My dad’s thunder would pluck you out of a trance before you realized you’d entered one. “What’s that crap you’re listening to!? Rock ‘n’ Roll? That’s not music; it’s shouting!” Sixty years later, every nerve twitches when bombarded by the “music,” all words and volume. I’m irrelevant. Just like Dad. Eileen is a writer on … Continue reading EILEEN BRENNAN McINTYRE: Deja Vu
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