I was only 6 when Nanna died while making potatoes in a tiny 1940’s brick two bedroom apartment where she’d raised a Nun, a Criminal, and 2
Teachers. At 16, her and gramps left Ireland’s famine to start their lives here.
Pretty boring stuff.
From now on, if anyone asks me about Nanna, I’m gonna tell them the Quilt story. Sorry I just can’t help myself Bro It’s mine now
I came up with the idea listening to the Seattle show in the car while waiting for this rain and cigar to end. (Great recording , thanks John)