La'Fheile Pa'draig Sona Duit 2013

Posting for St Patrick's Day has become something of a tradition here at "Just Blowing Smoke", and it would seem almost sinful not to continue the custom of taking note of an Irish holy day, even when it occurs on a Sunday.  Now all good Irish Catholic lads (and most of us old codgers) live in the fear of the hellfire that they so richly deserve.  I therefore, will at least make a minor act of contrition and posting once more on a issue of religious relevance (and historical as well) as my normal Saturday offering.

As I did last year, I've included a sample of Kansas City's favorite Irish band "The Elders" from last year's annual "Hoolie", knowing full well that they will be holding this grand event again at the Uptown Theater once again this evening. (Hopefully, sharing their talent with my sometimes growing, but often rather twisted group of readers will meet with their blessing.  If not, I have no doubt they'll be 'wigs on the green' for sure.) 

So now though it seems it was just a moment ago, here we are; and it's time once again for this humble scribbler born of Irish origins to wish all of you that most glorious of annual salutations:

La'Fheile Pa'draig Sona Duit

Now for those unfamiliar with the ancient Hibernian tongue, I have in fact wished you, individually, a Happy St. Patrick's Day in Gaelic. (The phrase is pronounced "La ale-lah pwad-rig son a ditch".)       

St Patrick is of course, the patron saint of 'The Island of Saints and Scholars', more commonly known as Ireland (pronounced 'areland). The Island of Eire, as it's known in its native tongue is also known as the Emerald Isle, from the regular and abundant rains which produce a countryside dominated by the same lovely shade of green as its crystalline namesake. More fortuitously tomorrow on the day for those who celebrate it however, it's the land where Irish monks first created the nectar of the gods more commonly known as Whiskey (probably as a defense against the rigors of their chosen monastic lifestyle); and for the production of the finest offering of the brewer's art ... Guinness. 

(Actually, there's a long standing rumor that it was God Himself who created whiskey; and the monks, to their shame, decided to take credit for it.  For those of you wondering, it's also said that the original purpose of this blessed beverage was to keep the Irish from conquering the world.  Whether you believe the truth of such a tales of not, you have to admit that so far it's succeeded.) 

St Patrick himself is said not to have followed quite so strict a path as his later monastic brethren to their heavenly reward, instead choosing a rather more tortuous one; walking a fine line between angering the Celtic heathens he sought to convert and the incurring the ire of the Church he sought to serve.  And since this is ostensibly a day held in celebration of his labors, it would seem all but rude not to recount at least in brief some of his history.

Patrick is in fact quite curious as patron saints go, even Irish ones. Of course this might have something to do with the fact that he wasn't Irish at all, but English instead. He first came to Ireland in chains as a captured slave (which is the manner in which the Irish are said to be most fond of entertaining their sometimes overbearing British neighbors). He escaped his captivity after some six years however and returned to his home in Britain, eventually becoming a deacon, taking his ordination vows as a priest, and later still becoming a bishop. He then returned to Ireland as a Catholic missionary, working mostly in the north and the west of the island. Very little can be proved of the places where he preached and labored, though legends abound of the places he did his teaching and the miracles he performed while carrying out his chosen vocation. 

This missionary work ultimately proved a successful one, and the country remains largely a Catholic one to this day. And while the model of the Catholic Church that he worked toward did not come about while he was alive or even as a result of his labors, he was nevertheless named the Patron Saint of Ireland by the eighth century.

Now Irish tradition holds that St Patrick used the Shamrock's shape to teach the heathen peoples of the island the Catholic mystery of the Holy Trinity, which may explain its popularity as a symbol today. This tale may be more an example of the Irish flair for the 'telling of a good tale" than one of actual doctrinal education however, as accounts of the use of this three-leafed white clover only began to appear in popular myth centuries after his death.

The noted Irish knack for exaggeration and overstatement might likewise be held responsible for the famous accounts of St Patrick chasing the snakes from Ireland's shores, since there have never been snakes in Ireland. (In defense of such myths, it should noted that the Irish seldom let the truth get in the way of a good story.) 

