Because I Could Not Stop For Death

BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH

"Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,

And I had put away

My labor, and my leisure too

For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove

At recess, in the ring;

We passed the fields of gazing grain,

We passed the setting sun.

Or rather he passed us;

The dews grew quivering and chill,

for only gossamer my gown

My tippet only tulle.

We passed before a house

that seemed

A swelling of the ground;

The roof was scarcely visible,

The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries,

And yet each

feels shorter than the day

I first surmised the horses'

heads

Were toward eternity.

BY EMILY DICKINSON

We are getting ready in this house for Death to come calling at our door very soon now. Any day actually.

My mother's Alzheimer's Disease has suddenly accelerated its pace and given Death its calling card.

I am almost ready now. She throws up almost all the food I manage to get into her--no matter how hard I try. Her body is telling me it is shutting down completely now.

My mother loved/loves this Emily Dickinson poem. Like the pile of boxes in the photo above waiting for her to unwrap (she did not have the strength to open them herself), the days she has left now are like another pile of unopened packages. I hope I find the strength to untie them.

Congratulations to "I Love Liffey Because..." Author

Congratulations EVA DOMSCHOT for your excellent winning essay in Irish Dancing and Culture Magazine's Liffey Rivers contest!

Beware of elephants crossing the road, Eva, and especially black mamba snakes.

Eva will write a book review for IDM when she is able to think clearly again after the narrow escapes she will endure with Liffey and her aunt on safari in South Africa and at the Johannesburg Feis where all is not as it seems.

Thanks for the kind words about Liffey Rivers too, Eva. Liffey seems so real to me now it is like receiving compliments about my own daughter. Scary.

Brenna Briggs is the author of the Liffey Rivers Irish Dancer mysteries.

www.liffeyrivers.com

Mrs. Pooh and Sammie RIP

Before I left Ireland a little over a year ago to care for my dying mother, my friend, Sally Crofton of Longford House, was very worried about two of her dogs: Mrs. Pooh, the little short haired brown and white dog in the photo, and Sam, or Sammie, the long haired black and white border collie sheep dog. Mrs. Pooh was tipping over a lot and Sammie was always exhausted. Both dogs needed bladder transplants. Finally, both dogs stopped eating and Sally knew the drill. It was time. She called me here in Wisconsin and cried and cried. I am a bit worried about Sally. She often teared up about a cat she could not afford to transport back to England from South Africa that her sister put down without giving Sally a chance to raise the funds to get the cat back to the UK. To listen to the story, it seemed like the event had been recent. Not so. It had been 25 years.

They were delightful dogs. Mrs. Pooh fell in love with a man (human-not dog) from Poland who did not speak English. He was doing some landscaping and refurbishing the ancient smoke house on the property. Everyday, Mrs. Pooh would leap over a garden wall (she first had to climb up on a pile of rocks to get to the top) and run to the smoke house to spend the whole day with her love. He would walk her home at night because she slept at the foot of Sally's bed--a habit even true love could not change. Sammie slept on the bed too and the two dogs would jockey for the most comfortable spot. Pooh usually won because she was much faster than Sammie.

I have finally begun to work regularly on my book about Sydney Owenson, a contemporary of Jane Austen and the author of The Wild Irish Girl. She lived at Longford House as a governess to a long ago generation of Crofton children.

Brenna Briggs is the author of the Liffey Rivers Irish Dancer mysteries

Happy 4th of July Firetruck Sirens Day

You will note my poor mother is not enjoying this 4th of July parade in Sharon, Wisconsin, with 35 plus screaming firetruck sirens in spite of my covering her ears with my hands. Here we are during the first wave of noise. I took her back in the house where a loud window air conditioning unit pretty much blocked the sound.

The parade was very long. It took an hour from beginning to end. Lots of huge green John Deere tractors and even bigger red ones. One band--the local grade school. No Stars and Stripes at this function!

Now most of the town is under a beer tent somewhere in a local park. Tonight fireworks. Tomorrow, blessed relief from the festivities.

Brenna Briggs is the author of the Liffey Rivers Irish Dancer Mysteries www.liffeyrivers.com

TAKING THINGS ONE NOODLE AT A TIME

Life now is pretty much one noodle at a time. And not long spaghetti noodles. I am talking about short, stubby pasta noodles. Each noodle is carefully inserted by hand through tightly closed lips. It's kind of like threading a needle. Sometimes, the noodle gets sucked into the mouth. Sometimes it does not. If a noodle makes it into the mouth, it has a good chance of being chewed.

I am told the next step will be no more swallowing and I am dreading it. I am not sure what I will do for my mother then.

So I am grateful for the noodle game for the time being. Alzheimer's sucks.

On a lighter note, my 4th book, 'In the Shadow of the Serpent,' is FINALLY available online with Amazon, Powell's and Barnes and Noble. Can be ordered at any bookstore. I noticed Barnes and Noble online was almost $4.00 cheaper than the other sites...go figure. Don't know how long that will last!

Big 4th of July parade coming up here in Sharon, Wisconsin, on Sunday at 11:00 a.m. Lots and lots of annoying fire engines with their eardrum shattering sirens and obnoxious horn blasts. Get to watch from front porch. Oh boy! Something to look forward to between noodles!!!

Brenna Briggs is the author of the Liffey Rivers Irish Dancer Mysteries.

www.liffeyrivers.com