T VISIT ME, I VISITED MYSELF.
THE NEXT TIME YOU COME FOR ONE OF YOUR VISITS, COULD YOU PLEASE NOT THUMP ME ON THE EAR. IT HURTS LIKE HELL.