oo rah loo, rah loo-rah…

Ahhh, Granpappy. He used to sing to me, ever so softly, an Irish lullaby to put me down to rest when I was a wee waggered one. I remember the emotion behind every word, the innocence he must have seen in me, even when I was throwing stones. Granpappy had a tear in his eye and a tear in his heart…and a bottle of stout or good Irish whiskey in one of his hands.

Granpappy had a tear in his eye and a tear in his heart…and a bottle of stout or good Irish whiskey in one of his hands.

Sure, it’s a cliché (an Irishman Drinking?), but my Granpappy was a full blood Irishman and he drank full throttle; nothing wrong with that. The Irish drink (you need to have a hobby) and drink well, and now’s the time of year to celebrate one’s roots. I have a legacy to live up to, damn it.

For St. Patrick's Day '07 I plan to attack the truly decent Éire- friendly hotspots and festively get plied full of Guinness.