Ah, it’s a wee bit o’ the Irish in America tomorrow…and everybody here is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day!
Actually, that is the reason me Da–Donald Joseph Michael O’Brien–did NOT participate in the wearin’ o’ the green. He said that REAL Irishmen don’t wear anything special on the day b/c all the other folks were. So, by his reasoning, if you see folks wearing purple, orange or any other color tomorrow, they’re probably Irish!
Well, orange is for Northern Ireland, which is a whole other story.
Still, most of us WILL be decked out in everything green we can find…although I think most of us don’t have many green clothes! No worries however, b/c we can find all things green in lots of stores and tomorrow, folks will hang green bead necklaces around their necks; don all manner of crazy hats; wear shirts with slogans that only those who are NOT actually from Ireland would wear…and drink green beer.
Last year, I was registered to march in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Dublin–and I was giddy at the thought. BUT, as readers of this blog will remember, I was “recalled” to America b/c of the effin dog…and missed what would have been the greatest St. Pat’s Day of my life, I’m sure.
At this time of year, I miss my Dad and I miss Ireland. Even though the weather is terrible–I mean really, really bad unless you like rain and misty days and gray skies–I miss the people and the places. I miss being on that “do or die” trip that took me from the comforts of home to the land of my ancestors across the ocean. I miss meeting people from other countries who assumed I was Irish, until they really listened to me. I miss being on an adventure, with no real plan other than to distract myself from the sadness.
And it worked, it really did. I came home–albeit too early–with renewed strength, and the energy to move forward. I sold the house, moved into my new, cool apartment, and got a new job. And I’m happy, happier than I thought I would ever be again. Life’s not perfect, but I’m working on it…
So, in celebration of the day I’ve taken as my own (Patrick is the patron saint of Patricias), I will wear my kelly green dress to work, bring the Irish Soda Bread I just baked in for a staff who, for the most part, does not eat bread (how did I end up in skinny-work land?), and try to talk in the brogue my son just shakes his head at (how does HE have the perfect brogue after one WEEK over there, and mine’s still shaky after nearly two months???).
I miss me Da, I miss Ireland, I miss everything being “grand,” but I’m happy to be home. Erin Go Bragh, sure, but God Bless America, too.