Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody!
Still sick, but getting occasional flashes of a voice, so that's an improvement--just trying not to overdo it. But cooking and partying's still on, damnit. I'm cooking this, as usual, only this year I'm ALSO baking my OWN sour caraway rye. Cross your fingers for that one, eh?
And remember: whether or not you're Irish, you gotta' respect a people who tried (and mostly managed) to hang onto their language, dance, music, and (of course) national colors in the face of being hanged for doing so. So put on a little green and have a toast and feel the love. Slainte!
The Wearin' of the Green
O Paddy dear, and did ye hear the news that's goin' round?
The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground!
Saint Patrick's Day no more we'll keep, his colour can't be seen
For there's a cruel law ag'in the Wearin' o' the Green."
I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand
And says, "How's poor ould Ireland, and how does she stand?"
"She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen
They're hanging men and women there for Wearin' o' the Green."
But if the colour we must wear is England's cruel red
Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed!
Pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it on the sod
But fear not, for 'twill take root there, though underfoot 'tis trod.
When laws can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow,
And when the leaves in summertime their colour dare not show
Then I will change my colour, too, to wear in my caubeen
And till that day, praise God, I'll stick to Wearin' o' the Green.