My Mother was the world’s greatest proponent of St. Patrick’s Day. No, actually, she was the world’s greatest proponent of being one hundred percent Irish.
Green was her favorite color three hundred sixty five days of the year, and once when I was growing up she asked a landlord to paint our apartment deep green. I don’t mean an accent here or there; I mean all walls deep green.
She loved corned beef and Irish rebellion songs and the Old Irish Blessing, which she recited at the drop of a hat. It’s the one that starts with “May the road rise up to meet you . . .” And she would always raise her hands on the word ‘up.’
I’m only half Irish, but my Mother did a great job of teaching that half to act one hundred percent. So of course I wore green today. I’m sporting green socks, green slacks, a green jacket, green earrings, and my Mother’s emerald ring.
She’s been gone almost eighteen years, but I’m sure if she were here she’d approve. And then recite the Old Irish Blessing one more time.
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