Regardless of the legendary nature of his time on earth (excused as perhaps no more than a wee bit of Blarney), or the fact that he was never formally canonized by the Catholic Church, we nevertheless celebrate his feast day every year on March 17th, the date believed to be that of his death in 493.  

(Now such a lengthy retelling of St Patrick is enough to make a man's mouth like a dry crust; which is to say that it creates a powerful thirst in a man.  If for no other reason, this alone would no doubt constitute sufficient reason to stop off at the pub for a pint or two. It might even be said that this affinity undoubtedly accounts in large part for the relationship between the festivities being celebrated around the world and fond telling of tales about the man himself.  It could have nothing to do of course, with fondness the Irish have for a pint or a 'touch of the Irish'.) 

As I have pointed out on previous occasions here, March 17th is also the birthday of one of my grandchildren, Margaret Ruth Tipatina Demaria. So in her honor let me say as well, "lá breithe sona Maggie".  "Maggie Moo Kropotnik", will be turning seven on this day of ancestral family revelry if my often failing memory still serves me correctly. Rumor has it that they will once again be holding parades in New York City (near where she lives) and in Chicago (where my own roots are) in celebration of this more recent, but equally blessed event.

Strange as it may seem, you will probably not find me making a pub crawl locally on this traditional Irish 'feast day'. For while personal considerations indeed make it a day worthy of all manner of celebration, as I tend to avoid the crowds often attendant to the occasion for fear of losing my professional standing in the enjoyment of Ireland's ethanol-based treasures (though I admit to being rather tempted to make my way down to the 'hooley'  tonight). 

In the spirit of the myth and the man however, I am persuaded at the very least, to offer an Irish toast for all of you on this the eve of that day of days for the Demaria clan, for the O'hUig'in clan (the ancestral name of the Higgins), and for that paragon of Irish virtue (such as it is) ... St Patrick. It's a sentiment that should speak to all those who've read enough of their history to know how truly lucky they are to consider themselves Irish; and may even have a bit of a message to those who can only feel so blessed during this blessed time of the year:

May the road rise up to meet you

May the wind be always at your back

May the sun shine warm upon your face

And the rain fall soft upon your fields

And until we meet again

May God hold you in the palm of His hand

And may you live in peace and freedom

All of this may be a bit much for those of you who've long sing begun to pickle yourself through the consumption of green Anheuser-Busch or Miller products in what is undoubtedly a heartfelt, but terribly misguided form of Celtic revelry.  Surely then it will be far beyond the comprehension of those of you who have instead graduated to Car Bombs far too early in the day. (A Car Bomb is a shot of Irish whiskey dropped into a pint of Guinness, with the name coming from the effect that drinking such a concoction in one long swallow normally has on the consumer's brain.) 

So for you hooligans let me offer instead a far more simple effort that you're likely still to comprehend:

"May you be in heaven for two hours before the devil knows you're dead!"

Slainte'

La'Fheile Pa'draig Sona Daoibh 2012

Posting on St Patrick's Day has become something of a tradition here at "Just Blowing Smoke", and the fact that it falls this year on a Saturday (when I normally post anyway) makes it even easier to continue that custom.  I try to add and/or change a bit of this annual effort from year to year to keep from boring my audience (at least no more than I normally do); and in 2012 I've decided to add a couple of musical efforts from a group of local Kansas City Irish lads that has achieved a good bit of notoriety around the world, "The Elders". (Hopefully, sharing their abilities with my growing, but rather twisted group of readers will meet with their blessing.  If not, they'll no doubt be 'wigs on the green'.).  By doing so, I'm hoping that such music might put you in the proper mood while you read on.  (The one above is entitled fittingly enough:  "Men of Erin".)

And so here it is; time once again for this humble scribbler born of Irish origins to wish all of you that most glorious of annual salutations:

La'Fheile Pa'draig Sona Duit

Now for those unfamiliar with the ancient Hibernian tongue, I have in fact wished you, individually, a Happy St. Patrick's Day in Gaelic. (The phrase is pronounced "La ale-lah pwad-rig son a ditch".  The plural version rests in the title, and is pronounced, "La ale-lah pwad-rig son a jeev".)       

