Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, and a very happy Saint Patrick’s Day!
Larry and I were fortunate enough to visit Ireland two years ago to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. We fell in love with the rolling hills and amazing greenness of the land, the whole of which felt simply magical. It’s no wonder the place would give birth to tales of Leprechauns.
My mother’s ancestor — a thousand years ago — had been a king in County Offaly, near the heart of Ireland. Larry and I made sure our wanderings took us there. I’m not sure if it was just the writer’s imagination in me, but I really felt connected to that place in a way I never had before. Gazing on the O’Carroll Street sign (did I mention my mother was a Carroll) gave me chill bumps. Of course, it could’ve been the cold rain that had begun to fall that May day, but I don’t think so.
I decided while we were in Ireland to buy something special to wear to remember the trip. How awesome would it be, I thought, to wear my Ireland garb each Saint Patty’s Day!
Well, I forgot one important thing.
Here, on the lower side of the jet stream, it gets hot early. My lovely green plaid scarf and soft wool sweater just aren’t fitting garb for a March day in Georgia — at least not this year, when we’ve already set a record high this week. Thing is, though, my heart carries the green of Ireland where-e’er I go.