We’re Off…

We’re Off… May 22, 2015

Also, we’re leaving! The Sheas are headed out to their customary Memorial Day Weekend at our Hidden Island Redoubt, far from the paparazzi and tabloid journalism that typically dogs my steps as America’s Most Portly Catholic Writer. Sometimes the glitter, the supermodels, and the cocaine-fueled parties by the pool full of gold coins become cloying and cliched. All *right*, Kanye! I *get* it! Beyonce should have won! Taylor!  Shake it off, will ya? Your Holiness, I’m afraid we have run out of salsa!  Now will you all stop hogging the mimosas?

It all just get so dull and dry. One feels the need to recline on the bosom of Nature and reconnect, you know?

So that’s where we’ll be for the next four days.

Worry not! I have stuff in the hopper ready to post over the weekend. But while the Great Machine of the Interwebz is projecting the ghosts of my mind on to the blog, I will be celebrating Pentecost in the great green Cathedral of Washington’s verdant Island Paradise, surrounded by friends and family. Ciao!

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  • ivan_the_mad

    Enjoy your insular intermission!

  • Gunnar Thalweg


  • Artevelde

    The Lake Isle of Innisfree

    W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939

    I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
    And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
    Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
    And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

    And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping
    Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket
    There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
    And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

    I will arise and go now, for always night and day
    I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
    While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
    I hear it in the deep heart’s core.