The wearin’ o’ the green
Dick has called me Irish forever. Most everyone who is around us for any length of time picks up that moniker and so I have become Irish to many friends and most of the family. The reason? My father’s father and mother came to America, via Ellis Island in the late 1800’s. My mother claimed to be Scotch-Irish & Pennsylvania Dutch. Without DNA testing to prove or dis-prove my claim to being a grand-daughter of Ireland, I proudly confess to being Irish. Not just on the 17th of March, but all year, every day, in and out.
This little leprechaun, who sits on my desk, reminds me of the laughter and joy connected with my birth-right. I’ve written about it at length on St. Paddy’s Day over the years. And we usually celebrate with Chocolate rather than the traditional Corned Beef and Cabbage American’s tend to associate with the day.
People often talk of the “luck of the Irish.” I’m not big on luck though. A couple of years ago a dear friend sent me a Tee-shirt that really says it all. He was prone to saying, “that’s lucky” about the good things and I guess my response was usually, “No. That’s Blessed.” So.o.o when “the day” rolled around, he sent this shirt. Thanks Scott, for another reminder of all that it means to be Irish.
Happy “Irish Week” everyone.
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