Time to do some summer reruns for those who might have missed the initial podcasts.
Short and Sweet includes 6 short stories and one non-fiction homage to my Irish mother. A special Christmas podcast features poetry and sentiment dedicated to my nephew, Tim, who was born on Christmas Eve. This segues to Trio a trilogy of three books: Ginny, Dinner with Sharon Flynn and Meggie, all primarily set in Ireland and lovingly telling the stories of Ginny and her life.
A Promise Kept is a ballad poem about a young woman writer finding her place.
Songs of my Father is that—sheet music for three of Dads songs performed by me (as best I could) and some special poems included in the book.
The Play honors the community theater buffs and that delightful culture.
Hearts of Shamrock is an homage to my Irish mother.
Finally, The Back 40 is new and leads into 98.6, a selection of which will be shared, prefaced by a new song, Swan Song, which may give a clue to the end of Short and Sweet. As we used to say when I was young—that’s all she wrote, Baby.— until Little Brother’s Quilt completes the Reilly story and hopefully leaves a Happy Dance in all the listeners’ reverie
Good morning, everyone. As promised, we are going to delve into trio with the beginning book, the first book of Ginny. And I redid the Back to Ireland music in the beginning with the flute variation because I that's how I see it as a wistful person looking out over the Atlantic. And we're going back to Ireland, so let's go. This is the first chapter in Ginny, and it's entitled Not This Time. Not this time, Ginny. Not this time. Ginny Rayburn let her fingers sink into the soft sand as she sat on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean and vowed not to let him get to her again. This was the best day so far of her desperately needed vacation. It was cold and overcast with thick layers of gray to black clouds. No one else was on the beach, and that was what made this day so great. Not that Ginny didn't love people, she openly welcomed people into her heart and home. That was one of her big problems. But today she was happy to smell the pure salt air without the scent of warm coconut oil on anointed beach bodies. This gray day, alone and at one, with the amazing sea and sky, was just what she needed for her to re for her reaffirmation of faith in herself and resolved not to reconcile with Dan Riley. Every time Dan would call in the seven months since their breakup, Jenny felt strong in her refusal to see him again. This was the longest, though, that they had been apart. They would get back together, stay for as long as a year. That was the longest that they had stayed consistently together. Split up, go back, split up, go back. For five years, they never really saw anyone else, even during breakups, which before this last one never lasted more than three months. The pattern was so predictable, yet Ginny always believed, needed to believe that when Dan said he was going to AA and wasn't drinking anymore, that it was true. She knew Dan really loved her and sincerely believed that he didn't want to drink. And then the great something would happen. Loss of his mother, loss of a client, loss of his temper, and that could literally be the killer. Dan was beautifully built, well over six feet tall, graceful strength, smooth muscles, Irish blue eyes, thick black hair and great eyebrows, terrific eyebrows that first drew your attention and exposed long, thick eyelashes over those blue eyes Jinny loved, that deepened in color when he told her he loved her. God, how handsome he is, Jinny said aloud, immediately slapping her own leg for the thought. Please, God, help me to be strong. It was that temper, that Irish temper. She hated it when friends would say it's just his Irish temper as if a whole country could take responsibility for and exonerate his explosive tantrums. Jinny knew his wrath and had felt the hand she loved clench and crash at her cheekbone when he was drunk. Now that's the thought I need to hold on to, Jinny exclaimed, and dug her fingers even deeper into the cool wet sand. The light mist was changing. The horizon was black, even though it was only eleven in the morning. Zigzag threads of lightning wove golden threads through the black thick clouds. So beautiful, Jinny thought. Such potential for destruction and yet so beautiful. Just like Dan. God, can't I have a single thought without it winding its way back to him? Other women are out here sitting on the beach in the rain, inviting lightning, well at least not protecting themselves from its occurrence. With the thread of lightning so close, what's wrong with me? With that utterance she unplugged her fingers from the beach. She felt an energy loss and immediately missed the vibrant currents that ran from the sea to the beach, to her fingers. She pulled the grey hood of her sweatshirt over her soaked curls and rolled her soggy jeans down over her ankles and slipped on her beach songs. Hot soup was what she needed now, and a hot