Author: Cheryl

January 10, 2007

I google myself every so often, just to make sure that the real Cheryl Donahue–me–comes up at the top of the list.  I suppose those other Cheryl Donahues consider themselves just as real.  But they are too spookily like alternate selves to get complacent about.  Just minor tweaks in the life circuit, and they could be me.  That’s why I have to watch them.

Continue reading “A Google Carol”

November 16, 2006

Our little dog Lucy went into heat the week we were taking her to the vet to be spayed.  A puppy whose life was previously occupied with walks, chasing her ball, running, pouncing on bugs and cadging treats is now focused almost exclusively on becoming a mother.  Or, at least, on finding a mate.  Judging by her avid scenting on our early morning walks, there are a lot of fine male dogs in the vicinity.  But she won’t be meeting them.  She’s too young to be a mother.

Continue reading “Strange Mothering”

November 2, 2006

Hallelujah!  It’s here.  Better than finding out that drinking red wine and eating dark chocolate are good for you.  Way, way better than liposuction and tummy tucks.  So much better than the South Beach Diet; get out of here with your South Beach Diet.  I’m talking about resveratrol (marketeers take note: we need a catchy new name for this stuff, and quick).  And you need never diet again, because resveratrol lets you eat whatever you want, and stay as healthy and active as your brother the fitness freak.  Yee-ha!

Continue reading “The Zeitgeist of Fat”

October 24, 2006

He’s a handsome fellow, I have to admit.  Standing on the hill in our back garden on four sturdy paws, strong little Jack Russell chest thrust out, ears cocked and folded in two perfect triangles, coat a radiant white and tan, he commands attention.  And he has it.  Not only mine, staring at him eye to eye from the kitchen window, but also my female puppy’s, in her first season, and pining for her first love.

Continue reading “Romeo Not”

August 24th, 2005

My friend Gail likes to straighten things up.  When we have lunch out she’ll neatly arrange the napkins and cutlery on the table, and bring any other stray items into line.  "Don’t mind this," she said once, years ago, "It’s my cosmic job.  Nature’s Little Pruner."

I loved the idea of a cosmic job, a clear, simple task to which one was cosmically assigned, that makes use of one’s natural bent.  I wanted a cosmic job. As it turns out, I have one.  I am the Direction Giver.

Continue reading “My Cosmic Job”

August 23, 2005

Aside from the start it gives to the locals, the most striking difference between running in an American city and running in the rural west of Ireland is dealing with the various animals that may suddenly spring up between you and the road.  Dogs, sheep and cows are the main impediments, although the occasional waddling family of ducks can halt forward progress as well. 

Continue reading “Running with Sheep, Part II”

July 1, 2005

I am a runner.  This was a perfectly normal thing to be when I lived in Washington, D.C.  I’d make my way down East Capitol Street from Lincoln Park, and join the running hordes on the Mall, passing the softball games, soccer games, ultimate frisbee games and gangs of happy tourist families enjoying the Smithsonian museums.  I was watcher and watched, part of the scenery, one of hundreds of runners going by, nothing special.  When I moved to West Kerry, things changed a bit.

Continue reading “Running With Sheep, Part I”

March 6, 2005 (Washington, D.C.)

I’m never quite prepared for the culture shock of traveling from West Kerry to Washington, D.C.  Because I know D.C. so well, arriving here and settling in feels automatic.  I know where to go and what to do.  I have friends here. I know the metro system, the neighborhoods, the museums, the movie theatres and the restaurants.  But it’s not really possible to make a seamless transition from rural Ireland to big-city America with no mental hitches.

Continue reading “Stranger in a Familiar Land”

January 21, 2005

Yesterday Ireland went kilometric.  This means that all road signs and speed limit signs are now in kilometers only (previously, the speed limits were in miles and road signs were in either kilometers or miles, depending on local whimsy).  I’m a bit worried about this new national uniformity.  Traveling in Ireland could become too easy.

The first time I traveled in Ireland was in a rental car with two friends, Jane and Larry.  When we landed, at Shannon, at night, in December, Jane and I decided that Larry should handle the drive to our B&B in Ennistymon.  He could be heard muttering about "so-called feminists" as we headed for the car. 

Continue reading “Kilometric”