Separated at Birth

The Dunstorgan Theory.

Hanging Garden

Deep in a place called Brooklyn...
Things like the above are made for breakfast.
And beauties like these grow.
And sweet waffles appear out of cast-iron sandwich makers,
to be eaten with chicken...
A magical man lives there
and pulls freshness like this from his magical garden.
Everything reaches for the sky and grows and grows some more...
And there are edible flowers that feel like silk in your mouth.
Something to be proud of, this garden on a rooftop in Brooklyn.
Pure magic to fill your belly
and your soul...
Even the magical cat licks her chops.

MI-gical

Home sweet fackin' home...

Buried Treasure

Some finds from the basement include newspapers from the 1940's complete with war notations in the margins written by my grandpa Donahue and an old box of homework that dates back to nursery school and includes school pictures and books written and illustrated by me. Funny is an ENORMOUS understatement.

I also found more records, red 45's and an old pair of my dad's glasses.

But the best find yet?

A cassette tape of my dad, Erin and I carrying on in the basement.

I was three.

He sings "You are my Sunshine" and my little, tiny voice chirps in every now and then.

I wept like a baby, and feel so damn lucky that such tapes exist.

There is no place like home, in the truest sense.

So far...

So very, very good.

Wrap your brain around this...

I just can't get over these perfect, little itty bitty feet.

That is my PINKY...