Irish corned-beef dinners and Irish Soda Bread were staples every year. Working the annual Irish Night charity events at the VBC, with live irish music sung by real irish sounding (and drinkin) groups, brought a different appreciation. Seeing Atwater Donnelly at the VBC over the years and the Chieftains at Jorgenson left an impression on me; as did reading Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes. However, it was going to Ireland on my honeymoon with Matt that changed Ireland in my eyes and my heart. As the plane circled the edges of the land and sea, the quilted pattern of the green fields, stone walls, and roads became clearer as we descended from fluffy white clouds into the morning mist rising up from the dew. It was this dream-like quality that gave way to bright sunny days that lasted and lasted; the sun not setting until after nine in the evening. I didn't feel like a tourist in Ireland, I felt like I was going back home; however cliche that statement has become it is true.
St. Patrick's Day has little to do with the religious sounding name, in our house at least. It has more to do with listening to the music, reading the folklore and legends, talking about what food we want to make, what food we're going to eat, buying little shamrock plants, and getting our Irish on with the rest of the clan. Having children has allowed me to indulge my love of history and my interest in our Irish family heritage -- and presuming that I'm somehow passing all of this Irish-love on to my little lad and lass.
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