CELIA LIBERACE

My sister and I used to fall asleep to images of a long-limbed young girl climbing about moss-covered rocks, scavenging among decaying castle walls, burying her hands in a sea of engraved gold coins. Her name was Nelly, she was my Great-Grandmother. Around that time, 10 years ago or so, she had conquered more than 100 years on this earth. My dad would sit by our beds and unfold embellished recollections of Nellie's younger self, tales of which had morphed and inflated throughout their passing along through generations. Great-Grandma Nelly had shared encounters with many compelling souls throughout her younger years: her best friend Kathleen, my Grandma Maire, the heroic Maud Gonne MacBride, illustrious Irish playwrights and revolutionaries, and,... My dad thoughtfully articulated stories of her sneaking around Ballycastle, blanketing the green and blue town with her gentle touch and wondrous mind. She snuck into museums after hours, dug through Ireland's supple soil in hopes of..