ST. PATRICK'S DAY

 This post started out being about the table.  Our first kitchen table was orphaned at our apartment in Dallas and the apartment manager knew we needed one so just moved it over.  I'm pretty sure this one is our favorite.  White with a bright yellow flower (when the leaf wasn't in) and matching yellow chairs.  I have no real recollection of it's history other than we purchased it new for our house in Austin.  But in looking for a picture of the table, I came across this one about St. Patrick's Day.

Like many Americans, I become Irish on March 17th.  My maternal grandparents were quite Irish so I have some legitimate claim.  But somehow it got out of hand, I suspect it had something to do with competing with my friend Brian Boru O'Mara.  More on that later.

On March 17th we would have green pancakes and leprechaun juice (OJ with food coloring).  This is Jean, Chris, and Kurt but in other years we'd have the neighbor's kids over also.  Either the Trunkenbolts or the Murrays.  We also have pictures of them at this table dyeing Easter Eggs.

The pancakes were a big hit.  The year we tried green eggs and ham turned out to be pretty ugly.  Again, my memory is spotty, so I'm not sure if we actually consumed the eggs or just let them sit.  In any case, that was never tried again.

One year Marilane made me an emerald green corduroy jacket.  By then I had a green tie, green socks, and various Irish paraphernalia that I wore/took to work.  The next year Brian had a whole green suit.  I also hosted a St. Patrick's Day party with a keg of green beer.  Back then, you could get the distributor to insert the green food coloring.  Also back then, the smallest keg was a half.  Try as they might, it couldn't even get to floating.  We did that for several years.  At the last party we had, Brian came in his green suit but while some of the guests were from work, most were neighbors or Marilane's teacher friends.  As a result, Brian did very little conversing.  Afterwards, one of our friends remarked that they thought he was someone we hired to come and be Irish.

Once the kids left home and I retired, celebrating St. Patrick's Day returned to me wearing something green on March 17th.  I still have the T-shirt "You can always tell an Irishman, but you can't tell him much."  The letters are faded and it's hard to read, but the thirty year old shirt itself isn't worn out.

It has been pointed out to me that my memories are not always accurate.  That is, they might be in the ballpark, but lacking precision.  To that end, you might read a post one week and the next week find some editing at the bottom.  For instance, in the previous post, the lamps I talked about were purchased prior to our moving to the apartment.