It is St. Patricks Day today and I recently learned that using the term Paddy is a derogative term. So I shan't go there.
My mother was French and my father was Irish, English, Belgian, Scotch and a wee bit of this and that. My mother wryly commented, "You can be a Heintz 57, but if there is a little bit of Irish in you, you consider yourself Irish." And so it was with my father. He drank heavy as a young man and to save his marriage he became a teetotaler. Once in a while, he'd sip a little and he'd sing us those Irish ballads he remembered from his youth. Sad and soulful, Oh Danny Boy, would have we kids in tears. As his tongue got thick, the accent got thicker and the songs much more fun. This one comes to mind:
Oh, lady would you be kind enough to give me a bite to eat,
A slice of bread and butter with a ten foot slice of meat,
A piece of pie and custard would tickle me appetite
For really I am so hungry I don't know where I'll sleep tonight.
Hallelujah, I'm a bum,
Hallelujah, bum again,
Hallelujah, give us a handout to revive us again.
The Little Rock Candy Mountains, was another favorite. Ah, I guess I'm awash in memories.
But here then is the Irish Blessing, author unknown.
May there always be
work for your hands to do,
May your purse
always hold a coin or two,
May the sun always shine
on your windowpane,
May a rainbow be certain
to follow the rain.
May the hand of a friend
always be near you,
May God fill your heart
with gladness to cheer you.
Top o' the mornin' to ya!