For one day a year, many people in the US celebrate Irishness, even if the religious basis of the observation should give one a moment of pause. Besides, we Baptists weren’t exactly a part of the conflict.
Nonetheless, I seized on the opportunity to hang out with a friend at an Irish restaurant where neither one of us had ever been. My usual Friday night plan involves swimming a half mile after work, a relaxing way to end the week.
My kilt-wearing “Black Irish” bartender
The restaurant opened two hours earlier than usual for the special occasion. I thought we’d have trouble finding a parking space and table, but there was plenty of surrounding lots AND the bulk of the crowd hadn’t shown up before sunset. After clearing security, which included a walk through a metal detector and a manual search through my fanny pack by the bouncer, we walked around and got the feel of the place.
Smoky Old Fashioned
Although they normally have trivia night on Thursdays, they postponed it a day to be part of the celebration. Just added to the craziness, but perhaps that was what they wanted. My friend and I laughed at how bad we were at trivia despite being avid readers. We by-passed the trivia room.
A Different Kind of Religion
We ordered our food and had no problem finding a table. The only glitch was ordering drinks. I’m not normally a beer drinker, but I got a Guiness while my friend got a strawberry margarita, which I thought was an unusual choice for an Irish pub. Nonetheless, my kilt-wearing Black Irish bartender put on such a show, making that margarita from fresh fruit that the guy beside me had to ask what the bartender was making.
Another bartender making a smoky old fashioned captured my attention. I don’t normally drink them, but the presentation alone enticed me to ask my friend to order me a smoky old fashioned when she went up to buy the second round.
Lipstick-Wearing Leprechaun
Once upon a time, half my closet back in Austin was full of costumes. It pained me to donate the vast majority of my stash when I moved. On rare occasions such as this celebration, I miss being able to walk into my closet and throw a costume together. I was fortunate to find a green sweater.
Still I posed with the best dressed costume wearers. The person wearing the leprechaun costume really impressed me. The entire evening, I made several admiring comments to my friend about the leprechaun’s costume and how dark “her” facial paint was up until I asked “her” for a picture.
The leprechaun’s voice and hands were unmistakable male. That was when I remembered that every leprechaun depiction I’d ever seen had been male. Then, I was preoccupied with how they reproduce if they’re all male. Don’t care in the least that they’re magical beings. Even magic has logic to it.
Folklore suggested that leprechauns were the unwanted children of fairies. Of course that intrigued the hell out of me since the world over values boys over girls. So, what is it about fairy parents that would abandon their baby boys? This is precisely the type of academic research that’ll preoccupy my mind.
Often, I say that such a rabbit hole adventure will be used later in some future written work. In truth, the joys of literacy and a curious mind means that I’ll keep boredom at bay. Perhaps this time of year will inspire me to learn more about Celtic folklore as part of my celebration.
A few weeks ago, one woman in my creative writing group asked what the rest of us were reading. Since I usually have at least one audiobook and at least one e-book going at the same time, I added all their book titles to my ever-growing booklist.
One was To Speak for the Trees by Diana Beresford-Kroeger. I had no idea at the time that the story took place in Ireland. Without even trying, I added more to my St. Patrick’s Day observance than ever before. As of late, I’m happy to access as much as I can before public library books start being banned.