I’m up late or early or both, worried about our future. Luckily my husband is not and is upstairs snoring with our dog.
I saw on social media that one friend graduated from the college my father worked at and thought she might have been to Coughlan’s pub. I grew up with these boys, especially Tommy and Jimmy, and Joey stole our bike one day and my tooth went through my lip and I missed a visit to the Zoo.
Many years later I saw the pub en route to my aunts’ home and stopped by. Joey asked who I was and gave me a soda on the house, while telling me of Jimmy having a son they named Tommy after his uncle, my age, who died very young.
I tried to give a review of the place but the site is not conducive to such an act. I will call in the light of day to see how they are doing, in such a small town, when all I really remember is them calling on my dad every night to go out back and play baseball, or on the street for touch football. Dad’s only rule was that everyone got to play, girls too. And play fair, of course.
Love is due to to Dad for doing that for us, and much more. But when I think of neighborhoods I remember the one I was in for five years from age 3-8. OK, also age 8-10 but that’s another story. Cheers, Dee
Cooking with Dee 