It’s turning into a funny old week. One that involves surgeons, aneasthetists, wine gums and copies of Vogue. Couldn’t bring myself to buy Grazia or one of those trashy mags.
And a history lesson from a family member. The people of the community paid for this church. They were poor as dirt, and came over during and after the potato famine. Even camped in tents. And generations of mysister’s are named after St. Francis. Who knew. One call for a chit chat and it turns into an episode of ‘Who do you think you are’.