KATHRYN R. BIEL: AUTHOR

Today is a day when all things are Irish, even those that are not. I'm proud to be of Irish descent, even though, at this point, it is only about 12.5%.  And despite the fact that I'm married to a man named Patrick, he is not one tiny drop Irish, so my poor children are only about 6% Irish.   My own Irish tale is somewhat atypical.  About 5 generations back, Patrick and Honora Ryan left Ireland to strike it rich in the Australian gold rush in 1852 or so (I'm guessing as a result of the famine).  My great-great-grandfather (my grandmother's grandfather) was actually born in Victoria, Australia.  I had always assumed that the family did not strike it rich, as they returned to Ireland.  Perusing my grandmother's writings, I found out that they did indeed strike it rich and returned to Ireland, only to be burned out.  At that point, they came to the states, and settled in the Cohoes and Latham area. I found out an interesting fact about the impact of...

I had suspicions early on that Jake's development was not normal.  Sure, he was healthy (which, working with disabled kids, I did not take for granted), but I felt from about the time he was a year old that something was amiss.  He would not perform on demand.  For example, he could wave 'bye,' but not on command.  When playing pat-a-cake, after I moved Jake's hands, he would then move mine, imitating what I had done, but not internalizing the movement to himself.  Although he could isolate a finger, he did not point at objects.  But he had a tremendous understanding of what was being said to him.  When he was about 11 months old, he was sitting and playing with his foot.  My dad said to him, from across the room, "Left foot, left foot. Right foot, right.  Feet in the day, feet in the night."  Jake took off like a shot, crawling down the hall to his room.  He returned moments later with "The Foot Book" by Dr. Seuss, which that line ...

You know the saying "It takes a village to raise a child?"  Well, I firmly believe it to be true.  But in this case, I believe it takes a village to support a parent to be the type of person who can raise a child.  I'm very lucky. Over the course of my life, I've had a changing cast and crew in my village.  A lot of people have been visitors, temporary members and even citizens of my village (which could be called "Kate-ville").  I would not be the person I am today, nor even close to the type of person I would want to be without these people in my village. My village are the people who provide shoulders for me to cry on, who provide ears to listen, brains to think and hearts to love.  They are the arms to hug and comfort, even if it is through inappropriate remarks and irreverent humor. I've often said that it is not important to have tons of friends, but simply one or two good, true friends.  I am so lucky to have had that throughout the course o...

My grandmother, Mimere, was the quintessential LOL...little old lady.  By the end of her life, she topped off at about 4'6" tall, complete with white hair that she got "done" weekly.  Even when I was a child, I never remember her washing her hair, but that she went weekly to the beautician.  As such, to protect her carefully curled, teased and sprayed helmet of hair, she implemented a number of accouterments to help her hair last the week.  The first was the chiffon scarf, worn ala Jackie O.  However, Mimere (God rest her soul) somehow lacked the, um, fashionista qualities that Jackie possessed. Ok, so Mimere's not actually in this picture, but this is pretty much what she looked like. From L to R, Aunt Genny, Aunt Mae and Josie (Mimere's BFF, before it was cool to call them that) This scarf was used to ward off wind, as in the picture above from a senior's trip.  Her second hair-protection tool was the sleeping cap.  I remember her us...