The Ancient Celtic Elders

I finished writing my memoir and I am searching for an agent.

That appears like a very skimpy summary for the past two years of my life. There’s more.

The book chronicles the journey of my husband, Tom, and I from our renegade years in the 1980s through several tragedies with the help of my ancestors dubbed the Ancient Celtic Elders.

Most of you know that doctors at UW Hospital diagnosed my husband Tom with fatal brain cancer in 2008. And many remember my sister Mary’s unfathomable murder by a stranger in 1988. She was beaten beyond recognition and raped in her employers’ parking lot on a Sunday after she stopped to pick up some documents.

Tom and his father battled alcoholism. Getting sober changed Tom’s life and helped both of us figure a way out of the maze of dysfunction on our families.

All of us experience tragedy in our imperfect world. Our story shares a unique trip to resilience and redemption that we could not have taken without divine intervention.

The immigrant stories of the five generations of American Foleys (my father’s family) and Murphys (my mother’s family) connected me in 2006 to the Ancient Celtic Elders, whose presence I feel in my everyday life.

I don’t see dead people, but I do feel a spiritual pull towards the immigrant stories of these people who were born in shacks yet pulled our family out of the poverty and starvation in Ireland.

I will keep you posted on the agent, and perhaps share some of the book’s scenes if this blog is reaching anyone. I know I have been too busy to talk to you for some time. Writing a book kidnaps your mind. And I’ve been a hostage for more than a year.

Miners at the Lucky 12 in New Diggings, WI proudly stand among the lead piles.
My Murphy relatives mined iron ore in southwest Wisconsin from about 1830 to 1900. The grimy job supported the large families during the summer. In winter, the men would head north to work in lumber camps.