St. Paddy’s Day. Tis All Fake News, Don’cha know.

Like the clock work of local Catholic parish churches everywhere, another St. Patrick’s Day has come and gone – with alarming rise of sales of alka-seltzer and innumerable call-in-sick days everywhere. What gives??

Forget Wikipedia, forget Fox-y and not-so-Briet-bart fake news sources. I’m here to tell you the real scoop.

First off, so as not to anger any sons and daughters of holy mother church and that fine Irishman, Francis, (who to his eternal shame has admitted to liking tequila and the Tango, currently sitting on St.Peters throne in Rome), our Patrick – (please refrain from using the familiar term “Paddy”, unless you can prove direct family decent from that fellow) was in fact an historical figure although he emigrated (get it?)from the European continent to Ireland to convert the lusty Celts to Christianity. Some sources claim that he was a Frenchman but that makes no sense to me, given the Frankish propensity for celebrating their own lusty orientations without regard for race, creed or color. Language barriers never existed for these folk as they historically relied heavily on the old universal technique of body language for scientific as well as more intimate communications, well-recognized and received the world over.

Lucky enough for old Patrick, tradition has it that he likely prepared for his mission in a monastery, where he learned a form of international sign language so he could communicate with any pagan folk, lusty or not, and never wore anything but a head to toe, one piece robe of raw wool which not only made him a poor student in Harp classes but also led to confusion while using his own inadequate, celibate body language which, unfortunately, due to his constant scratching often led to very mixed messages among his viewers.

None the less, he is a factual saint. As he had been such a huge success as a salesman for God and the Church, the Church awarded him his own “saints day” which is celebrated in Irish Catholic churches the world over, especially in New York, Boston, Chicago, and, although with considerably less fanfare, in Saudi Arabia, where green beer and green rivers are simply not tolerated.

Which brings me to a very important, if not culturally sensitive topic. We all are victims of stereotyping in one form or another and the loyal spiritual offspring of Patrick have been victimized more than their share. The celebration of his achievements is universally greeted with excesses of brewed and distilled liquids. Not that that’s a bad thing in itself, mind you, – where would the world be without Messrs. Guinness and Jameson and the likes, – but it borders on sacrilege that so many well-meaning folk, in their desire to honor the great man have mixed up the idea of being imbued with the fine “Irish Spirit” with the practice of being over-imbibed with fine Irish spirits and dash about festooned with cheap green derbies, god-awful green neckties, sweaters, socks. galluses, even shoes, and God forgive them, green-shamrock-ed underwear. Catholic bishops everywhere deplore such wanton, pagan abandonment and urge the true son’s and daughters of Patrick to counter such nonsense by wearing full-length, Kelly green, raw wool robes for eight days before and after March 17th, to support the cause of abstinence and penitential scratching. While this practice was initially greeted with, dare I say a lusty response among Irish celibates everywhere, many Irish lay folk, and the much larger group of “Once a Year Happy Irish Wannabees” and assorted Publicans – Catholic, Protestant, Muslim(only 6 identified themselves) Jews and Bahai’s – all around the world, began toasting Patrick with what was soon to be translated into 214 languages, the wish, “May the road rise up to meet you and lead you unerringly to your nearest pub. One good wooly scratch deserves to another”.

As a newly re-constituted Irish citizen (thanks to granddad Denis and great-granddad Philip, and great-great —-well you get it – I hereby resolve and pledge to celebrate the true spirit of Patrick by toasting a tall glass of Kerry milk along with Galway bangers and mashed, and a slice of Sligo mutton, next March 17th, in the very heart of the auld sod, somewhere in county Cork. And should I find myself in a warm, smiling, singing and dancing sort of Irish pub, I will introduce them to my latest cocktail concoction,               The Wooly Scratch.

And that my friends is the honest truth.  Some things can never be lied about.

Slan….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Published by

Richard D

Retired psychotherapist and Adjunct University prof. Remaking my path as I go and inviting any and all path-walkers to share meditation thoughts, personal art works, music interests and just plain fun observations of life's passing moments This path goes anywhere and everywhere, open to all possibilities. Hopefully a step beyond FB, Twtr, etc. An opportunity for family, friends, coworkers, friends we've yet to meet to come together in an effort of friendly enrichment. Walkers of all paths are welcome. Please join us. RDH.

10 thoughts on “St. Paddy’s Day. Tis All Fake News, Don’cha know.”