St Patrick is of course, the patron saint of 'The Island of Saints and Scholars', more commonly known as Ireland (pronounced 'areland). The Island of Eire, as it's known in its native tongue is also known as the Emerald Isle, since the regular and abundant rains produce a countryside dominated by the same lovely shade of green as its crystalline namesake. More fortuitously on this day for those who celebrate it however, it's the land where Irish monks first created the nectar of the gods more commonly known as Whiskey (probably as a defense against the rigors of their chosen monastic lifestyle); and for the production of the finest product of the brewer's art ... Guinness. 

(Actually, it's a little known fact that it was God Himself who created whiskey, but the monks decided to take credit for it.  For those of you wondering, it's said that its original purpose was to keep the Irish from conquering the world. ...  and you have to admit, so far it's succeeded.) 

St Patrick himself is said not to have followed quite the strict path that his later monastic brethren were to his heavenly reward, instead choosing a rather more tortuous one; walking a fine line between angering the Celtic heathens he sought to convert and the incurring the ire of the Church he sought to serve.  And since this is ostensibly a day held in celebration of his labors, it would seem downright rude not to recount at least in brief, some of his history.

Patrick is in fact quite curious as patron saints go, even Irish ones. Of course this might have something to do with the fact that he wasn't Irish, but English instead. He actually came to Ireland for the first time in chains as a captured slave (which is the manner in which the Irish are said to be most fond of entertaining their British neighbors). He escaped his captivity after some six years however and returned to his home in Britain, eventually becoming a deacon, taking his ordination vows as a priest, and later still becoming a bishop. He returned to Ireland as a Catholic missionary, working mostly in the north and the west of the island. Very little is actually known of the places where he preached and labored, though legends abound of the locations where he purportedly stopped and the miracles he performed while carrying out his chosen vocation. 

This missionary work ultimately proved a successful one, and the country remains largely a Catholic one to this day. And while the model of the Catholic Church that he worked toward did not come about while he was alive or even as a result of his labors, he was nevertheless named the Patron Saint of Ireland by the eighth century.

Now Irish tradition holds that St Patrick used the Shamrock to teach the heathen peoples of the island the Catholic mystery of the Holy Trinity, which may explain its popularity as a symbol today. This tale may be more an example of the Irish flair for the 'telling of a good tale" than one of actual doctrinal education however, as the accounts of the use of this three-leafed white clover only began to appear in popular myth centuries after his death.

The noted Irish knack for exaggeration and overstatement might likewise be held responsible for the famous accounts of St Patrick chasing the snakes from Ireland's shores, since there have never actually been snakes in Ireland. (In defense of such myths, it should noted that the Irish seldom let the truth get in the way of a good story.) 

Regardless of the legendary nature of his time on earth (excused as perhaps no more than a bit of Blarney), or the fact that he was never formally canonized by the Catholic Church, we nevertheless celebrate his feast day every year on March 17th, the date believed to be that of his death in 493.  

(Even that much about St Patrick creates a powerful thirst in a man, and would no doubt constitute sufficient reason to stop off at the pub for a pint or two. This affinity undoubtedly accounts in large part for the relationship between the festivities being celebrated and the man himself;  and have nothing to do of course, with fondness the Irish have for for a pint or a 'touch of the Irish'.) 

As I have pointed out on previous occasions here, March 17th is also the birthday of one of my grandchildren, Margaret Ruth Tipatina Demaria. ("lá breithe sona Maggie")  "Maggie Moo Kropotnik", will be turning six on this day of ancestral family revelry if my often failing memory still serves me correctly. Rumor has it that they will once again be holding parades in New York City (near where she lives) and in Chicago (where my own roots are) in celebration of this more recent, but equally blessed event.

