St. Pat's

My mother's father was full-blown Irish, all the way down to the faint brogue that tinted the edges of some of his words.  He had to leave school in the fifth grade to work in the coal mines in Scranton, Pennsylvania. He got out of the mines and worked at Westinghouse, moving his family from the hills down to Philadelphia.
So, with true Irish blood pulsing through my veins, I proclaim Erin Go Brah! Happy St. Patrick's Day!

In honor of the day, here's a poster from Boo Boo's Bargain Basement Band...green themed of course.


It is funny how folks get upset at Christmas songs and creches but they don't seem to mind bending their elbows at a bar for some green beer on Patrick's special day. We're living in a crazy world.  But I don't want to think about the madness right now. Not right now.

Today's officially a day off, a pause in the daily occupation of watching the world go nuts.

I'm not a beer drinker, and won't be going to any of the bars....I may have a small shot of bourbon after dinner. That's plenty for me these days. Hangovers are a lot harder on the body as we age....I don't need the hassle. I hate the "Unremembories," those times when you remember you don't remember...UGH!

In the old days, I'd have imbibed enough to knock out a sailor, but don't see a need for that sort of thing right now.  Perhaps some day in the future I'll tie one on again, but not now. I'm not knocking it....hey! Once in a while I have a few, but I'm not obsessed. I've put some distance between the bottle and it's power over me and have come to a very simple realization:
There's more to life, and more to being Irish, than getting tanked.

For today, Fifty five Is The New St. Pat's