shower and her favorite flannel shirt. These warm thoughts made the trip up the craggy path less formidable, though not less slippery. Ginny knew halfway up the rocky path that she should have chosen the longer, flatter way back to the beach house. The rocks were covered with a light film that wiped out any friction or chance to get a foothold with her beach thongs. Her sandals were slippery on both sides, and it was beginning to pour. The sky had opened up and the flashing lightning was immediately followed by ear shattering thunder that shook through her saturated frame. Ginny clung to the jagged rocks as best she could. She was in a battle, and it had happened so suddenly. The path was always a challenge, even in bright, warm weather. Now it was an enemy, and Ginny was losing ground. Looking down she could see the ocean whipped into a white cap to meringue, churning, boiling, lightning bolts connecting the sky and sea by golden cords, electrifying everything. Ginny was really afraid. She had stayed too long, and nature wanted to be alone. If you were there, well, just get out of her way or pay the price. Ginny could smell the electricity in the air, and that frightened her even more than the sound that rushed in to replace the fried air. Ginny, this is no time to be an observer. Run like how came her own counsel. Climb, climb, don't let go, lose those slippery sandals. Climb, climb, never mind the cut or the blood on your hand. Climb, climb, girl. Her own spirit was driving her up the rocks with a speed and determination she didn't know she had. Go for it, you don't want to die on your vacation. When Jenny caught hold of the flat grass on the top, she knew she had made it through this hoop. She lay exhausted on the wet grass, grateful to be alive. God, what a mess I am. Bloody hands, sandy clothes, filthy feet, wind chimes that hung on just about everyone's deck, were clanging together in eerie warning bells. Ginny loved the angel sounds they made on velvet summer nights, but this was no velvet summer night. Linda Donald's beach house was just a backyard away, and Jinny literally crawled low to the ground to get there. Linda, who Ginny always thought would be her maid of honor when she and Dan got married, was Ginny's friend from high school and a sister in all the ways that count. Linda had suggested that Ginny get away from the office and wind down for a week. Linda also loved Dan, but supported Ginny's determination not to reconcile in their seesaw love affair until Dan got help, if he ever did. The wind was howling across the line of beach houses, and Jinny struggled to find the key to the back door underneath the deck. She turned the key and turned the knob. It was locked. Strange, she thought. I must have unlocked it and relocked it. She turned returned the key and tried again and walked into the welcome, musty smelling laundry room. She thought of slipping off all her wet clothes right there and throwing them into the washer, but she was too cold to follow through. She ran up the wooden stairs and opened the door into the kitchen. It was warm, it smelled good. It smelled like roses. It smelled like roses. There on the kitchen table stood a tall vase with more than a dozen yellow roses. How did those get here? Linda, are you here? Only Linda and Dan knew yellow roses were her favorite. But why would Linda bring her roses? She turned away toward the living room, and there he was, in his stonewashed jeans and Irish knit crew neck. Dan, what are you doing here? How did you get in? Is Linda here? Did you bring the roses? Jinny's words came from pale blue, trembling lips. She was so cold and frightened from her battle to get home. Whoa my little gin and tonic. Jinny hated it when he turned her name into alcohol. You're a fine mess, aren't you? I was just about to go find you. This storm is a bad one. Her body rushed with feelings of security and warmth, despite her cold clothes. Part of her felt good he was there, the other part screamed for protection. Oh Dan, I just had the scariest time trying to get up the path. I've got to take a hot shower. I can't believe you're here. Are you glad I'm here, Jenny? Well, Dan, I am. I mean I don't know. What are you doing here? I went to see Linda about five this morning and explained that I'm going to be what I'm going to be doing, and asked where you were. Linda gave me the key, said for you to call her when I got here, and I headed out to find you to explain what I'm going to do. Never mind about me. You go get in that hot shower and I'll explain everything when you're free from hypothermia's grip. I'm gonna put a fire in the fireplace. Come on, go. Permission from Dan to take a shower gave her mixed feelings. What's happening to me? Should I just send him away? I need a hot shower. I don't care if he's here. And that concludes chapter one. And we will begin with chapter two next week, entitled That Tuesday. I hope you've enjoyed this. I so enjoyed sharing with you. And we'll talk again next week.
