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Howdy. We've moved from Cayce, but St. Elizabeth of South Rose Hill or Lizette de Waccamaw de Sud just don't do it for me.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008


I've arrived home mid-morning, 4-5 days ahead of Izzy's expected arrival. I took today to catch up on sleep, laundry, yard work, and those bits of the interweb that one can't easily access (1) without a laptop or (2) on the Mom-in-law's dial-up connection.

One of the funniest authentic letters I've ever read is posted on Waldie's blog. It was found in books that came into her family's possession from a former priest.

A couple of snippets from a letter beginning "Dear Cousin":

You have gone high places in America. God bless you. I hope you'll not be putting on airs and forgetting our native land.

Your Cousin, Hughie O'Toole, was hung in Londonderry last week for killing a policeman. God rest his soul. And may God's Curse be on Jimmy Rodgers, the informer, and may he burn in Hell. God forgive me. ...

We had a grand time at Pat Muldoon's wake. He was an old blatherskite and it looked good to see him stretched out with his big mouth closed. He is better off dead and he'll burn till the damned place freezes over. He had too many friends among the Orangemen. God curse the lot of them. ...

Read the whole thing, then imagine Frank McCourt's voice-over.

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