Dreams of Igor_A Novel In Progress: Dialogue with the Dead

About this Blog

Relationships. Our lives are consumed with then - being sucked into them, trying to run away from them, longing for them, and worst of all- being born into them - yes I DO mean family. By way of introduction: I am and will always think of myself as the red haired, freckled-faced skinny, pale Catholic girl who lived on a dead-end street. (The one with the greenish-blue eyes when every other Irish girl at school had navy blue.) Sound exhilaratingly seductive? Well life is and continues to be when ones sense of WHO I am, is painted with mysticism, replete with positive reinforcement for suffering - faith in faith, belief in dogma, crying uncontrollably aside the Stations of the Cross and deceased children's funerals. And with all that boiling - my flamboyant mother had the audacity to drops dead. And there I was- seven years old - looking at my mother - the dark haired, red lipped life force, dressed in a hideous, baby-blue chiffon gown. That could never capture her true style -

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