Thursday, March 24, 2011

In Your Waters

You are the horizon.
A place where sun and sky meet the water’s surface.
Beauty long in the distance.
Water rolls on
hoping for a chance to touch the heavens.
Glorious mural each rise and set.
Yet when the sun is at its height
or the moon has taken its place
Water and sky blend to no end.

It is no expectation to reach the horizon
yet I am a mermaid in your waters.
Unique and beautiful.
We each have our own
and somehow I still find myself swimming
Toward the horizon.
Unintentionally,
in one direction or another
I’m facing you.

Under the surface
My scales shimmer
Imitating your beauty to the fish.
I may fool them,
But we know the truth.

I rise to the surface laughing with you,
As I chase your endless border.
A separation of beauties
forever ruling the sea.


I'm interested to hear interpretations of this poem. Obviously I know who I wrote it for, but I just wonder what it looks like from a different perspective.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Good Irish Women

"Here's to good Irish women. May we know them, may we raise them, may we be them."

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I took a second look at this quote. For a moment I realized why every woman in the Quinlan family has a decoration of some sort starting that very thing. When I think of good women, I think of Quinlan women... and they so happen to be Irish.

Before I start my mushy gushy rant, my disclaimer is that just because I'm only talking about how wonderful the women are, doesn't mean the men aren't too. I happen to be female, so they get the blog for the day. Plus it is mostly the wonderful Irish women of my family reading this blog!

What does being a "good Irish woman" mean?
It means that when your Godson needs to come home, the United States Marine Corps doesn't stand a chance against you.
It means you move across the country to chase your dreams and take chances.
It means you house nieces and nephews while they get on their feet or before their mother's want to cut off their feet.
It means at 60 you are still plotting cross country trips.
It means you cry when you want to cry and you don't wear a bra if you don't want to.
It means you get kicked out of hotels in Las Vegas for laughing too loud.
It means you publish books, read poetry, make quilts, craft cards & produce movies.
It means you still have weekend long sleepovers with your sisters.
It means you protect the virtue of the ones who can't on their own.
You teach, you empower, you tell it like it is, you cook for your family, you laugh at things that aren't even that funny, you wear purple.

Being a good Irish woman means you take risks, love until it hurts, and always, always, always look after one another.

Each aunt, cousin, sister & mother in my family took a part in raising this Irish woman. I have had the honor of growing up around good, strong, powerful women. I know them, they've raised me and therefore I can only hope to be one like them.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Childhood Confessions

Childhood Confession #1: I threw away whole pieces of food after dinner, because I thought the homeless dug through our garbage and I wanted them to have a quality dinner.

Childhood Confession #2: When we corrected our own papers in elementary school, I would mark some wrong even if they weren't because I thought my teacher would think I was cheating if they were all right.

Childhood Confession #3: SOME PEOPE LIKE TO ROCK SOME PEOPLE LIKE TO ROLL BUT MOVIN AND A GROOVIN'S GONNA SATISFY MY SOUL. &REPEAT &REPEAT &REPEAT

Childhood Confession #4: I pretended that orange was my favorite color because I felt bad that no one else liked it.

Childhood Confession #6: My sister said if I drank a jar of pickle juice, I could hang out with her and her friends... and I did.

Childhood Confession #7: I told my parents that if I died before them, I wanted them to stuff me and mount me on the wall like a deer so they wouldn't miss me (or maybe an attempt at becoming immortal?)

Childhood Confession #8: I sang the lyrics “piece of my Heart” by Janis Joplin as… “what’s love Dr. Do-Dr. Do-little” instead of “what’s love got to do, got to do with it?”

Childhood Confession #9: I was confused as to why people would die in movies just to make money, when they would be dead once they got paid.

Childhood Confession #10: I was convinced I was going to marry my dad and live with my parents forever.

Childhood Confession #11: I would steal my mom’s Vitimin C tablets to put in water to make “c” (tea) for my stuffed animals and me.