La Fheile Padraig

My mother was born just outside of Killarney in County Kerry just as the Irish Free State War was winding down and after a voyage to Ellis Island and a train ride to Chicago, I came along to be smothered in Irishness. As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, a storm of memory is gathering and the weight and absurdities of this special day stand out.

My mother, who was taught Gaelic, the Kerry Reel and all about Wolfe Tone and the martyrs of ’16, never had much patience with Saint Patrick’s Day. “We didn’t do that shit in Ireland” was her response to the mayor dyeing the river green and all the fraternal organizations marching. She hated Irish dancing because they taught it to her so young. But she loved Ireland and Irishness, the island of “saints and sages.”

So here I am today going shopping for a good corned beef, some cabbage and a bag of Murphies (potatoes) for an Irish boil. I will invite my friends and we’ll tell tall tales and have a drop or two.

My wife is carefully planting little beds of Irishness around the place …a garland of shamrocks on a side table, a little pot of gold on the kitchen counter and green napkins and placemats for the dinner table. I love these touches. Later today I will take down the US flag and fly the tricolor of the Republic. St. Patrick’s Day is the most celebrated national festival worldwide and green beer will be poured form Australia to Kamchaka. Even Ireland has ratcheted up the celebrations to encourage tourism.

The day is so important that Lenten restrictions are waived for the day . You can have a few shots of Powers Gold Label and all the soda bread you want without fear of sinning.

The day is unique…one of my oldest friends calls me on THE DAY and has not missed the ritual in the last 50 years. Clearly this significant, as important as playing the Chieftans or The Bothy Band at dinner. I know the whole thing was created in North America for sound economic reasons ($$$$) but I do not care. The DAY is still something that I enjoy immensely. We will tell stories of the shamrock and the trinity and everyone will be Irish for 24 hours. My mother would say, ” I don’t need to act Irish, I AM Irish.” But what the heck lets all act Irish and have a good time.

One of my favorite Irish authors, Flann O’Brien. reminds us that, ” moderation…is an extremely hard thing to get in this country.” Party hearty. My mother won’t mind too much.