So, like, I was going to post a poem that I wrote the other night, while listening to the haunting strings of Schoenberg’s, Verklärte Nacht, but I decided not to as it is way too heart wrenching for me to reflect upon. Albeit it is an amorous poem filled with imagery (You know, the usual stuff…sprites, moonbeams, necks, earlobes, lips, noses, and what not.), but eh? 
Yesterday, I rode up into the mountains and took some brilliant pictures of the sun setting on those gorgeous blueridge mountaintops. It was as if someone in the heavens were having a party and knocked o’er a bottle of rosé wine onto the exquisitely blue macramé rug that is my landscape.
After a full day walking around Furman University today, I came home and decided to practice the jig. I’m a bit out of practice, so I figured I’d give it a go and see how many songs I could get through without stoppin’. Needless to say, I made it through three songs before ending up in my desk chair laughing and gasping for breath. Usually, I’m quite light on my feet, but I’ve gotten a bit slack as stated in a previous post. My family is well known for their tap dancing, clogging, and folk dancing ability. Heck, my wee sister was a state and regional clogging champion. Because of their interest in dancing, I have picked up every dance step possible over the years.
Anyhow, I’ll leave you with a hilarious conversation I had the other day with my dentist.
I’m sitting in this frigid leather chair with a light probing my innards overhead and all sorts of shiny and sharp metal objects to my left and right. One of these bloody (Boy, I hope not.) objects is a drill/grinder. The contrast of the charcoal gray handgrip and the chromed point on the end of it terrifies me. With my mouth agape, the female dentist begins grinding on my teeth, like a body man using an electric circular sander on an old rusty car. She stops abruptly, and enquires, "So, what exciting plans do you have this year?".
"Well, I’m going back to Ireland, Scotland, and England in the spring", I answer, while trying not to gag.
While patting me on the shoulder, she says, "I’ll be praying for you".
"Well thanks, but why would you do that", I enquire.
She leans back over to grand on my teeth once more, and replies, "Those people don’t know God like we do".
I began laughing and ended up having to sit up in my chair I was laughing so hard. I laid back again, and demanded, "Oh, so the rest of the world doesn’t have a relationship with God…Did I miss the note? Has the rest of the world been excommunicated without my knowledge?"
"Uhmmm….Well…..No, I guess not", she answered, whilst finishing the job.
"Might I ask your maiden name miss?"
"Why?"
"I guarantee it will either prove a point or won’t".
"MacKin***"
"I thought so."
"What?", she pleads, while her bright green eyes are only an inch from my own.
"There is Irish -probably ulster- blood running through those splendiferous veins of yours", says I, whilst grinning with a brighter smile.
"Ah, you’re just being silly".
"Yep"
"Have a safe trip", she mutters, while I grab my coat and head out the door.
It is funny how judgmental people can be, when they don’t understand something. If there is one thing I know, its names. I love to inform people of their heritage, when they haven’t a clue nor do they care.
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Alright then smarty pants . . my maiden name is Dunn (no ‘e’) so where did I originate? I don’t know who my great grandparents were . . .there’s a Welsh connection that’s all I know!
Not much call fer cloggin’ round these here parts! Better learn how to twiddle a glow stick! untz, untz, untz, untz, doof-doof, untz untz . . .
Was it O’Dunn at any time in the past? It sounds like an Irish or Scottish name. I’ll research it!
Dunno. I can’t trace back beyond grandparents. I’m pretty sure its Irish. But I’m a woman of the future, not a dweller on the past. Aussie and proud of it, as Nick Cave proports, I’ll make a little history baby!
Ah and MacKinn, McKinn and Mackin are defo Scottish, names.
Sorry JD, I’ve got to go with Baino on this one. Macklin is definately Scotttish. I dated Connie Macklin in high school.
The name was McKinney. Notice the three astericks after “McKin***”?
I quite enjoyed watching the jig. Didn’t know you danced it. Back to the green will be here soon enough, maybe we should get you on stage
And Speaking of Haunting…how is the book coming along?
I thought you knew that….? I think “Return to Green” is March 9th this year. It should be a blast. And, with a few pints under my belt, I’ll get up on stage.
The book? I’ll admit that I set it down for a while. It is a fantabulous book, but I had so much school work that I had to sacrifice reading non-school related books. But, I’ve picked it back up and should be done with it within a week.
Many apologies for not returning it before now. 
You know, I have seen those little excited jigs of yours. I guess I never put 2 and 2 together
No hurry on the book, I already read it 
