Skip to main content

Top 'o the morning!



   We’re coming up on St. Patrick’s Day, which is pretty much my favorite day in the world. It’s even better when you take a solid week to celebrate. Once I followed the truck full of green beer all the way up 81 to Coleman’s Irish Pub in Syracuse. It wasn’t on purpose. Honest. It was inspiring. We used to talk the priest at my old job into going out for a green beer with us because no decent Irish bartender would charge a man with a collar. We’d ask him to order for us, and he usually obliged for at least a round or two.
   And on top of the green beer, there’s the corned beef and mashed potatoes with onion, celery and carrots. I always doubted whether Dubliners actually eat corned beef on St. Patty’s Day. Probably not. This year I didn’t buy the corned beef, another casualty of moving away from my two oldest. They loved my corned beef and cabbage, and I made it for them every year. Now it’s my husband and I, and God only knows what might happen if we ingest that much fat and starch in one day. My youngest son doesn’t eat meat and already asked if we could celebrate the day by buying St. Patrick a birthday cake at Stop & Shop. He’s Baby Jesus so I didn’t say no.
   What a great holiday though. Delicious food, great Irish music, parades, crazy green clothes, and this year a chance for SU’s basketball team to take the last Big East game. It doesn’t get much better than that. I may go out and buy those fake fingernails and paint them green. That sounds just about perfect.


Tis better to buy a small bouquet

And give to your friend this very day,

Than a bushel of roses white and red

To lay on his coffin after he's dead.


  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

He sells sea shells, I wish

   So now rather than being obsessed with fake fingernails I can’t afford, I’m becoming obsessed with checking this blog. I’m pretty sure all 52 views were made by either me or my husband.   That leads me right into the current situation at hand. We need friends. We’re desperate for them. I’ve started handing out my telephone number to people I meet while doing my meager freelance work. They think it’s for the story I’m writing but really it’s in hope that someday they’ll find a reason to call and then I can hit them with, “By the way, do you play cards? Bingo? Gin Rummy?” If I wasn’t so arthritic I’d throw Twister in there.    It’s not so much for me, it’s my husband who likes to have people around. I have become hermit-like since moving here while he has become convinced we could die here and not be found for months. He had friends back in Syracuse but he chose to stay home at night with his loving wife. Now all of a sudden I get the impression he’d h...
6 comments
Read more

I Like to Call Them Ow-Bows

   It’s a toss-up. Do I write about the fact that if you search “jobless goddess” in Google the dairy goddess and the library goddess come way ahead of me, or do I write about the fact that my husband is incapacitated due to a broken elbow? I guess I’ll go with the broken elbow. Besides, who the hell breaks their elbow anyway? My husband of course.    It started out innocently enough. I, in my desire to lose weight and become the wrinkly, thinner woman I was meant to be, decided we should start up the morning walks again. I prodded him while he was still under the covers. “Come on, let’s do it. You know we have to do this,” I said while tugging on my really sexy yoga pants (which, by the way, never get used for yoga).    To his credit, he got up, pulled on his pajama pants and went with me. We got about a 16 th of a mile past the driveway before he landed in the gravel. I’m talking a bed of gravel. Gravel embedded in the palm of your hand. Gravel ...
2 comments
Read more

Parish the Thought

     I love small towns. When I lived in Parish, New York, there was no end to the reverie, not to mention the constant parades.      We had a Halloween parade through town featuring people of all ages marching in costume along a rather abbreviated parade route. It all culminated at the fire barn where a couple of old draft horses would pull along a hay wagon. Most all town festivities featured the fire barn.       Monday night bingo held there. The caller was a volunteer firefighter prone to bringing on fits of laughter when he drew N 44…which he pronounced as "N farty-far," whereby producing great gales of cackling from the middle-aged women who showed up every week, I think maybe just to flirt with the caller and the other male volunteers who collected their money. Don't get me wrong, I'm not making fun. I spent more than a few Monday nights there myself.      The gas stations served as restaurants in Parish. You...
2 comments
Read more