The Poem You Can’t Forget
by Sheila Connolly The lovely poem that Edith cited here not long ago reminded me of another poem which seems particularly appropriate for writers. It’s a villanelle by Sylvia Plath,…
Category: Sheila’s Posts
Finding Cervantes
by Sheila Connolly Not long ago I was trolling through various odd sites that I bookmark and I stumbled a surprising headline in the Irish news: “Spain Finds Remains of…
Cowboys and Cozies
by Sheila Connolly I had this weird brainstorm the other day: television westerns in the 1950s were actually cozies! It could be because I’ve been reading one of Craig Johnson’s books, As the…
Seeing a Story
by Sheila Connolly I’ve been trying to remember when I got my first camera—I think was I seven or eight. My father was the picture-taker in the family. He had…
How Many Years?
by Sheila Connolly Another year. How did that happen? Over the holidays I struggled to send out a holiday letter to my oldest (high school, college) friends and my scattered…
Stepping Back in Time
by Sheila Connolly In June of 1958, my grandmother set sail for England on the Queen Mary. She worked for Lipton Tea then, and she was escorting the collection of…
Stuff
by Sheila Connolly For the past decade or more, I’ve harbored the fantasy of buying a cottage in Ireland. At first I was fixated on buying the site where my…
It’s All in the Details
by Sheila Connolly The distance between Boston and Dublin, Ireland, is 3,000 miles. I just flew almost that to go to a party. Well, in my insanity defense, it was…
The Wickeds 