It is three in the morning and I have a feeling this one is going to be all over the map.
The “Man” flu is rampart in Ireland. I now have it and the reason it is called the “Man” flu is because the men over here, not me, moan and groan about how bad they feel and drive their partner, wife or girl friend to send nude pictures of themselves to the weather guy and ask him if he would take them away to Majorca. Mary sent a note saying she had road frontage on her farm. She lied her brother does.
Ah a road frontage story…
Colleen, my soon to be married daughter, used to live in Charlestown, Massachusetts, which according to some sources was the number one location in the country for bank robberies. She and I were to meet, let’s call him Paddy, at the Warren Tavern in Charlestown at 1 PM on a Saturday. If you haven’t been to the place where George Washington and Paul Revere had a “few” you’re missing out. Well we show up at 5PM and by then Paddy “owned” the place. The bartenders, waitresses, patrons and even the owner who’s from Ireland were all over him. The place loved him and he was shit faced.
Off we go to the Wharf Tavern over looking Boston and he starts talking about his new girl friend and her land with “road frontage”. The next day, much to Paddy’s chagrin , I revisited his stories about the Warren Tavern and his “road frontage” girlfriend. I think he left most of what he drank and ate the day before in my bathroom.
Yesterday we went to two wakes, one at a home and the other at a funeral home.
The first was for a woman that was 92 years young. Last year I went to her grandson’s 21st birthday celebration at a pub. The place was packed with young people and also with older friends and family. She was sitting at a table and I was at the bar and someone tapped me on the shoulder and said she wanted to have a “chat” with me. I went over to her and asked if I could get her a drink and she said “of course but let me finish the whiskeys (4) in front of me now”.
I tried to catch up to her and we had a wonderful conversation about her life and Ireland. Word got back to me about her death and how she would have appreciated me attending her wake when she passed.
During the course of the day there must have been 300+ people that paid their respects.
The other wake was for Mary’s cousin. She was a top golfer, painted, played most musical instruments, jammed with Mick Jagger and lived for the night. She once visited us when we lived in, at that point in time, the most boring town in Massachusetts, Plymouth. She arrived, we went to bed around 11 or so and she wanted action. None to be had so the next day she got on a plane back to Ireland.
At this wake I went into the funeral home’s kitchen where a few people had gathered hoping that they had something stronger than tea. They didn’t but this kind older lady sat next to me and explained why she didn’t come with her husband.
He had the “Man Flu” and she was sick and tired about hearing about it and after the funeral, was off with the weather man to Majorca. Those pictures must have been something else.