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| A winged leprechaun! Is nothing sacred? |
I'm creating a pea soup with corned beef and potatoes today.
I'm listening to Irish Fire and getting their tune 'Hooley with the Herd' happily stuck in my head in a kooky loop of dancing bovine goodness.
I'm watching old faves like 'The Secret of Roan Inish' and 'The Quiet Man' for a heapin' helpin' of sea and cliffs and cottages. I'm burning peat incense....
I'm polishing up the dimply pint glasses and shredding cabbage and locating my wooly newsboy cap with its cloisonne shamrock pin.
I'm wreaking all sorts of tootle-y havoc on the tin whistle and letting the Guinness warm to room temp, and I'm recalling now how I used to phone in sick every year on St. Pat's Day way back when, just so I could watch 'Ryan's Hope' on daytime television and share in their rowdy festivities.
Yes, I know it's the O'Disney version of all things Irish. But today that's how I want it, thank you. 100% Lucky Charms.
Years ago I tried to change things up a bit: I froze my butt off watching the parade in St. Paul and fought noisy crowds at a pub in an attempt to barely hear musician friends play a traditional tune or two.
Yeah, not anymore.
I like my pie-in-the-sky Irish imaginings to be unmessed with. I'd rather stay here where I can break out the fiddle and sound crappy in peace, and queue up some tunes that I can hear all the words to, and watch perfect films all Kelly-green-&-gold with a side of Chieftains and a Maureen O'Hara chaser.
I'm listening to Irish Fire and getting their tune 'Hooley with the Herd' happily stuck in my head in a kooky loop of dancing bovine goodness.
I'm watching old faves like 'The Secret of Roan Inish' and 'The Quiet Man' for a heapin' helpin' of sea and cliffs and cottages. I'm burning peat incense....
I'm polishing up the dimply pint glasses and shredding cabbage and locating my wooly newsboy cap with its cloisonne shamrock pin.
I'm wreaking all sorts of tootle-y havoc on the tin whistle and letting the Guinness warm to room temp, and I'm recalling now how I used to phone in sick every year on St. Pat's Day way back when, just so I could watch 'Ryan's Hope' on daytime television and share in their rowdy festivities.
Yes, I know it's the O'Disney version of all things Irish. But today that's how I want it, thank you. 100% Lucky Charms.
Years ago I tried to change things up a bit: I froze my butt off watching the parade in St. Paul and fought noisy crowds at a pub in an attempt to barely hear musician friends play a traditional tune or two.
Yeah, not anymore.
I like my pie-in-the-sky Irish imaginings to be unmessed with. I'd rather stay here where I can break out the fiddle and sound crappy in peace, and queue up some tunes that I can hear all the words to, and watch perfect films all Kelly-green-&-gold with a side of Chieftains and a Maureen O'Hara chaser.
And potatoes. Don't forget the potatoes.
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