Rambling on… An Irish daydream from a Southern soul
Let me say this plainly, with one hand on my heart and the other reaching for a passport: I would switch places with Rosie O’Donnell before you could say, “Mind the sheep.”
I admire that she left America’s racist, hateful climate behind. I envy her ability to seek Irish citizenship at a time when the atmosphere in this country can feel like it is sucking my soul straight through my ears. That is not a medical diagnosis, mind you. It is merely the weather report from my spirit.
Ireland seems to offer Rosie something celebrity rarely allows… room. Room for her children to breathe. Room for a family to walk through a market without every turn becoming a spectacle. Room to live at a lower volume, where fame does not have to enter ahead of you wearing sequins and carrying a bullhorn.
I am no star chaser. The rich and famous can keep their velvet ropes and suspiciously tiny appetizers. But I do chase a dream of Ireland… green hills rolling like quilts shaken out beneath the clouds, stone walls holding old stories, market days bright with chatter, and music slipping from a pub doorway as naturally as breath. Castles that beckon to be seen.
In my mind, Rosie gets to be another mother, another neighbor, another person buying bread or sitting in a corner booth. Perhaps she does not have to keep looking over her shoulder, wondering what fresh foolishness might be coming up behind her. Perhaps she can simply belong, not as an idol, not as a headline, but as herself.
That ordinary life sounds like a luxury. Famous people are denied so many of the little freedoms the rest of us barely notice, such as a quiet errand, an unexamined bad-hair day, a family meal without an audience. Ireland, at least in my daydream, gives those freedoms back with a cup of tea or a pint and a nod that says, “Carry on, then.”
And Lord, how I understand the pull of it. I imagine wandering the countryside with no appointment but wonder, tracing the old rock walls, listening for the sound of music, and keeping one eye open for the little people. You never know. A fairy might have better immigration advice than the government.
I dream of being folded into Irish culture gently. Of finding roots, finding freedom, finding a place where history and beauty sit side by side and nobody asks either one to hurry. I would like a life with more music in the air, more rain on the windows, more puns around the corner, and fewer reasons to brace myself.
So yes… Ireland and Rosie it is for me. She can have the quieter celebrity life, and I will gladly take the green hills, the market mornings, the ancient stories, and the chance to be gloriously, peacefully myself.
If living la vida loca means trading chaos for County Somewhere, save me a seat in the pub!
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