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This blog is now hosted on my own site at wendytaylor.us

Dog and Butterfly – A Tribute to Santa Claus

This was one of my favorite songs as a child. I somehow still felt its melancholy, realizing it spoke to giving up dreams.

On a June day as far from Christmas as you can get, I watched them bury Santa.

The portrait at the Mass showed a man in suit and tie, but my gaze rested upon the twinkling eyes that once assured a four-year-old happiness could be found in a little magic and large black bag.

By Your Side

Last month, international hispsters descended on Austin for two weeks of SXSW music, film and interactive festivals. In the neighborhoods surrounding downtown, we spent our days weaving through pedestrian herds. Or, as I like to refer to it, we played a skinny jean and vanity glasses version of Frogger. Two weeks of temperate weather, blooming Kool-Aid-scented mountain laurel and a plethora of Tex-Mex left many of the trend seekers giddily proclaiming they found a yippee-ki-yay euphoria.

It felt a bit like someone swooning over your rebellious puppy that spends most days chewing the garden hose and burying lost socks.

As much as I love Austin, I do grumble about some things: heat, pollen and the city’s inability to block a consistent path for the every-other-weekend 5K races. However, the visitors’ excitement brought a refreshed thankfulness for the Austin coolness we pass every day – especially south of the river. (Sorry, I needed to insert at least one territorial dig.) So, I’m offering my win, place and show of overlooked Austin treasures.

El Primo Taco Trailer
Corner of S. First and Live Oak

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A Blessing for Ireland on Election Day

This last post regarding Ireland was delayed due to a nasty illness upon my return (as one friend suggested, I’m allergic to leaving Ireland). However, as today the Irish hold special elections in the wake of the financial crisis and EU bailout, it seems appropriate. Regular blogs return in March.

An Irish friend called his mother in Dublin a few weeks ago. Noticing a bit of a clip in her voice, he asked the almost 90-year-old if something was taking the piss out of her (irritating her).

“Why shouldn’t I be cranky?” she responded. “Here I was born from under the thumb of the British and I’ll die under control of the Germans!”

Come again?

I have a final blog to wrap up the Ireland trip that’s a reflection of economic and cultural shifts I’ve seen since the early ‘90s which I’ll post in a few days. However, as many of you have expressed interest in visiting my beloved country, I thought I’d share a brief list of things I found handy. If any of my Irish friends are reading this, I cringe with embarrassment at the education you guys had to give me.

Yer Man: If someone says, “Yes, I called up, and yer man is going to fix my oven on Tuesday,” don’t give your husband or boyfriend a funny look. Yer man is basically a generic pronoun used very, very often and has nothing to do with anyone who might be yours. There is, of course, a yer woman version. At times, it can be used often in one conversation referring to several different people. Keeping tally of this can be quite daunting.

"Yer man totally tossed my suitcase down from the dock without looking."

Thanks to Mary, Jan and Linda

The names above were my high school English teachers (blessed with the great fortune to have Mary Adams twice). These ladies helped a young girl with a passion for stories discover the layers of truly great work. The first time I remember absolutely sobbing while reading was our A Farewell to Arms assignment. I then became a devoted Salinger fan reading To Esmé, With Love and Squalor. I honestly can’t remember how much Irish literature we discussed, but through my hibernophile tendencies I developed a great respect and large collection.