    1. Thank you Steph. Yours is a remarkable story and your stories in turn inspire me to keep writing. Have been way off my own path lately with trying to sell our condo and disposing of just about everything we own in order to move back to Massachusetts for a while to catch up with family doings. Been in Florida over 32 years and wondering if we will pass the test of Winter. Will get back to regular postings in another week or two at the most. Funny, but one cannot write unless one sits and types the keys with purpose. Be back soon and thanks for following me. Peace.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Morning Richard, Yes such is life, it comes and goes like the waves to the shore……am in a bit of the same boat myself (Oh how my metaphors are improving…two in the same breath :)…) I have hit a bit of a dry spell due to family matters …I am now the proud minder of my youngest little grandson…and even though it has meant I can cut my hours at the hospital I find I am busier than ever. but as you rightly point out you have to sit and type. Best of luck with your move…. I hope it goes smoothly like the ….like the… oh yes like a yacht in the doldrums 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

        1. A mere 1300 miles over some of the east-coast’s busiest highways, avoiding major cities as best we can — I’d much prefer the yacht in the doldrums…. I’m sure you will enjoy your new custodial duties. Peace.

          Liked by 1 person

    1. Sure now, Steven, lad you wouldn’t be forgettenf the immortal Barry Fitzgerald would. ya? I cut my teeth on such treasured phrases from the 40’s and 50’s Hollywood authentic portrayals. We Yanks ate that stuff right up. (:-))–
      Thanks for keeping up with me. Getting ready to leave FL and move back to MA, snow and all. Stay tuned.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Dear Mr. O’Huff, I have no need for any more Trusses in my old age, even if they are respectable authors who have nothing better to do than make life difficult for unfettered, creative writers like myself. My store-house of useless information is already filled to overflowing, as you probably already know. Best regards, as always,
      Seamus O’Blivious.

      Like

  1. Ahh, now Fred, ?O’Hof is it??? Could be a fake name for all I know… I must thank you for your kind reception of today’s offering, and your good wishes for me at the end. However, I must extend my sympathies for your apparent written word comprehension deficit (WWCD), an all too common infliction that I see so often displayed by the many, many contributors to my ” Leave a Comment” option. There are thousands of them. Believe me.
    Allow me to respond and clarify and assist you in grasping what I so clearly stated. (Have you considered that you may have attention deficit disorder, or perhaps a rare form of dyslexia?).
    Consider that, regarding the lines in question, lines 3 and 4, I have used the lower case “t” for tequila, a generic term for the distilled beverage, and an upper case “T” for Tango – actually “the Tango”, which is a specific term for a specific dance form. In your haste to find lapses in my punctuation skills you probably did not pause to think the words displayed different categories of nomenclature.
    Further, none of my loyal readers has been dense enough to even suggest that the honorable Holy Father would leave tequila baldly sitting on his throne, nor, applying my categorically correct use the definite article “the” ,would he even conceive of enjoying a tango that was being performed in a sitting position.
    Further more, I am aghast that you would think that I was unaware of the splendid motion of two bodies in close proximity that has made the Tango a beloved favorite of lovers and Popes for centuries. I am acutely aware that the tango is, of course performed standing up, sometimes in very precariously balanced positions, not to say “suggestive”, which I’m sure completely bypass His Holiness’s attention. I fear it borders on the crude to suggest that the dance “climaxes” lying down. This is clearly beyond the scope of pontifically approved recreational activities. Perhaps you have confused The Tango with that other fascinating Latin dance known colloquially as the Horizontal Mambo.
    While Pope Francis has publicly (as I’m sure you have read) declared that drinking tequila and dancing the Tango are two of the greatest joys of his life), I have yet to read or hear how he feels about the Horizontal Mambo. Could some day be the topic of a Papal Bull.
    One final note. I have never heard of Ms.Truss. I do not tend to eat, shoot, and leave, if you were trying to aim that pejorative slur toward me. And, I have zero tolerance myself for obviously anal people who write books that demand slavish adherencetorulesof gramer and speling and allthat stifuling restraindt on creative riters every wherere.

    Go win one for the Gipper and send my that Bernie manuscript I’m waiting for. Jeez, you retired guys!!!!

    rdh or my new Nom de Plume… Seamus O’Blivious.

    Pax et Requiem

    Like

  2. Sure and begorrah ”twas a lovely post, but I was stunned to learn (paragraph 3, lines 3&4) that Tequila and Tango are currently sitting on St. Peter’s throne in Rome! If that is not what you meant to say, may I suggest that you study the fine book, “Eats, Shoots & Leaves: the Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation” by Lynne Truss. Sure ’tis a fine book, even though the author is a bloody Englishwoman.
    I think I was particularly surprised since the Tango is almost always performed standing up, though I believe it often reaches its climax (!) lying down. But I don’t believe it ever sits.

    May the road rise up… and may you continue to do so as well,
    Fred O’Hof

    Liked by 1 person

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