Strange as it may seem, you will probably not find me making a pub crawl locally on this 'feast day'. For while personal considerations indeed make it a day worthy of all manner of celebration, I tend to avoid the crowds often attendant to the occasion (though I admit to being rather tempted to make my way down to a certain 'hooley' this evening where The Elders will be performing). In the spirit of the myth and the man however, I am persuaded at the very least, to offer an Irish toast for all of you on this day of days for the Demaria clan, for the O'hUig'in clan (the ancestral name of the Higgins), and for that paragon of Irish virtue (such as it is) ... St Patrick. It's a sentiment that should speak to all those considering themselves true Irishmen, and even those only so blessed on this one day of the year:

May the road rise up to meet you

May the wind be always at your back

May the sun shine warm upon your face

And the rain fall soft upon your fields

And until we meet again

May God hold you in the palm of His hand

And may you live in peace and freedom

All of this may be a bit too complicated for those of you already firmly in the grip of green Anheuser-Busch or Miller products in what is undoubtedly a heartfelt, but terribly misguided form of Celtic revelry.  Surely it's beyond the comprehension of those of you who have or will graduate to Car Bombs far too early in the day. (A Car Bomb is a shot of Irish whiskey dropped into a pint of Guinness, with the name coming from the effect that drinking such a concoction in one long swallow normally has on the consumer's brain.) 

So for you 'happy few, you band of Irish brothers', let me offer instead this far more simple effort:

"May you be in heaven for two hours before the devil knows you're dead!"

Slainte'

(For those of you looking for something a bit more up tempo to kick off the day's celebration, you need look no farther than the following tune, "Packy Go Home", again from 'The Elders'.)

March Terror Alert: IRISH

As I have oft times stated, the Department of Just Blowing Smoke Security (DJBSS) works tirelessly to root out potential terrorists threats in this nation. (OK, so I lied ...)  So maybe not tirelessly, but they do a pretty fair job when we can actually sober them up and get their heads out of jumbo-sized bags of Cheetos randomly scattered about the attic that we keep them locked in.  Their efforts  have in fact done quite an astonishing job over the years of notifying the public about impending threats from organizations that few, if any, has ever heard of before. (And in spite of the lack of credit that they are given and the  low esteem in which they are held, including by me, they have still proved more effective in threat protection for this country than the TSA.)

For some strange reason, they slipped out an alert last night from under the door to their headquarters / research center (the previously mentioned attic) for March, while February has yet a few days remaining. While advance warning is always a valuable asset, and not that this notification (unlike the last one) couldn't be considered a legitimate report of a potential threat; but once again it presents an uncomfortable situation where the organization in question is concerned.  

For the second time in as many months, the threat in question comes from a group to which I retain a membership.  While there was a brief discussion as to whether an actual warning needed to be issued, in the end the Editorial Staff agreed that they had no authority to subvert the jurisdiction granted to the DJBSS.  (Unlike some organizations that I could name, we at "Just Blowing Smoke" recognize and fully accept the concept of the 'Separation of Powers'.)

Therefore an official terror alert is being issued against the IRISH. Now for those perhaps familiar with the nationality, but unfamiliar with this group; I am speaking of course of the Intoxicated Reprobates Indulging in St Patrick's Honor. 

While normally harmless, this bunch of miscreants does tend to raise a bit of a ruckus during the month of March, especially in the days surrounding the 17th, which to them is a combination of the rites of the Winter Solstice, Chinese New Years, Mardi Gras, the Fourth of July, and Christmas.

While this organization is always about (though most likely only noticeable when gathered in larger groups in Pubs around the country), it tends to become more visible in the month of March, becomes downright hard to miss as the middle of the month approaches, and it becomes damned near impossible to keep from tripping over their alcohol-anesthetized forms on the 16th and 17th.  Have no fear of them however.  They will likely be pursuing their own arcane rituals, which though you may find them occasionally bizarre and completely without logic or reason, pose no immediate threat to you. Most will in fact be preoccupied with other IRISH members, and are likely to be paying you little if any heed. 

(I could of course, attempt to explain the logic and reason behind those rituals, so as to clear up this little problem for you; but doing so would likely cause me to suffer the immediate loss of a membership I treasure for no better reason than your peace of mind.  Not a chance ...)  

You should be aware that while you may run into a number of cells of this organization during this mid-month period, you may also run into groups of look-alike IRISH. While ostensibly carrying the general appearance of  members, they are in fact merely poor copies content to wear silly T-shirts and lighted shamrocks with the names of American beer companies on them in a misguided attempt to pay homage to the spirit of ceremonies that they clearly don't understand.  Since such groups constitute little more than twisted shadows of the original and often have a great number of misconceptions as to the rituals of the true organization, confronting them or participating in the rites of such faux assemblages should be done only at your own risk.
 
