O' The Green

It's not as obvious as it once was (back when my maiden name was Murphy) but I am about 1/4 to 1/2 Irish (depending on who you ask) on my Dad's side. So St. Patrick's Day was always a special holiday in my family. My mom made the Irish-American dish Corned Beef & Cabbage (with new potatoes & carrots and crusty dark pumpernickel bread). My dad converted to Lutheranism when mom & dad got married, so we didn't spend a long day at church as some folks do. In school, I always loved this day because it was one day a year when I could brag about my heritage and feel different in a good way.

I mostly grew up where there weren't a lot of Irish folks-- Louisiana being one of those places that made the biggest impact on me. There are not a lot of redheads with freckles in Louisiana. (or at least there weren't in the early seventies). Being so fair and radically different from the olive complexion and dark haired Cajuns helped make me a target, but on St. Patrick's day, I could brag about being cooler than everyone else. Cajuns love a good excuse for a party, and there I was, able to claim for myself the main reason for this day's festivities and the shamrock-laden bulletin board in our classroom. (Kids will find a reason to pick on other kids--no matter what. I know that now. But listening to my mom say they were jealous didn't ring true to me. I won't tell my kids that. I will just say the kids that pick on them are little jerks who will one day pump their gas, because they are.)

One year, I wrote a paper on how I was descended from royalty. In a way, you could say yes, because of the Murphy surname and Irish chieftanism. But in another way, probably not, in that any immigrant from Ireland risked getting re-tagged Murphy, even if that wasn't his/her name in the first place. The U.S. Irish equivalent, basically, of Smith or Jones.) But that didn't matter to a poor kid in a school where I was very low on the pecking order. When my English teacher read that essay aloud, other kids looked at me with interest, for a second at least. Till they remembered they could pick on me again, later. It was a moment of good, at least. I wish I knew more about my father's family-- since Grandpa Murphy ran off when my dad was a teen, and my dad hasn't really been a big part of my life, either, what I know is basically my mom's secondhand details. And those are pretty fuzzy. It makes me feel like calling up Dad and asking him to tell me stuff. But he's not a very big talker.... I think too many regrets shuts you up when you get older.

No one ever believes me when I say that because I'm Irish, I don't have to wear green on St. Patrick's Day to avoid being pinched. I've tried it all my life and I still get pinched. I don't know if it's true; I'm pretty sure my mom told me this (maybe to shut me up if I didn't have anything green to wear... who knows?) So now I'm wearing a green (not the right color green, which I will remedy later today when I pop down to buy cat food and a better green shirt. I can't believe I've gotten rid of all my good green clothes!!!!) I've got Corned Beef waiting in the fridge to make a yummy dinner later tonight (I don't eat cabbage a lot but I watched Alton Brown prepare it last night on Good Eats and think I learned how to make it better. By the way-- did you know broccoli is basically a cultivated cabbage? Who knew?) Maybe some friends over to share the good stuff, but if not, more for us! There will also be this incredible bread pudding* and Black & Tans for the drinkers amongst us, and it will be fun. No green beer, though. That's NOT St. Patrick's day-- it's just another reason to make drunk people puke and get nasty green dye all over themselves (shudder).

Last night, I dreamt of cooking corned beef, searing it well, then braising it for hours. The house filling with unaccustomed smells. The crusty brown bread dipped into the juices. This morning, cool and sunny, I woke with that special feeling of knowing I have a rich cultural history filled with poets (and drunks-- is that redundant?), warriors, and regular folks alike. An ancestral gorgeous green island that I'd really love to visit someday. Some fabulous pagan goddesses to think about. And freckles and red hair to be hugely proud of. Sure, I don't tan, but wait till we're all in our sixties and see who looks better-- the tanners, or the frecklers who wore sunscreen. :)

Anyway. A long rambly post to say that wherever you are, whether there are snakes to be driven out of your life (metaphorically speaking) or just a good excuse to eat something you normally don't, or wear a color that doesn't get a lot of good press (Mr. Green Jeans aside) have a Happy St. Patrick's Day.

*If you want the recipe let me know-- I can't link to it cause it's a subscription only link. But I'll send you a copy. It's REALLY good. I don't normally like bread pudding but this stuff is heavenly.