St. Paddy's Day

Today I am grateful for St. Paddy’s Day.  Sure ‘n what else would I be grateful for on this day of all days?  I’ve always loved St. Paddy’s day, even before I married an Irishman.  Since then, we’ve gone nuclear with celebrations from time to time.  But we don’t “do” green beer, because according to himself, “No self-respecting Irishman would taint the gold with the green.” 

Because he’s German, too, I wondered exactly how much Irish was in hisself’s genetic makeup.  Then we went to Ireland for St. Paddy’s Day one and celebrated the holiest of days in Killarney.  The parade was very local, with cows and goats and farm equipment mixed in with the local bagpipers.  A hoot!  We got separated.  When I was searching the crowd for him, I realized he looked like every other Irish guy. . .long face, ruddy complexion, big nose, twinkle in his eye.  He had a thousand brothers at the parade.  Irish as Paddy’s Pig!

Our kids grew up force-fed Irish music like I was force-fed polkas.  I suspect that sometimes they find themselves playing it just to remember their childhoods, just like I turn on Molly B’s Polka sometimes.  They also probably know all the words to all of the Irish tunes, but they’ll never admit it.

We’ve had some pretty big bashes for St. Paddy’s Day.  I’m sure our kids and friends remember at least some of them.  Others of our friends probably don’t remember much, but what happens at the Mooney’s on St. Paddy’s Day, stays at the Mooney’s.  I remember when our friend Catherine showed up wearing a floor length, satin, hooded, Kelly-green cape.  John has called her the Queen of Ireland ever since.  Another highlight was when our friend Joe would bring his guitar and serenade “himself” with “Danny Boy”.  Not a dry eye in the house.  My friend Amy makes us Irish soda bread every year, but we already ate it!  My friend, Chris, always sends a card.  Always.  Even when we lived in Indonesia.

We haven’t had a big party for years.  I don’t decorate for St. Paddy’s anymore.  Most of the jim-cracky for the day is packed in boxes in the basement.  John wouldn’t eat corned beef & cabbage if it was the last food on earth.  But today I wore a green, plastic derby to water aerobics. . .and I wasn’t the only one.  So tip yer darby now as I leave ye with this toast from me own pa. . .

            Here’s to the best years of me life. .  .

            Spent in the arms another man’s wife. . .

                                                             . . .me mother!

Slainte!