Urs Truly has not a drop of Irish blood in him but he does enjoy Irish literature, music, whisky, and their men. On this day I wear my St. Patricks Day bow tie. I am at the airport, waiting for my flight to Michigan (Land of Perpetual Snow and Ice). Dressed up in my bow tie I am an object of suspicion; everyone around me are dressed as if they just come in from working in the yard. I remember a time we put on suits and ties in order to travel.
My weekend goal to take inventory of the household items looks doubtful as more and more of my many siblings and niblings have texted me announcing they too are coming in to be part of the coterie. It’s sweet they want to see me. Alas, the notion of a house of noisy Spos (many well over four feet and several under the age of seven) will turn this into a rumpus. I think it will be difficult to keep Mother focused on task if she is trying to tend to the many grandchildren. Someone says resistance is useless and go with the flow. There is no sense in asking if the air is any good when there is nothing else to breathe.
I promised Someone I would only take notes and not return to Phoenix with absconded heirlooms. The opium pipe stays put in Michigan. Imagine going through TSA with that in my pocket!
Mother (bless her heart) keeps dropping bombshells of treasures waiting my inspection. In the last phone call home she announced she found some first edition books of some ‘famous writer” with whom my great-great uncle shared lodgings on a train. In exchange for giving up the lower travel bunk (for the author was large, bearded, and not very agile) said author gave Uncle his newly published book including some handwritten poems. Who was the author? Mother couldn’t remember. I will have to look at the books when I get there. This is like Mother. She give you enough data to titillate you and then leaves you hanging.
Brother #3 has just texted me asking the brothers should he bring anything. I texted back please bring some Irish whisky (no rubbish) as apropos for the day. Everyone may be pleased as punch to see me but I may need a little fortitude to get through this weekend of bombshells and relatives off Ritalin.
I am sure to have fun no matter what happens. I am comforted I may be coming home with the writings of Walt Whitman.