Now while they can be boisterous at times, real IRISH tend to be prone to bouts of lyrical pontification and melancholy singing rather than the fisticuffs of popular legend.  This is especially true later in the day after the 'Indulging' part of their organization's name has been participated in long enough to allow the 'Intoxicated' part to come into full bloom.  While they can be a bit touchy if the subject of the English is brought up in conversation, such danger can usually be averted by quickly offering to buy them a drink.

Do not however:

1. Attempt to convince them that the green versions of Anheuser Bush or Miller products are in fact 'IRISH Beer'. The Coors product Killian's also falls under this category in spite of its name, and is best not mentioned.
2. Attempt to buy them one of these beers, or a 'whiskey' made in Scotland, Canada, Kentucky, or Tennessee.  While they might gladly accept such an invitation any other time, partaking of such beverages during these holy days of obligation is a strict violation of rules, and more ... a mortal sin that would damn their souls for eternity.
3. Attempt to convince them that whiskey was first invented by the residents of  Scotland.
4. Tell them that you don't like to drink Guinness unless it's "really, really cold". 
5. Attempt to convince them that the bagpipe is in fact a Scottish instrument, since they know better and may seek to prove it by finding one and playing it.
6. Ask them if the IRISH are a belligerent race, as carried away in a spirit of holiday giving, they may feel compelled to oblige you, in spite of their better instincts. 

For those of you who feel inclined to report the appearance of one of these cells or any incidents by them that might occur, you're more than welcome to contact the DJBSS at 1-800-RAT-BUTT; but it's likely that you'll have to leave a message. The odds favor the fact that none of the DJBSS staff will be in the office, though some of them will probably be a part of the group that you're trying to report.  (Attempts to report such incidents in person to the DJBSS are likely to meet with the same reaction as bringing up the subject of the English, so if you do so, keep your wallet handy.)   

Therefore, in light of the limited threat that the IRISH pose, and in honor of their upcoming annual celebration, the terror threat for this period will be placed at GREEN.


 

Happy St Patrick's Day 2011

It's time once again for this humble scribbler born of Irish origins to wish all of you that most glorious of annual salutations:

La'Fheile Pa'draig Sona Duit

Now for those unfamiliar with the ancient Hibernian tongue, I have not accused you of singing a failed Irish duet or challenged you to a contest which involves dragging two of your male progeny around. I have in fact simply wished you a Happy St. Patrick's Day in Gaelic. (The phrase is pronounced "La ale-lah pwad-rig son a ditch") 


St Patrick is of course, the patron saint of 'The Island of Saints and Scholars', more commonly known as Ireland (pronounced 'areland). The Island of Eire in its native tongue is also known as the Emerald Isle, since its regular and abundant rains produce a countryside dominated by the same lovely shade as its crystalline namesake. More fortuitously on this day perhaps, it's a land well known for the invention by Irish monks of the nectar of the gods more commonly known as Whiskey (probably as a defense against the rigors of their chosen lifestyle); and for the production of the finest product of the brewer's art ... Guinness.

(It's a little known fact that it was God Himself who created whiskey, doing so to keep the Irish from conquering the world. ... So far, it's succeeded.)

Since this is ostensibly a day held in celebration of St Patrick, it would seem downright rude not to recount the history of the man, at least in brief. 


Patrick is quite curious as patron saints go, even Irish ones. Of course this might have something to do with the fact that he wasn't even Irish, but English. He actually came to Ireland for the first time as a captured slave (which is the manner in which the Irish are said to be most fond of entertaining their British neighbors). He escaped his captivity after some six years however and returned to his home in Britain, eventually becoming a deacon, and later still a bishop. He returned to Ireland as a Catholic missionary, working mostly in the north and the west of the island. Very little is actually known of the places where he labored, though legends abound of the places where he purportedly stopped and the miracles he performed while carrying out his chosen vocation. 


