March, Sure Is A Great Month.
My Birthday Is, 3 Days After St Patrick's Day.
I learned how to use a computer for the first time, in March, 2008. (I wrote my first post on the eve and all the next day, of my Birthday). I never touched a computer before. But; I'm fast, on a typewriter.
I started blogging, because I wanted to help our Troops and Veterans and The Young People Everywhere.
Politically; the good of the people, is my concern, as a Sociologist.
I'm from New Jersey aka The Garden State, but not called that, recently. I lived in Northern NJ (Bayonne, Hudson County) and Southern NJ (Bricktown, Ocean County). So having seen how beautiful untouched nature is and then seeing how big energy destroys, I'm an environmentalist.
I had an Irish Mother and A Jewish Father. I'm from a very small town. Three miles long and one mile wide.
We're the poor relations; but my Father's family practically built Bayonne. So there was always a lot of scrutiny about me.
My Birthday is 3 and 1/2 days after Saint Patrick's Day; so, I'm always convinced that my hometown parade, is for me. (The Parade's always held the Sunday after Saint Patrick's Day and often; it actually is, my Birthday).
No one there, has ever contradicted me. If you know me; you can guess, I'm the best friend they ever had.
And I'm the only one; who knows all the words, to every song, that the bands and pipers are playing.
From when I was a baby until 2nd grade (when we moved down to South Jersey). I spent a lot of time being dragged around in one of my Father's bars.
I was always the way I am now.
When I was little; 5, years old, some of the local/neighborhood guys (customers), used to scream every time I walked in the door with my Mother.
Epithets like; "Oh no, the holy terrors here, or "Oh no, it's the little hurricane".
They had several, names for me. Total exaggerations!
I promptly squirted them, with my little red water gun. My Mother would say "don't shoot the boys with your water gun", but I did anyway. I didn't want to even be there. I would have rather been home, coloring in my coloring books with my 64 box of Crayolas or watching tv.
I was not anti-social. I had tons of Sailor friends who used to take me to the toy store and buy me anything I wanted. No one was allowed to have a beer until they did. Well ok one or two.
The bar was about 5 blocks from our town's; then, Naval base. I knew Sailors from all over the world. My best friend, was from the Cayman Islands.
I wasn't spoiled either. Half my toys used to always disappear. I had lots of poor cousins. One of my Aunt's had 10 children.
As everyone knew my Father and Mother, everywhere. They all knew me on sight.
So I could never get away with anything. Even though I did get attention and away with a lot.
My Irish Mother was great on the guilt tripping. That, and with the help of Saint Jude, to whom she prayed every day. I escaped the sixties without getting into too much trouble (it was the seventies, eighties and nineties that were murder).
I was born in Margaret Hague Hospital, Jersey City New Jersey. It was an excellent hospital. Art Deco styling. The best and it was free.
Yes, on the first full day of Spring. My Mother said that on the day I was born; it rained, it snowed and the sun shone.
A Chinese Lady Doctor delivered me. She told my Mother, that in her country, they would call me "Spring Flower." Apparently, I was a Hippie from birth. My Mother named me Georgia. Thus my ga, sig.
Born at the Margaret Hague Facebook
I don't listen to the negative talk about Mayor Hague. He did a lot for Jersey City. Frank Hague Mayor of Jersey City 1917-1947.
Margaret Hague Maternity Hospital
Jersey City Medical Center
Irish Americans
Righting the Roma Foundation
B-4810 Mary Street
Port Alberni BC
V9Y 7H2
1-250-724-6438
☮Peace And Justice☮
ga♪♫♪
The ICB Traveler Equality Project
The Irish Chaplaincy Project; is a charity that provides services and support to
excluded, vulnerable and isolated people in the Irish Community
in Britain, irrespective of their beliefs and attitude to the Church.
The reality of life in Britain today for many Irish emigrants is not
the migrant’s dream. Many of those who came to England in the 1950s and
1960s face isolation and severe poverty; over 1,000 Irish men and women
are in custody; and Irish Travelers remain among the most marginalized
groups in society.
