Boilin' the Cabbage Down..

Years ago we joined the raucous crowd on St. Paddy's Days day downtown at the Old Shillelagh. We were out for a Wings game and just decided to participate in the festivities. Not being Irish (is that even important?) but always up for any kind of celebrating, led us upstairs where the party was in full swing. About 15 hours into the day, and still goin' strong. Among the sea of green (one of my least favorite colors) in Red Wings red, we stood out like sore thumbs. Some friendly partiers made room at their table and we were met by a darling lassie to take our order. Whiskey? Too many teenage hangovers for that, and ordering my usual wine seemed totally out of the question--so green beer it is! Niggling in the back of my brain was my Grandma Eve's (who loved being Irish for a day) warning of the morning after effects of green dye. Never stopped her, why should it stop me? A live band was belting out traditional Irish tunes and in addition to Danny Boy and others, I learned of a popular ditty called, "Boilin' the Cabbage Down." Had 'em all whipped up into a frenzy. Never cared for Irish music and this did nothing to sway me. Thank the Lord I had already eaten and wasn't in any way tempted to partake in the food that was being lauded as 5 star. Corned Beef? What the hell is that anyways? Cabbage, maybe, but only fresh. Mulligan stew? Isn't that made with lamb? As in LAMB? I don't think so. How about cake? Cake would be good. Okay, so far not so good. Well, we could dance, however I have not had nearly enough green beer to do that crazy jig thing. Not sure I want to either, although participants seem to have fallen into some kind of trance. How to get on board with this thing.... I am generally afraid of trolls, leprechauns and such (but I do sport, for today, a tank top with the Lucky Charms dude on it). As a child, we would spend hours searching for 4 leaf clovers to bring us good luck. Kinda fun. Some of my best friends are Irish, and I have always envied their porcelain skin and jet hair. Frank McCourt is one of my favorite authors. Oh, and one of my favorite uncles is named Danny! March 17 is a good day to celebrate the end of winter--as long as I don't have to drink, eat, sing or dance!!! Guess I will never make it even as a Faux Irish lassie. I'll just settle on being a good Norwegian girl and since we don't have our own day, I'll just have a glass of wine everyday, just to be sure!!! xoxox Here's my favorite Irish toast:

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;


That's all we know for truth

Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth
I look at you, and I sigh.



William Butler Yeats