“What one loves
in childhood
stays in their heart
forever.” 
Mary Jo Putney

A local author, Ann Lamott, has created a new website to encourage writers to write. She sends out writing prompts for those who need a bit of guidance to get them started. Normally, I’m not in need of such urging. I encounter ideas for my blog posts pretty much every day. Today, however, I’m responding to the prompt I received from Ann yesterday, as it brought back vivid memories of my childhood. The prompt was: Describe a place from your childhood that holds significant memories for you.

It didn’t take much thought for me to identify that place for me. It was a house in the Noe Valley area of San Francisco — the home of my mother’s uncle and aunt. I knew them as Uncle P.D. (for Patrick Daniel) and Auntie Mary. P.D. was my maternal grandmother’s brother. Their home on 26th Street was the venue for many large family gatherings.

My first memory of this house is of sitting at the kitchen table enjoying my Auntie Mary’s Irish soda bread and tea. This was always a special time, although P.D. was often disappointed that I would never join him for a shot or two of Irish whiskey.

Many larger family gatherings were held at this home. In the hours before dinner, the women would gather in the kitchen, while the men would hang out on the small back porch, which was well-stocked with a variety of adult beverages. A number of children, including my siblings and cousins, would move around from what I remember as the TV room, adjacent to the dining room, to the back yard, which featured a strip of grass bordered on three sides by flowering plants. These were special times which enabled me to enjoy the company of my cousins Kathleen, Maureen, and Pat Twomey, John and Debbie Young, Pat, John, and Maria Healy, and the Kelly family — Marie, Lori, Jim, Nancy, Dan, and Theresa. The house wasn’t big, but there was always enough room for everyone.

After dinner, we would gather in the living room/dining room area for a variety of traditional family activities. There would be a bit of group singing of a few Irish songs, then Uncle P.D. would recite the poem “I’m the Daddy of a Nun,” much to everyone’s delight. My Uncle Dan Healy, my Godfather, would play his bagpipes for a while, then my father would sing “Danny Boy.” After that, the women would move the large table out of the way so that they could do some Irish dancing on the hardwood floor in the dining room. That was always a treat to watch.

P.D. and Mary were the epitome of hospitality. Everyone knew that they were welcome in P.D. and Mary’s home any time of day or night. It was in this home, more so than anywhere else, that I experienced the love and acceptance offered by my extended family. Definitely a source of gratitude in my life.