This missionary work ultimately proved a successful one, and the country remains largely a Catholic one to this day. And while the model of the Catholic Church that he worked for did not come about while he was alive or even as a result of his labors, he was nevertheless named the Patron Saint of Ireland by the eighth century. 


Now Irish tradition holds that St Patrick used the Shamrock to teach the heathen peoples of the island the Catholic mystery of the Holy Trinity, which may explain its popularity as a symbol today. This tale may be more an example of the Irish flair for the 'telling of a good tale" than of actual doctrinal education however, as the accounts of the use of this three-leafed white clover only began to appear in popular myth centuries after his death. 


The noted Irish knack for exaggeration and overstatement might likewise be held responsible for the accounts of St Patrick chasing the snakes from Ireland's shores, since there have never actually been snakes in Ireland. (In defense of such myths, it should noted that the Irish seldom let the truth get in the way of a good story.)


Regardless of the legendary nature of his time on earth (excused as perhaps no more than a bit of Blarney), or the fact that he was never formally canonized by the Catholic Church, we nevertheless celebrate his feast day every year on March 17th, the date believed to be that of his death. (Wow, even typing that much about St Patrick creates a powerful thirst in a man, and would no doubt constitute sufficient reason to stop off at the pub for a pint or two. This affinity undoubtedly accounts in large part for the relationship between the man and the behavior.) 


As I have pointed out on previous occasions here, March 17th is also the birthday of one of my grandchildren, Margaret Ruth Tipatina Demaria. "Maggie Moo Kropotnik", will be turning five on this particular day of family celebration if memory still serves me correctly. Rumor has it that they will once again be holding parades in New York City (near where she lives) and in Chicago (where my own roots are) in celebration of this blessed event. 


Strange as it may seem, you will not find me making a pub crawl in my local community on this 'feast day'. For while personal considerations indeed make it a day worthy of all manner of celebration, I find it almost dangerous to participate in the amateur rites now held in honor of the occasion (especially after a rather legendary experience of my own one year in Savannah, GA). In the spirit of the myth and the man however, I am persuaded at least to offer an Irish toast to all of you on this day of days for the Demaria clan, for the Higgins clan, and for that paragon of Irish virtue (no doubt likewise exaggerated) ... St Patrick. It's a sentiment that should speak to all those considering themselves true Irishmen, and even those only so blessed this one day a year:

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
And the rain fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of His hand
And may you live in peace and freedom

All of this may be a bit too complicated for those of you already drinking green Anheuser-Busch or Miller products in what is undoubtedly a heartfelt but terribly misguided form of Celtic revelry, as it will surely be for those of you who will graduate to Car Bombs during the lunch hour. (A Car Bomb is a shot of Irish whiskey dropped into a pint of Guinness, with the name coming from the affect that drinking such a concoction in one long swallow has on the consumer's brain matter.) 


So for you 'happy few, you band of brothers', let me offer instead this far more simple effort:

May you be in heaven for two hours before the devil knows you're dead!

Slainte'

(Note: I considered translating this entire blog posting into Gaelic, on a recent back-handed suggestion from a friend. I ultimately decided against it however, as I feel I already place too great a burden on readers attempting to understand what I write.)

Happy St Patrick's 2010

La'Fheile Pa'draig Sona Duit

For those unfamiliar with ancient Hibernian tongues, I have just wished you Happy St. Patrick's Day in Gaelic. Patrick is of course, the patron saint of Ireland (pronounced 'areland), also known as Eire in its native tongue. Ireland is known as the Emerald Isle, since its regular rains leave a countryside dominated by this lovely green color. Since this is a day in celebration of Patrick however, it would be rude not to recount at least briefly, his history. 


St. Patrick is actually quite curious as patron saints go, especially an Irish one. This is because he was not Irish, but was in fact British (not a favorite nationality on the Emerald Isle); and came to Ireland the first time as a captured slave of the Irish. He escaped that captivity after six years however and returned to his home in Britain, eventually becoming a deacon and later a bishop. He returned to Ireland as a missionary, working in the north and the west of the island. Little is actually known of the places that he worked, though there are many legends of the places that he stopped and the miracles performed. 


