On one fateful Saturday—October 23, 2004, to be precise—my husband, George, and I, and Jack and Ann (George’s brother and sister-in-law) boarded a plane for Shannon, Ireland. The trip had been decided on and planned so rapidly I did not
It was the seventh of February 1985 and I stood in my parent’s driveway with my father and brother as well as my new other half. I wore a rabbit fur jacket with its shoulder pads wide and broad, it
“Chicken murderer!” These words had echoed in my head while the sunshine filtered softly into my husband’s office; his worked laid out in the form of piles of papers and the low hum of a printer in the next room.
