"Top o' the morn' to ya!"
For years I thought that was a good Irish greeting. Then Calvin and I went to Ireland to visit my sister who was there for her job. We never saw a leprechaun (until Calvin stuck his head in a cardboard cutout of clicking heels, and a feathered hat) and we were never hailed with "Top o' the morn' to ya!" Since then, I've learned it's most likely a product of American greeting cards. Interesting.
The leprechaun no-face cutout was happy and lifesized but oddly just standing there along side the road on the Ring of Kerry. Not much traffic on Ireland's country roads. Rocks, fences, the occasional sheep, and short tough green grass made the scenic background. Behind the jig dancing cutout were exposed places of black peat. Calvin's teenage face grinned mischievously through to the camera.
Anyway, this week, for me, will be all about St. Patrick's Day, and the Irish.
Like today, it's the day John's father was born. He was a moral man who expected the same from his sons. He wasn't afraid of hard work. Actually, he got very little sleep; instead worked at the local factory by day, ran a dirt machine and big equipment in the evening, and spent hours in the barn at night.
He had a good sense of humor 'cause when I dared drop an ice cube down the back of his shirt that freezing touch to the base of his skull made him jump right out of his recliner. I'd never seen the big muscular man move so fast before, so I laughingly shrieked, hot-footed it out of the living room, through the kitchen to the garage, and hearing him still coming behind me, I ran around the pool table. Never did I get near enough for him to exact his own revenge. It was a cat an mouse game for days and days.
As for the rest of the week there'll be St. Patrick's Day, the day Mitch passed away, and quite soon the first day of Spring! It's a grand week, a momentous week.
"Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand,
Slán."
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