John Hurley's LP "Children's Dreams," from 1973. He co-wrote Dusty's "Son Of a Preacher Man"

I started googling the names of people I went to grade school with me and found John O. in the April 18, 2007 issue of a northern California newspaper. Appears John is working at Home Depot in the Garden Department. I had wondered these past years if he was still alive. He had a difficult life being the target of daily verbal assaults in grade school by other students and even teachers. I'm glad he's still around smelling the roses.

In 1995 Coolkelure Lodge, situated a five minute walk down a country lane from the house my father grew up in, was for sale for $110,000 Euro or around $150,000 U.S. dollars. I was in Ireland with my parents and my mother and I fell in love with the house and I suggested to my father that he buy it. An American couple purchased it from a German family and I just read where the American couple have decided to move back to the U.S. and the house is up for sale again, this time for $550,000 Euro or about $750,000.00. It's a wonderful little house, don't you think?

When I was very young and in my first years of Catholic school, I was taught by the Sisters of the Blessed Virgin Mary that babies who die without being baptized do so in a state of original sin and cannot enter into heaven. They do not go to hell, however, but instead go to a place called Limbo where they enjoy an eternal state of happiness. Of course, like so many things in Catholicism, if one asked too many questions, one was told that that it was all a great mystery. Some years later when we moved west of Twin Peaks, I found Limbo, much to my surprise, located in my new neighborhood and that it was not a happy place at all. It was just the opposite. Its facade was a gigantic skull and crossbones, flanked by a hideous landscape of tombstones, blackened trees with clutching branches, alligators and vultures, severed human arms and legs and the staring, bloody-eyed waxen corpses of infant children in ragged lace nursery gowns. Above its entrance was mounted the upper body of an old and ugly witch, who swayed slowly back-and-forth above a stone plaque engraved with the words: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here. I cannot remember if, as a boy, I ever got enough nerve to take a seat in one of the little blue fiberglass cars where a safety bar had to be secured over one's lap before an old guy pressed the little button that sent one’s vehicle behind the black double plywood doors into the mysterious world of Limbo. For some children this Limbo was a rite of passage. Others could only speculate at what terrors lurked inside and dare others to venture inside. Some bragged about having experiencing Limbo and made up blood-curdling stories about what they had seen. It was said that some people who had ventured inside were never were seen again. And even those who would casually say, "It's nothin', it's just a ride" appeared to those more timid like me that they had to be lying. Now that I am older, Limbo no longer exists in my neighborhood. In its place, there is a huge modern housing complex built in the 1970s next to a Safeway Store. They should have, at least, saved that sign and rehung it over the housing complex entrance: Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here.

where are you today, will robinson
won't you take me away
from my waning world getting smaller
and into the stars, far away. (jah 4/18/2007)

Bill is not good, his condition has deteriorated further. He is sleeping most of the time. They were feeding him through a nose tube before but are finding it impossible to do this now, as he is too weak. Things are not looking bright. I spoke to Jacqueline earlier this evening and the pair of us just kept breaking down on the phone. We don’t want him to go, but we don’t want him to suffer either. It’s very difficult. I know he is a good age but he was such a nice person and you just don’t want to let go. (Email from Ann to Mary, April 15, 2007)

I found this notice of death on the internet. Sister Agnes Loretta of the order of the Blessed Virgin Mary taught at the School of The Most Holy Reedemer when I was there in the late 1960s. She liked to remind her students that she had taught Bob Hope's children. She loved diagramming sentences and she always emphasized respect and loyalty to one's parents. She took a keen interest in me, more than once chastising me in front of other students regarding my physical appearance and what she saw as my lack of effort to excel in my studies. She played an important role in my youth. I wouldn't say I was fond of her nor did I dislike her. I can only say I will never forget her. She apparently died in 2006.

