Happy St. Patrick's Day

Top O' the morning and a Happy St. Patrick's day to all of you with Irish roots. Is it silly that I'm thirty and giddy about wearing green today? Hey, I'm white and therefore lack culture, so I need to embrace some part of my heritage. Let's face it; I'm about as diluted as they come. Something like 80% of my ancestors was here prior to the Civil War. My genes represent the Irish, English, German, French, Scottish, Swiss and so on. I'm a genealogy dork and after studying the family tree, I said, "Hey, I've got Irish on all sides, let's celebrate it." Besides, isn't being Irish the Commercial Cool to being Scottish is the Underground Cool. Have I mentioned that my last name is a Scottish variation on the original French spelling?

Unfortunately, I don't have a very Irish last name and neither did my ancestors. There are no O's or Mc's in my blood. Honestly, my children are closer to Irish blood on their mother's side than mine. But you know what, I can pull off the dark Irish-look, my father is turning into an old Irishman and there's my red-haired sister, Jewels. Oh, and back in '99 the Edinburgh airport attendant thought I was Irish and asked if I was going home while I boarded a plane for Dublin. When we landed, I pleaded with a Customs Agent to stamp my passport. My passport shows that I arrived in Ireland on September 33, 1999. Insane Irish.

Otto and I spent a few days in Dublin with some Dubliners, drinking at Dublin pubs with Dubliners and meeting a Dubliner with a lisp. Dubliner. Doesn't Dubliner just sound cool? It's better than Libertian, which makes me feel like I'm part of some futuristic goverment in a bad sci-fi movie. If it's big budget, I'd like to be Stallone's sidekick circa Demolition Man. If it's low budget, I suppose I'd report to Jurgen Prochnow. But I digress...

We then drove across the country to Galway, hopped a ferry to the Aran Islands for the best night of our vacation. We ate an early dinner, found a pub house settled on a hill and arrived early enough to snag a table in front of the local musicians. I remember when the pub closed, all the patrons streamed onto the lawn singing as we staggered down the hill. Otto and I retrieved our rented bicycles and rode/walked back to the hostile. Despite the alcohol, I vividly remember trying to ride that bike while it was raining. I kept looking out to the Atlantic Ocean and all the stars in the sky.


Yours truly standing a little too close to the edge of the Cliffs of Moher.

The following morning, we went to the Cliffs of Moher. We found a room down the road and two weeks of drinking every night finally caught up with me. From there we went to Blarney Castle. The old man you can find in old National Geographic’s held me as I bent over and kissed it. We left after lunch and drove to Kilkenny for the night before our flight back to Edinburgh.


Blarney Castle

That's my rambling Irish tale for this St. Patrick's Day. If you're going out, be safe and responsible. I'm going to sit here and figure out how long it will be before I can afford to take my family to Ireland.