Maggie's Farm

In the mailbox today, on one of those long sticky-notes:

"Irish woman looking for a housekeeping job or helping out on weekends. Please call: (phone #)."

How can one not give her a call? "Helping out" sounds darn good, and so does "Irish." But can she split logs, remove spiderwebs and dustballs the size of raccoons, and do the laundry without bleaching everything to smithereens? And can she make mashed potatoes?

Surely the latter. But I already know the Irish Secret: A whole stick of butter, a thing of sour cream, a cup of heavy cream, and a mountain of salt and pepper. Almost forgot one minor detail - a bunch of boiled potatoes in there too, mashed to a lumpless mush by strong Irish arms.