Sister Agnes Loretta McElligott, BVM, 95, dies in Iowa

Sister Agnes Loretta McElligott, BVM, 95, died June 8 at Caritas Center, Dubuque, Iowa. She was principal at St. Leo School, San Jose, 1961-1967 and she also taught in San Francisco, southern California, and in Illinois and Missouri. Born Sept. 18, 1910 in Milwaukee Wis., she worked at Marquette University before entering the BVM congregation on Sept. 8, 1935. Sister Agnes Loretta was preceded in death by her parents, Walter and Esther Kenny McElligott; a sister, Mary Riordan; and brothers Joseph, Walter and James McElligott. She is survived by a nephew and the Sisters of Charity, BVM. Memorials may be sent to the Sisters of Charity, BVM Retirement Fund, 1100 Carmel Dr., Dubuque, IA 52003

Mom told me yesterday she hates Mondays and Sundays. Everyone hates Mondays I told her. I called her early Sunday. She was fixing the plugged up toilet. I heard Mary went over later to help her. Mom's says the house is too big, she would like a small cottage, she can't do anything anymore but then she tells me she doesn't need Elaine. I went over later to find her sleeping in the back room. We sat there and looked at the pictures on the wall. "Doesn't Johnny look cute when he was small. Look at the blond hair". I looked at the pictures and thought, " I am probably mom's age now as she was in those pictures." I looked over at mom and she is a frail, old woman now. She told me she was going to bed, probably for the night. It was only 4:00. (Email from Angela to John, March 5, 2007)

My husband and I, along with all the faithful parents who have been at every San Rafael High JV basketball game, watched recently as our sons again were defeated. They won one game all season. It was difficult to watch at times, but they never gave up, and we continued to cheer them on. They were defeated over and over again, never showing defeat in their body language and approached each new game with a winning attitude. Last year, I had a senior and freshman at Branson School (the youngest is now a sophomore at San Rafael). I watched my senior go to the playoffs in soccer and both boys go to the playoffs in lacrosse. I was extremely proud of both of them and read about their teams' accomplishments each week in the IJ. I didn't realize that I would be equally proud of a losing team that would receive no recognition whatsover.

I write this on behalf of the JV basketball team's efforts. Coach Harris taught these boys so much about basketball that it was fun to watch them play each game with their hearts. The coach was passionate about the game and the boys. They played when they were tired, hurt and sick and never let one another down. They encouraged and supported one another and represented what team spirit is all about.

There's an old saying about learning more from losing than from winning. This season was a true testament to that statement. These boys learned about character, friendship, support, passion and working their hardest to the last second.

What a pleasure this losing season has been! (Letter to the Editor from Kathy T*****, Marin Independent Journal, February 20, 2007 - Kathy is my sister)

On Our Way Home......

Krystal & I

THE WIND THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY

I sat within a valley green
Sat there with my true love
And my fond heart strove to choose between
The old love and the new love
The old for her, the new that made
Me think on Ireland dearly
While soft the wind blew down the glade
And shook the golden barley

Twas hard the mournful words to frame
To break the ties that bound us
Ah, but harder still to bear the shame
Of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen
I'll seek at morning early
And join the brave united men"
While soft wind shook the barley

Twas sad I kissed away her tears
Her arms around me clinging
When to my ears that fateful shot
Come out the wildwood ringing
The bullet pierced my true love's breast
In life's young spring so early
And there upon my breast she died
While soft wind shook the barley

I bore her to some mountain stream
And many's the summer blossom
I placed with branches soft and green
About her gore-stained bosom
I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse
Then rushed o'er vale and valley
My vengeance on the foe to wreak
While soft wind shook the barley

Twas blood for blood without remorse
I took at Oulart Hollow
I placed my true love's clay-cold corpse
Where mine full soon may follow
Around her grave I wondered drear
Noon, night and morning early
With aching heart when e'er I hear
The wind that shakes the barley

-Words and music by Robert Dwyer Joyce (1830-1883)

