I’m a bit of a European mutt. But some parts of my family history are worth laying claim to. For example, I like the Irish in me. It balances the fierce and proud Scottish parts with a good-natured approach to life.
And I guess I look the part. One lady looked at me and asked if I were Irish. I didn’t understand at the time, because I have dark hair, and every Celtic dancer I’ve ever seen has red. However, did you know that among the Irish 43% have dark hair, 35% have medium brown hair, 10% have red and reddish-brown hair? I do have the skin of a red-head—freckles all up my arms—just not the glory of red tresses.
I also don’t drink Guinness.
But I like the blessings.
“May all who love the Lord, love you, and those who don’t love you, may the Lord give them a limp so you can see them coming.”
St. Patrick’s day dinner is a bit of dilemma. I’ve had corn beef and cabbage. The owners of a mom and pop store where we worked during the college years invited us to dinner one day. They loved my hubby and I was part of the package. They served us corn beef and boiled cabbage. So yes, I’ve had it. Once.
I asked my DH if he’d like a special dinner this Sunday: Irish stew, soda bread, root-beer. He said a green menu was fine with him. He suggested kale and spinache. (serious!)(Do the Irish even eat vegetables other than potatoes?) The thing is, DH is more Irish than I am. Our surname is Irish. His brother and sister who had red hair had bright red hair (she still does); whereas mine had auburn (he’s now bald).
St. Patrick’s day is a good day to celebrate now that spring is finally here and the coming of all things green is certain. Besides, I like the story of the saint driving the snakes from Ireland (symbolically of course, when he brought Christianity to them). I’ve never been a fan of snakes. To me, the best snakes are the ones that live far, far away.
Anyway, as per DH’s request, we’ll have green drinks for breakfast (like most days) and raw pea soup for lunch (and maybe some soda bread with pistachios). I might even do something with potatoes (red ones—just don’t tell my Idaho kin). I’ll spread the green tablecloth and find other ways to overload the green. However, there will be no funny hats or t-shirts that say, “Kiss me, I’m Irish.” (Besides, my DH won’t need the prompt.)
This Sunday, when the whole world is Irish, may your troubles be less and your blessings be more, and nothing but happiness come through your door. And remember what they say, “When Irish eyes are shining—they’re usually up to something.”
“May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent,” and the familiar, but good one, “May you be an hour in heaven before the Devil knows you’re dead.”