8:98) Ginny Little 27-JAN-98 13:53

i too watch the historical documentary on pbs of the irish, remember the children on the west coast, dark-haired, blue-eyed, freckled-like siblings,so many brothers and sisters and knowing from whence i came, and my love for potatoes and story. The poets were the historians and held in highest esteem as the knowers. the oral history passed from generations from parents to children round fires in darkened rooms-small pleasures as people lay dying and the stench of blackened potatoes suffocated the air. i remember the bullet holes in the walls of dublin and a skin-head who walked me home too late at night for me to walk alone, he said, and he held my arm with barely a touch. i looked at his piercings and bald head and his eyes spoke caring as we walked over wrought iron bridges and through alleys with late night windows lit with warm greetings as we pass. i belong. i dance till wee hours, walk Green Park, Grafton St. and feel a coming home. My grandmother was a farmer, and we ate o