St. Pat's

This contains some language that can't go out in my normal newsletter...

heh.

I count myself one quarter Irish on my Dad’s Dad’s side. I’ve never seen conclusive evidence to support this, but that is his claim and he sure is happy when you call him on St. Patrick’s Day and that’s good enough for me.

Growing up, my parents often had party on the weekend of March 17. On at least two occasions this event took the form of a foosball tournament/ beer tasting affair much beloved by their friends. No Irish beer or food was served, but everyone wore green and the rosy cheeked revelry lasted to the wee hours. My German mother absolutely loves it and in recent years they always choose March as their month to host their card party. I am always invited, but we usually find an excuse not to go.

I didn’t eat a traditional Irish meal until I was married. My Puerto Rican mother in law also loves the holiday and pulls out all the stops. Irish beer, Irish whiskey, corned beef and cabbage and a reel in the background. Immigrants seem to love celebrations of culture, even it its not their own.

So, both by genetics and experience, I’ve always looked for some family fun on this hallmark holiday. We now make our own boiled meal and both my boys love it. Of course I have a mix of both traditional and modern music for the occasion and, whenever possible, we invite an uninitiated friend over to join the party.

The A list was universally unavailable. Do you have an A list? Those people you don’t really need to plan for or worry about and who will, inevitably make you feel satisfied and loved at the end of the night?

The B list requires a bit more effort, but still plenty good when you have a theme that includes strong drink. However, something seemed to go awry with even these friends. Remembering the immigrant’s love for this holiday, I invited a local Norwegian, who enthusiastically accepted. The next day, he sheepishly called back. He had overstepped his bounds with a spouse who has a weak GI. The spouse of another invitee, a blood relative, was overheard to say in the background of the phone call, “you couldn’t pay me enough.”

That’s why they’re on the B list, frankly.

The C list is a bit too difficult for an intimate, casual family event and the D list can kiss my shillelagh.

Something may still come together. I don’t care. I still have my meal and my music and my family. I’ll amuse my children with brogue and maybe even indulge in a jig. Later, I might stop by the home of a Scotch neighbor for a final pint or a neat glass of Jameson. With any luck, I’ll dream in poetry of the land of magic and green hills. The Irish believe in ghosts, did you know?