The
lights blinded her. They swirled around, dazzling her eyes. She
squinted and sat up. What the hell had happened? Where the hell was
she? Why the hell was she cursing 'hell' all the time? Where was Dirk?
Her eyes tracked over to the glasses, and the sight brought it all back. Oh hell! Dirk!
He
looked at the single rose in the bud vase and felt his body harden.
The delicate pinkness of the petals, kissed by crystal droplets, brought
back the memory of their time together. He saw her lying open, ready,
offering herself.
He touched a trembling finger to a drop, and sucked it into his mouth.
Counting
down the hours, she watched the boat chug upriver. When Evensong ended
in the great Cathedral -- she sighed for the loss of the songs -- she
would slip through the flood gates down to the water. The boat, and her
freedom, would be waiting. Hefting the market basket, she trudged back
to her scullery duties.
...I'm 1/8 Irish! 
God
bless my sainted great grandmother, may she continue to rest in peace.
I met that old lady -- she lived to be 104! -- but I was just a wee
bebae in arms at the time. My mum has a picture of her and my great
grandfather, who looked to be African, posing in the typical Victorian
way...she on the chaise with a mob cap covering her hair, he standing
behind her, both with austere and serious expressions on their faces.
I would have liked to have known them...
I'm happy to be a mongrel. My mongrelness -- or is that "mongrelity"? 
-- has given me a unique and satisfying perspective on the world, and
on people. I'm glad I don't see in black or white, or even in Irish.
LOL! My children -- the two Americans and the one Antiguan -- claim
their Jamaicanness with as much eager acceptance as I claim my
Irishness. It's that delightful mongrelism (un huh, that's another
word!) that makes us such great people to get to know!
Anyhoo, happy St. Patrick's Day to ye all, both the Fully Irish, the Fractional Irish, and the Wannabe Irish! 
