Today would have been Connemoira’s birthday and she would have celebrated at that lake high in the mountains she loved so much if she hadn’t hated life just a little bit more.
Oh wait … she tells me … not life. Just the machine. The clogs.
I’m not sure what she means but let’s on, shall we?
Why … has been a puzzle for a long, long time…
The machine Jan. The machine!
I continue: She was born to loving parents, the eldest of five siblings, a rollicking group prone to taking off in pirate ships (aka rubber rafts) and looting the peaceful villages along the river looking for gold.
This much is true, she says with a smile. We were best when we were wild.
Saying nothing in particular 
Sad – and well
Written with the images
Thank you!
Beautiful paintings. I remember the last one, of the woman.
The first three were done by Connemoira and then I painted the last one shortly after she died.
I see. Thank you.
Hello, JT. This is a lovely, heartfelt essay.
Thank you.
So sad and lovely.
Lovely paintings. Heartfelt.
Agreed. We were best when we were wild. Beautiful paintings.
All of this is beautiful, the words the paintings and the sentiment 💜
Oh Jan the art work! 🙂 Has it kept you busy this yr?
No – three of the pieces were done by Connemoira and the last one I did years ago after her death. It’s been way too smoky down at the teahouse to paint. Might get down there those this week.
Deep friendship endures. Love. Duke
Beautiful words and paintings. I always remember her name when I see “Connemara” in the news.
Thanks Inese. She was a beautiful though troubled soul.
❤
Lovely tribute, Jan.
Her birthday hit me hard this year because everything is so crazy now – the weather, the fires, the plague, the election, friends battling cancer … it just all got to me. I longed for those wild days on the pirate ship.
Really beautiful, Jan. ❤