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~ perhaps you have stopped here because you too are considering the lilies and the view from where you are. Maybe you don’t know why or how you arrived at this particular corner of the blogosphere; you just took the road less traveled to get here.

Whatever the reason, I’m glad you found Considering the Lilies & Lessons from the Field and hope you’ll stay a while.  Myself, I am taking a break from writing here for a while. I’m not sure for how long.

Four months ago Ken died. I don’t know when I stopped measuring the time in days (it would be 129) but I think that is a good thing. I can almost hear the clocks ticking again, and with that comes a realization that I cannot waste any more time. Life is short, and it is for living.

There are fences to mend and bridges to burn, walls to erect and barriers to tear down, stories to tell and secrets to reveal, loose ends to tie up and elephants in the living room that can no longer be ignored. There are places to go. There is a book to write. Why worry? Why?

The book is important to me, and I am excited to have finally committed to it as a creative project and grateful to have found a collaborator with the time management and organization skills I lack. 

Until it’s finished, you can find me at IrishCentral.com where I’m sharing opinions that you may not agree with, but that’s what keeps the conversation going. I will also continue to contribute to The Antrim Guardian as long as the editor reminds me that I have a deadline. You can also find me on Facebook. 

Until then, the blog stays up, a reminder to me that it is a living, breathing document of my life (in other words, it needs some serious editing) with its 182 reminders to heed Anna Quindlen’s good advice every day . . .  

Thanks for stopping by ~ 


Consider the lilies of the field. Look at the fuzz on a baby’s ear. Read in the backyard with the sun on your face. Learn to be happy. And think of life as a terminal illness because if you do you will live it with joy and passion, as it ought to be lived …

No man ever said on his deathbed I wish I had spent more time at the office. I found one of my best teachers on the boardwalk at Coney Island maybe 15 years ago. It was December, and I was doing a story about how the homeless survive in the winter months. He and I sat on the edge of the wooden supports, dangling our feet over the side, and he told me about his schedule; panhandling the boulevard when the summer crowds were gone, sleeping in a church when the temperature went below freezing, hiding from the police amidst the Tilt a Whirl and the Cyclone and some of the other seasonal rides. But he told me that most of the time he stayed on the boardwalk, facing the water, just the way we were sitting now even when it got cold and he had to wear his newspapers after he read them.And I asked him why. Why didn’t he go to one of the shelters? Why didn’t he check himself into the hospital for detox? And he just stared out at the ocean and said, “Look at the view, young lady. Look at the view.” And every day, in some little way, I try to do what he said. I try to look at the view. And that’s the last thing I have to tell you today, words of wisdom from a man with not a dime in his pocket, no place to go, nowhere to be. Look at the view. You’ll never be disappointed.