Furey, Furey Everywhere

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How to Have an Not Quite Idyllic Irish Childhood

1. If born prematurely, be baptized in the delivery room. By a Jewish physician.

2. Your first memory: your mother carrying you as a toddler over her very pregnant stomach.

3. First words? "I'm sorry, Mommy."

4. At your first confession, confess to Adultery for your mortal sin, because you think it means acting too grown up.

5. At least two names, preferably three, required. Jean Ann Marie. Katherine Marie Claire. Susan Theresa Marie. Oh yeah, and have Marie in your name for the Virgin Mary.

6. After your first communion, refuse to take off your dress and veil, so you can play "bride." Tear the lace on your dress while falling out of your tree house.

7. First lesson in cannibalism? Learning to hold the "Baby Jesus" on your tongue reverently, without letting him touch your teeth. Or gagging.

8. Run away to your fort and refuse to come home when Mom cooks mutton. Ditto: unpeeled cow tongue.

9. Eat potatoes every style known to man. Baked potatoes, mashed potatoes, hashbrowns, corn beef hash, potatoes O'Brian, scalloped potatoes, shoestring potatoes, potato chips, potato pancakes, and, for some unknown reason, sweet potato fries.

10. When your hair turns from copper penny to honey brown between six and seventh grade? Have your mother cut it boy short, in hopes it "will come back in red".

11. Share your bedroom with a sister. And a brother.

12. If the priest comes to visit? Make sure it's not just for dinner, but for the whole three months the rectory is being remodeled.

13. Find comfort in the fact you don't have to join a gang. You and your siblings are a gang. (Of hooligans, according to the afore cited Mother).

14. Never forget for one second that you are Irish, the protectors of all that is beautiful in life: poetry, song, deep religious thought, and The Book of Kells. Translated: it doesn't matter if you're poor, life is good.

Welcome

Who knew I was the kind of person that would spend fifteen minutes picking a font for this blog? Ah well, self insight is always a good thing, isn't it?

Welcome to Furey world. The Fureys are an ancient Irish clan. I've heard them described as everything from a band of poor, scrabbling gypsies (think Johhny Depp in Chocolat) to quasi-royal Normans. Who knows? I just am thrilled to be part of the clan.

My life is quickly explained by my Sunday morning today. I am suffering from gueule de bois (a mysterious disease caused by one martini too many) so I decided to walk my dogs. As I left the house I noticed the blue sky was edged with a dark gray cloud, but it seemed very far away. By the time I turned around winds were howling about 10 mph and I was being pelted with horizontal rain. The dogs were looking at me like I was insane, and I noticed a neighbor standing at her living room window trying to decide whether to call 911.

If you take that example and extrapolate it to every possible situation, you'll know me better than I know myself. Although, I do know that I am the type of person who spends 15 minutes picking a font for her blog.