Mememe!

I've twice been tagged recently by fellow bloggers -- Ms. Card and Auntie Pamela -- with one of these meme things. (Is it supposed to sound like me-me? is that the point?) Anyhoo, because I don't have time this week to think of my own ideas... here goes.

Ms. Card asks:
Four jobs that you've had?
1) Newspaper reporter -- best job ever! But one that hardly exists anymore.
2) Bartender -- also a great one. You have all the power -- the beer taps plus remote control. (Sorry, guys. Tonight I think we'll watch The Morning After, not the Red Sox game. Whaaa? Well, I'm cutting you off!)
3) TCBY yogurt -- I recommend the classic chocolate-vanilla swirl.

Four places that you've lived?
1) Washington D.C. -- back in the early 90s, before CVS bought People's, and again in the here and now.
2) Galway, Ireland -- the first week I was there, I called home and said, "My pockets are full of rain!" Ohhh, but I loved it.
3) Fort Pierce, Florida -- in a big house overlooking the Indian River, I could see dolphins from my bedroom window!
4) East Hartford, CT -- home of Pratt & Whitney, and me.

Four favorite foods:
1) Fried eggplant with Ma's sauce.
2) Full-fat plain yogurt with July blueberries and homemade granola.
3) A really good pizza with fresh mozzarella, basil and real tomato.
4) The Chocolate Sparrow's hot fudge sundae

Four places I'd rather be:
1) Sitting on a sand flat in Cape Cod Bay
2) Sipping a sweaty pint on the Aran Islands
3) Sleeping under a mosquito tent in the cloud forest
4) Riding the carousel at Glen Echo Park

And Pamela asks: Where were you 10 years ago?

Well. I believe it was 10 years ago this month that my brother got married in Bermuda. Let's see... what do I remember of that?? One of my sisters was staying at the fancy Southampton Princess hotel, on a special floor with a free happy hour every day. We had Dark & Stormy's (Gosling's and ginger beer) and met a man who identified himself as an arms trader. Ew.

My then-boyfriend and I each rented scooters. I hated mine. Eeee! Which pedal? Which pedal??! And sheepishly returned it. My father kept his and consequently flipped over the handlebars, breaking his wrist. Not the only accident: My brother, the groom, got spiked by a marlin during the bachelor party.

A Bermudian bachelorette party is called a hen party, in the English way, and it consisted of a slow floating boat, a cooler full of rum swizzle, and a sweet captain who averted his eyes, he said, when we threw off our dresses and dove in.

Speaking of rum swizzle, my sister and I drank waaaay too much at the reception. My mother said furiously to my brother-in-law: Control your wife! My brother-in-law said helplessly to Ma: She's your daughter! Both threw up their hands. And we were simply delighted with ourselves when the bartender asked: Are you professional athletes? Hee! Are you kidding? "Tennis?" he asked. Hm. No. We're not. (Tennis players are really athletic looking! Golf would be believable.)

The bride was lovely and carried a bouquet of sea grapes. The bridesmaid dresses were the best I've ever seen -- short, and of varying shades of raw silk. I did my favorite wedding reading -- one that I've performed THREE TIMES -- the Song of Songs, my lover on the mountaintop. (Someday I would like to introduce sound effects. I'm thinking of the clatter of hooves.) And then my brother sang The Star of the County Down to his new wife.

Oh, what fun...