I wrote a Happy Birthday Terry Sheehy card to myself back last winter, Terry Sheehy being who I was before marriage hunted me down and took my name, my youth, my thick black hair boo hoo.
As I sat down to write that post I thought I’d Google my old name and see if there were any other Terry Sheehys out there who HADN’T experienced Death by Matrimony and sure enough: Terry Sheehy is also a boy from Ireland. I quoted all the lovely nonsense he posted on his My Space page and now suddenly just now the boy’s dad has written to me to say how very interesting it was for his son to find his face on my blog and also to assure me that the lad’s spelling had improved a bit since he wrote what he wrote. If you don’t care to click and read that old post from my birthday month I can quote what he wrote on his profile page.
Hay my name is terry sheehy and im 17 going out with susan browne i love u susan !… i like to play basketball football i also like to watch UFC and figthing sports.. Thanks to my fab sis whoohooo and just want to say befor i go to bed just leve a coment and ill comment u back. i like action films and films that kinda do with shit that im interested in and also comedy and going to the cinema
So hmmm… It looks like words really can last and last, and circle the planet too. And wasn’t Terry’s his dad gracious? ”PS: You should have kept your name,” he even added in wry good humor at the end of his email, but ah Mr. Sheehy it’s just as well. I’ve been Terry Marotta for nigh on to 40 years and have lived into that person. Let the lad have my old name, this handsome lad from Ireland posting a a quick note to the world before jumping into his PJ’s and sleeping the clean blank sleep of the young.
It was bright and sunny three hours ago when my husband David’s Uncle Ed said he wanted to go to the cemetery where his wife Fran lies. He just had to see the grave he said, tired as he was from our trip to the dentist, but for some reason we just couldn’t find it, in spite of my sprinting down the grassy lanes like some kind of loony Irish setter.
Boo! Ha ha, WATCH OUT! What was THAT? 

I’m not done with the topic of fashion quite yet. Forget that whole
Gloria Steinem has a button that says, “The Truth Will Set You Free (But First It Will Piss You Off)” which is funny because I can’t think of anyone who seems to be in less of a pissed-off state than this activist/ feminist/ lecturer/ author who spoke to a sold-out crowd of fellow 
(This is the ivy at my window today…..)
Just so you know, that sailing trip I took last week wasn’t some lazybones cruise where you’re always waddling to the midnight chocolate buffet. It was a lean mean expedition where the rules were all about having the smallest possible impact on our poor little planet. Example One: right from the start you were told straight up how UNCOOL it would be to wander around your little stateroom brushing your teeth and looking for your underpants with the water in the sink even on ‘trickle’. Example Two: you couldn’t flush your toilet paper ever, which is evidently the norm in many parts of Europe. In fact sometimes all they have are ‘Turkish toilets,’ plain old holes in the ground over which you have to stand to relieve yourself, which can make you feel pret-ty peeved if you’re among the unlucky half of the human race NOT equipped with one of those dandy retractable gadgets the other half is so vain about.