I left the cabin this morning, saying goodbye to my roommate, the "spider in the sink." At first I didn't think we'd get along and that one of us would have to go but we co-habited nicely. I realized we both had a lot in common: both of us having chosen rather precarious places to live. (Email from John in Mount Shasta City to Eddie, April 4, 2007)

I was shocked when they went to Auschwitz-Birkenau Concentration Camp (in Poland) on Amazing Race last night. But it was nicely done . . . rather poignant and moving. They placed candles on the railroad track leading in to the entrance. Two of the gay guys were in tears commenting how they would have been exterminated in that time & place. Joe & Bill, the older gay couple, came in last at the end and were eliminated. I had a quiet weekend. Did lots of reading. They laid off 25 people here today, in a group we work rather closely with. All their jobs are being outsourced to India. Who is next?!? (Email from Eddie to John, April 2, 2007)

Thanks for your email and your kind words. There has been no real improvement with Dad’s condition. The family were called to his bedside last weekend by the doctor as they thought he was slipping away and he was given the last rites by the priest.  He is still very frail and his quality of life is not brilliant, he can’t even eat or drink. The poor thing is hooked up to tubes and drips. He seems to sleep most of the time which is probably a blessing.  I am more resigned to the fact that he is so ill, it was such a shock at the start.  I felt it was so unfair that he should suffer like that but unfortunately we have no control over these sorts of ings. Jackie and Gerard visit dad everyday and thankfully Michael has calmed down and is behaving himself. Do you think you will come over to Ireland this summer? I had yesterday off work as it was a bank holiday for St Patrick’s Day, so it was a lovely long week end.  The weather was good and it gave us chance to catch up with the gardening, such as cutting the lawns. There always seem to be things round the house that need doing. I’m hoping to get Jackie over for a holiday when the weather gets warmer and things settle down in Birmingham. All the best for now. (Email from Ann to Mary, March 20, 2007)

So sorry to hear about Bill, strokes are just one of the most dreadful things that can happen to anyone. Do you have the house address for his daughter. She wrote to me last year after I sent a card to Bill but unfortunately I managed to mislay the letter before putting the address in my book.I sent another card this last Christmas hoping that she would write again but sadly she has not. Having heard the news from you about Bill I now know why. If she has an email address that will do fine. In the meanwhile I hope the letter will turn up. I am currently taking stuff to local charity shops. I think you call them thrift shops. My son in law was recently in S.F. but just for the weekend. He was over there for work, a few days in Seattle, weekend in SF and then to Silicon Valley. He used to go over to do courses in one of the twin towers, so he was very lucky not to be there on that dreadful day. Yesterday he, Andy and my daughter, Lynda, went to Kerala in India for a holiday. It looks beautiful from the pictures I have seen of it. They get back the day after I leave for Boston. I hope the weather is not going to be too bad in Boston. I know it is not going to be warm but cold and bright will be quite pleasant. It is a horrible day here today, heavy rain all day. Take care, best of luck to you and all the family. (Email from Marie S**** to me, March 30, 2007)

I guess it was Jacqeline who wrote to me and whose address I have misplaced. I have not ever met the family but I did have plans to go and visit before Nora sadly passed away. I go over to Castletownbere a few times a year normally but have not been so far this year. I am going over for two weeks at the end of June. I always go to visit Margaret D**** and the family there. I always used to visit when Michael was alive so still do as I really like going to see them. I also try and visit Mary P****. It is a long time since I saw all of you, early 1993 I think, first time was in November 1991 on my way out to visit my uncle in New Zealand. I hope that you and the family are all well. Thank you for replying and to John for passing it on. I have mailed him a couple of photos of myself and girls and a couple of your mum's relations in Australia. They are descendents of your mum's uncle Tom O'Dwyer later known as Francis Burke. Best wishes. Marie. PS My first name is Julia but I have never been called it.It was after my Dad's mum who died in chidbirth when he was only 2 years old. It was traditional to call the first girl after her Father's mother. (Email from Marie S**** sent to Mary D***** March 30, 2007 and forwarded to me).