His mission was ultimately a successful one and the country remains largely a Catholic one. And while the diocesan model of the Catholic Church that he worked for did not come about as a result of his labors; he was nevertheless named the Patron Saint of Ireland by the eighth century. St. Patrick is also credited with chasing the snakes from Ireland, though this too is a myth, since the truth of the matter is that there never were snakes in Ireland. 


Regardless of the vague nature of his legend (a bit of Blarney perhaps) and the fact that he was never formally canonized by the Catholic Church, we celebrate him on March 17th, believed to be the day of his death. (All of this of course, being a suitable reason to go to the pub and have a pint or two by way of a belated Irish wake.)


As I have pointed out on previous occasions on this blog, March 17th is also the birthday of my youngest grandchild, Margaret Ruth Tipatina Demaria. "Maggie Moo Kropotnik" will in fact be turning four on this day of family celebration, and I understand that they will be once again holding parades in New York City (near where she lives) and in Chicago (where my own roots are) as a consequence. 


Now while I doubt that I will be lifting a glass of anything myself today, let me nevertheless offer an Irish toast to all of you on this day of days: 

May the road rise up to meet you 

May the wind be always at your back 

May the sun shine warm upon your face 

And the rain fall soft upon your fields 

And until we meet again 

May God hold you in the palm of His hand 

And may you live in peace and freedom 

As for those of you less lyrical (and more likely to drink green Anheuser-Busch or Miller products, perhaps I can offer this instead: 

May you be in heaven two hours before the devil knows you're dead

Slainte'

TPS Budget Meeting: The Wearing of the Green

The Toledo Public Schools have chosen to hold their next public budget hearing to discuss cuts to the system and the tax proposal that will be on the May ballot will be on March 17th at 5:30 PM, at the Start High School (2100 Tremainsville Road, Toledo, OH 43613). At first I thought the timing of this particular meeting to be rather unfortunate, as the expectations for attendance during happy hour on St Patrick's Day (and my granddaughter Maggie's birthday, which is a religious holiday for me ) would be rather low. Then it occurred to me that there might be a couple of hidden messages in such timing:

1. Perhaps the timing is to be used as a metaphor, and the symbolism of "the wearing of the green" is simply to draw attention to the money that has been spent on public education over the years in this city.
2. Perhaps the timing is a call to arms for Toledo taxpayers, and that like St Patrick did in Ireland, it is time to drive the snakes from the Toledo Public School System.

(On the other hand, perhaps the timing is simply to hint at the fact that the information provided will be nothing more than a bit of blarney, and that these politicians will show little more than "a gift for the gab".) 


At any rate, owing to the religious nature of the day, I will be unable to attend. My suggestion to get some additional bodies in the room considering the occasion however, would be to serve Guinness ( a beverage appropriate for all occasions) to those attending.

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit

For those of you unfamiliar with the Gaelic, the translation of the title of this post is of course "Happy St. Patrick's Day to You". And on this day when many of you will be 'wearin' the green', contributing to the Irish economy through the consumption of one of Ireland's greatest exports ... Guinness (if not partaking of a wee dram of Irish whiskey, which in fact Irish monks invented), and celebrating the day of this Irish saint .... my thanks.  

St. Patrick is actually quite curious as a Patron saints, or even Irish saints go. Curious because he was in fact British (not a favorite nationality on the Emerald Isle), and only came to Ireland in chains the first time as a captured slave (often held to be the favorite way for the Irish to treat their eastern neighbors). He escaped that captivity however after six years, and returned to his home in Britain, eventually becoming a deacon, priest, and later a bishop. He returned to Ireland as a missionary, working mostly in the north and the west of the island. 

While little is known of most of the places that he actually worked, and though the diocesan model of the Catholic church that he worked for did not come about as a result of his labors; he was nevertheless named the Patron Saint of Ireland by the eighth century. As for the myths surround him, though credited with using the shamrock to describe the Holy Trinity in converting the heathen Celts of the Emerald Isle, such stories did not surface until centuries after his death, and are likely fabrication. Likewise, while St. Patrick is credited with chasing the snakes from Ireland, the truth of the matter is that this would have been a rather simple task, since there never were snakes in Ireland. Regardless of the truth of the situation and the fact that he was never formally canonized by the Catholic Church, we celebrate him on March 17th, believed to be the day of his death in 493.  

