My Irish Eyes Are Smiling

It's St. Patrick's Day and my Irish Eyes Are Smiling  

Growing up Irish Catholic in New York, I believed in three things:  There is a God.  There is life after death.  And it never rains on the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.  

The latter belief was washed away one soggy March 17^th when torrents of rain beat down on bagpipes and tasseled boots sloshing down Fifth Avenue.  But the rain did not dampen the celebration.  There was no shortage of music, dancing and laughter – though they may have required a bit more “nourishment” with Irish whiskey and green beer.   

 

The spirit of Joy – with or without the libation – is one of the characteristics of the Irish people – one that I am proud to have inherited.  Laughter and music filled our home and accompanied us in the car.  “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” was a family anthem.  My father crooned the “Irish Lullaby” and sang “MacNamara’s Band” with gusto.  

 

When Uncle Ed sat down at the piano we would all gather around singing familiar songs, and laughing about family stories.  One day cousin Billy was visiting and sang “Shake hands with your uncle Mike …” I was mesmerized by the long list of Irish names chanted in the verse.  I have since learned every name and have great fun singing it with my grandchildren.  

 

Lest anyone think that the Irish spirit of joy reflects a happy-go-lucky attitude, I invite you to look deeper into the hearts and history of the Irish people.  Hardships suffered, both in Ireland and in America, are well documented – and my ancestors were no exception. 

 

However the heritage passed on to me included no self-pity.  A “woe-is-me” attitude was never tolerated in my family, no matter what the circumstances.  When it rained on our parade we were taught to accept reality, trust in God, and still take every opportunity to celebrate the blessings of life with a song and a smile on our lips. 

 

That rainy St. Patrick’s day many year ago may have washed away a myth, but it did not wash away my other important beliefs.  Faith in God and belief in life after death are the foundations of my life – and they foundations of our Irish heritage

 

This spirit of joy for the Irish is born of the deep, abiding faith in God and in life after death.  It springs from the unshakable conviction that the trials on this earth are only temporary and that our reward, including reunion with those we love, is assured by God through eternity.  It is this deep faith that carried the Irish people through generations of hardships and allowed them to celebrate life. 

 

Of course the Irish are not the only ones to appreciate and celebrate the joys of life.  But hey -- it’s St. Patrick’s Day -- and I’m celebrating my Irish heritage!  

And I invite each of you to lift a glass – whether it be Irish whiskey, French wine, German beer, Mexican Tequila, or simple, pure spring water – and join me in a toast to the blessing of life and the joy of Your own heritage. 

 

Mid-West Wind - a poem

 I grew up on the East coast but moved to Indiana after Jim and I were married.  One day, early in March, I was walking beside a small reservoir, feeling the wind in my face, thinking about the differences between both places - and I Now, back on the East coast, I remember that moment and thought you might enjoy my  thoughts.

                        THE MID-WEST WINDS

Oh mid-western winds, from where have you come?

You are not born of the ocean where I am from.

 

It is not from the sea that your currents blow,

Not as the winds I used to know.

 

You have not brushed the waves or ocean sand.

You are a mid-west wind, born of the land.

 

You blew over farms and brushed the fields

Spreading corn and wheat, the farmer’s yield.

 

You’ve swept through villages and city blocks

Pushing dust and paper o’re sidewalks and parking lots.

 

And now you chase the winter’s cold blast 

Bringing warmth and Spring to the land, at last.

 

And from my heart a grateful song escapes,

For the mid-west winds that God did create.

ADVENTURES IN CHARLEY

 

CHARLEY ROCKS

 

I had a big birthday this year – in the middle of the Covid-19 Pandemic - so no parties, no big celebrations, no family reunion.  

Our seven children, spouses and thirteen grandchildren are spread across the country from New York to California to Florida and states in between.  We can’t fly or drive and risk using public restrooms and staying in hotels.  And different time zones made it difficult to even have a Zoom get-together to celebrate.  

A few weeks after my birthday, our son Darin, who lives here in Maryland, called and said he was taking us somewhere on Saturday.  “I need you and Jim to be ready at 6:00 in the morning” he said. “I will pick you up – but you can’t ask any questions.”   We were a little hesitant.  We're not usually morning people, but he kept promising it would be worth it, so we were ready when he pulled in our driveway.  

We drove through Maryland and Delaware, then up the Jersey turnpike, still trying to guess where we might be going.   We turned off on an exit and he pulled into a gas station.  He got out, made some phone calls, then got back in the car and handed us blindfolds and instructed us to put them on.  

 

We drove for another few minutes before he stopped again.  He lead us out of the car, one-by-one telling us to just stand together.  By now I was beginning to hear the familiar voices of our other children on his speaker phone.  When he told us to take off our masks everybody on the phone yelled “Happy Birthday” and we were standing in front of an RV with our name on it! 

 

To say it was a surprise was an understatement!  They had all decided that with the camper we would be able to travel safely and have the opportunity to visit them.  So far we have visited our families in Georgia and Florida, and have enjoyed many short trips just for fun and often take it to nearby restaurants for "curbside" breakfasts and dinners.  

As I write this we are sitting in the camper in a small park in Paradise Pennsylvania.  We come here occasionally, just for the night, so we can enjoy a “to-go”dinner from our favorite Amish restaurant “Bird-In-Hand”.

We named our camper Charley – after the poodle in John Stienbeck’s book “Travels With Charley”  (If you’ve never read the book, it’s a fun read about his trip across America in a camper, back in 1960’s). 

 

Stay tuned for more stories about our Adventures in Charley