Real Estate & Road Crosses

I woke up this morning (Thursday, April 5, 207) at the Alamo Motel & R.V. Park on Main Street in Cottonwood after a surprisingly refreshing sleep. I’d never spent any time in a trailer park before and I couldn’t help but observe that the children all looked very healthy and that the adults all looked very beat-up. And I couldn’t help but notice, too, a sense of community among everyone and I felt if I had stayed another couple of days, I would have been welcomed into the community; however, I wasn’t going to hang around to confirm my in hunch. Instead, I ventured off to the little diner just down the road where I was served by the same grandmotherly-type woman who served me the day before. I liked this “home food” place where my breakfast this sunny morning consisted of a “nopales” omlette with hash browns and sour dough toast. And the coffee was decent too. I then went to speak with Jim Luther of Good Earth Realty, whose office was just around the corner, and I suppose I did so because I found Jim, an old man, somewhat effeminate and with lots of stories, to be such a character. I may have woke him up when I knocked on his door but he welcomed me. Learning that I was on my way to Chico, he warned me that Chico was a dangerous place and when I asked why, he said it was because it’s where he ended up getting married. His office itself was like a museum, full of personal items and antiques and photos of his children. I told him the previous day I had ventured-out to see that property he deemed was “in the boonies,” to suggest that it was not worthy to look at; and, I had discovered that it was only about 20 minutes drive from his office; however, one did have to drive down a long country road, and then another long country road and finally up a one-mile gravel not-yet-paved road to find it. But I did find it. Up a short grade, behind a fence and hidden on a knoll there it was sitting on its own 5 oak studded acres. Not visible from the road, and with a view that included Mount Shasta, asking price $229,000. But it was a manufactured home. I told Jim I had to be on my way and and I thanked him for aiding me in my adventures in Cottonwood. During the week, I could not help but observe that “for sale – foreclosure” signs were everywhere although I was told property values in general had only gone down less than 5%, less than most people imagined and that prices in general were still inflated. I then got on Highway I5 and drove south passing a gentlemen’s club offering “erotic dancing” and passing a large trailer on an open space depicting a blood-soaked hand with the words, “He died for you.” I stopped in Red Bluff to visit a historic adobe and drove through Corning with its olive trees and then got on Highway 99 – a scary ride, if there ever was one--the many white crosses along the road confirming it – on my way to Chico. When I arrived at Chico, I found the most fabu motel: The Matador, circa 1930. I received a wonderful room for less than the cost of my room the night before and, at the suggestion of the desk clerk, I went for a walk in Bidwell Park. “It’s so big, it’s bigger than Yellowstone,” she had told me, and I realized this woman who had moved from Corning to Chico had not traveled much. I had dinner at Ricabo’s Mexican Restaurant where the food was awful. I would have enjoyed a meal more if I had eaten at the 1950’s McDonald’s restaurant a short walk from my hotel. The other thing I need to say is that it’s a strange thing but there are hardly any Mexicans up here. They all seem to have gone into hiding. I’ve yet to see a Mexican in any Mexican restaurant and saw few Mexicans anywhere in fact, not even in working in the hotels or fast foot places. So I went back top The Matador Hotel and realized that even though properties are forclosing all over the place and Mexicans are all going into hiding, America is still the land of Jesus and pole dancing – and amen to that.

Cottonwood Hills

Fabu McDonalds on Mangrove in Chico

Swimming Lagoon, Bidwell Park, Chico

Houses in Chico

Neighborhood in Chico

50s Tile in Bathroom, The Matador

The Matador, Fabu Motel in Chico

Old Adobe in Red Bluff

Dunsmuir Falls

Dunsmuir Falls

Up the Road from My Cabin

Mount Shasta

Historic Ruin, Old Shasta

Historic Ruin, Old Shasta

Pioneer Baby's Grave & My Rental Car

whiskeytown lake

lonely as GOD

burney falls

Burney Falls

Burney Falls

store window in mount shasta city

oak tree in cottonwood