While all of this is reason enough for honoring the day, I will be once again be likewise celebrating the birthday of my youngest granddaughter. Margaret Ruth Tipatina Demaria turns three today, and has received a crystal angelfish from the city of Waterford from her old grandad to commemorate the occasion. 

With luck, she will get to see the parade in New York City today, as well as have a bit of left over cake from the party that was had this last weekend. Whereas I will have to content myself with a quiet pint or two at a local pub, followed perhaps by a wee bit of the creature, a call to the birthday girl, and a cigar upon my return to the Higgins Manor of Toledo.  

I hope each of you gets a chance for some kind of celebration on this day when all are gloriously Irish. I hope each of you, as you raise a glass to the Irish in general and St Patrick in particular, will likewise raise a glass at some point in your evening to that young flower of Irish heritage, Maggie Moo Demaria on the day of her birth. I hope each of you will enjoy the blessing of St. Patrick for the coming year. In honor of that sentiment, I offer you my true Irish toast:  

"May you be in heaven for two hours before the devil knows you're dead. "

 Slainte'

Special Post: The Blessing of St Patrick

There are very few Holidays that I celebrate these days, but being Irish, St. Patrick's Day is one of them. This is not to say that you will find me in what passes for a pub in Toledo, drinking green beer and making a fool of myself. (In fact, there is probably no incentive that could be provided that could convince me to drink green beer, and I refuse to limit myself to one day a year to make a fool of myself.) I may enjoy a quiet drink at home however, toasting the patron saint of Ireland, and someone a little closer to home.

Now St. Patrick is curious as a Irish saint. This is first of all because he was in fact British, and only came to Ireland the first time as a captured slave of the Irish. He escaped however after six years, and returned to his home in Britain, eventually becoming a deacon and later a bishop. He returned to Ireland as a missionary, working in the north and the west of the island. While little is known of the places that he actually worked, and though the diocesan model of the Catholic church that he worked for did not come about as a result of his labors; he was never the less named the Patron Saint of Ireland by the eighth century. Likewise, while St. Patrick was credited with chasing the snakes from Ireland, the truth of the matter is that there were no snakes in Ireland. Regardless of the truth of the situation and the fact that he was never formally canonized by the Catholic Church, we celebrate him on March 17th, believed to be the day of his death.

Now as a lad of good Irish Catholic stock (and a bit of Scotch-Irish as well), it has been my privilege to celebrate this most Irish of Holidays with the very life-blood created by the Irish, a pint of Guinness and a whiskey (even the Scots have finally admitted that they learned to create this nectar from the Irish monks). Over the years I celebrated in my home of Chicago, well-known for turning the river of the same name green for the event (it's green on all of the other days too, but not nearly so attractive a color). I have likewise celebrated in Savannah, Georgia, an experience that I highly recommend to those to whom the opportunity presents itself.

I have never had more reason to celebrate however, than in the last couple years, as my daughter Laura presented me with a granddaughter on St. Patrick's Day two years ago. Margaret Ruth Tipatina Demaria was presented to the world on March 17, 2006; and was the best reason that a family ever got for St. Patrick's Day celebration. Coming from good Irish stock on both sides of her family (and a little Italian, as her last name clearly implies), Maggie's smile carries an Irish sunrise and her displeasure all of the terror of an Irish winter. Now, as she reaches her 2nd birthday, and is able to better communicate her wants and needs (something she has never been shy about), she has become the center of this holiday for the family. Her birth did insure however, that at least for the next few years, her parents will celebrate this day with cake instead of Guinness.

Don't get me wrong here. I have four grandchildren: Michael, Madeleine, Andrew, and Maggie; and all of them are special to me. On St. Patrick's Day however, Maggie is queen. So here's to you Maggie on your birthday (and to all of you on St Patrick's Day), a traditional Irish toast:

May the road rise to meet you
May the wind be always at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
And the rains fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.

Happy Birthday Maggie! I will see you soon...