The Rerouted Skytress

Cead Mile Failte…..A Hundred Thousand Welcomes. Yes, welcome to my favorite holiday….St. Patrick’s Day! What can I say? This holiday just makes my Irish eyes smile. And what’s not to like about St. Patrick’s Day? There is corn beef, Irish soda bread, shamrock plants, gold coins and leprechauns. Okay, there is the awful boiled cabbage. But, lucky for me, I don’t cook it or eat it. No, I don’t put up with that shenanigans. If you are officially Irish, you don’t have to. It’s written in The Book of Kells …on page 223. That’s not a bunch of malarkey, either. No,…it’s a bunch of Latin!

Lucky for me, I am Irish on both sides of my family. As some of you may know, my Irish father and my Irish mother met in an Irish bar on St. Patrick’s Day in New York City. The rest, as they say, is Irish history. They got married and presto magic-o they had three lassies and two laddies. Talk about being lucky parents! Of course, my Dad made us drink his Magical Leprechaun Drink every St. Patrick’s Day to ensure we had the luck of the Irish all year long. The Irish can be a wee bit superstitious. Thankfully, the Magical Leprechaun Drink is magically delicious.

Astonishingly, I was the only kid in my school that wore a leprechaun corsage on St. Patrick’s Day. It was a small leprechaun doll that my Dad had the florist surround with green carnations. My Dad was a very clever Irish fellow. Somehow he saw the leprechaun and thought corsage. It did take a big hat pin to keep the corsage on my outfit. But, no one else had anything like it on St. Patrick’s Day. It made my Irish heart smile. Okay, my Mom and sisters also had leprechaun corsages. Obviously, I wore mine best. Thus, my Irish heart smiled a wee bit more than theirs.

My Dad was notorious for hanging our Irish flag outside whenever there was a special occasion. I’m sure he confused many people by flying the flag of Ireland on random days of the year. They, however, we not random to us. No, the flag meant there was someone special coming to visit, there was a birth, there was a wedding, or there was a party about to take place. Oh, how I treasure this flag. It reminds me of so many wonderful times growing up. Mostly, though, it reminds me of my Dad. You can bet, if our house was on fire and I could only take one personal item, I’d surely grab our Irish flag.

My Mom has another Irish tradition. She calls my sisters and me “Mary” followed by our birth name. There is Mary Maureen. Mary Patricia and Mary Eileen. When my brother Sean was being a pill, she would call him Mary Elizabeth. Thankfully, my Mom didn’t follow the Irish tradition to a Tee. Many Irish families actually name all their daughters Mary. Then they use their middle name for their primary name. I know. It’s weird and confusing. Thankfully, my Mom didn’t do this to us girls. We have Irish first names and Irish middle names. There isn’t one Mary in the family. Well, besides my Mom, Mary Ann. Funny, she doesn’t go by Ann, either. No, she is actually Mary Ann. We, however, just call her Mom. I know. It’s weird and confusing. My Dad’s only request when the grandchildren were born was that they have Irish names. Oh,…and that they go to Norte Dame. Well, at least they all have Irish names! We even give our dogs Irish names. We wouldn’t want anyone to think they aren’t part of our crazy Irish family. I know. We Irish can be weird and confusing. It’s what makes us so endearing.

Talk about being a wee bit crazy. Leave it to the Irish to figure out how to make corn beef. Yes. Throw some meat in a pot of boiling water with spices and cook it. That’s it. You don’t even have to watch the pot. I’m not sure if that is actually more genius than crazy. All I know is that it is delicious. Amazingly, I could eat corn beef every day. I do have a few Irish friends that are not fans of corn beef. Scandalous, I know. Thank goodness they are lovable Irish people and we overlook this disturbing fact. Even though cooking corn beef is easy, I sure feel pressure to make it taste delicious when I serve it to non-Irish. Unlike Italians, Germans and basically the rest of the world, the Irish are not known for their Irish recipes. But, if you are Irish you better not mess up the St. Patrick’s Day meal. After all, it’s only one meal the world expects us to know how to cook. Once I got an Irish cookbook to make some Irish cuisine. It was basically a notebook and not a cookbook. I did make some Irish soda bread from the cookbook. Sadly, it turned out harder than the Blarney Stone. My Dad tried to put a lot of butter and jam on it to soften it up. But, it really was inedible. I now buy an Irish soda bread mix that I doctor up a wee bit. I like a sweet Irish soda bread. So, I sprinkle sugar on the top. It still doesn’t taste like my friend Maureen Kelly’s soda bread. Her’s is the best I’ve ever eaten. But, at least now mine is edible without being slathered in Irish butter and jam. Oh, we still put butter and jam on it. Just not to soften it up. After all, we are Irish for goodness sakes.

Thankfully, Ron loved my corn beef and soda bread. He even loved my potatoes and carrots. He didn’t mind that I didn’t cook any cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day. Even though Ron was Swedish, I’m positive he knew about the exemption on page 223 in The Book of Kells. One St. Patrick’s Day Ron and I toasted the day with a wee bit of Irish cheer. I reminded Ron that “Slainte” is Gaelic for “Cheers”. So, we raised our glasses and said, Slainte. I paused briefly before I took my sip to see if Ron liked the Irish whiskey I had poured him. Ron drank his whiskey like he was drinking a glass of water. I stood there wide-eyed and speechless. I was stunned he was basically gulping down the whiskey. Then his face contorted. He coughed and clutched his chest. I could tell the whiskey was burning inside him. I finally found my words and asked him if he was okay. He looked at me and started to laugh. He explained he didn’t think I had poured him whiskey. Silly me. I never told him what was in the glass. I was too busy reminding him about Slainte. He thought I had given him a much sweeter liquor to drink. Sweeter was more my style. We laughed about this St. Patrick’s Day miscommunication all the time. Especially when we would toast each other and say Slainte. Usually, though, we were just drinking club soda and lime. We loved club soda and lime. It wasn’t a fancy drink. But, somewhere along the way it became our drink. Yep. It was our version of the Magical Leprechaun Drink.

I hope you all have your special Magical Leprechaun Drink on St. Patrick’s Day. I hope you have your fill of corn beef and edible Irish soda bread, too. Remember, if someone offers you that awful… awful… awful…boiled cabbage, refer them to page 223 in The Book of Kells. And when you see an Irish flag on Wednesday, I hope you think of my Dad in Heaven. I know I will. I know he and Ron will be watching over me on my favorite holiday. Of course, I will raise a glass of my Dad’s Magical Leprechaun Drink and a glass of Ron and my Magical Leprechaun Drink to them in Heaven. I know my Irish eyes will definitely be smiling as I toast them and say Slainte. Slainte to you,too, my dear friends. Happy St. Patrick’s Day!