26+6=1

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St. Patrick's Day is a favorite holiday of mine. Mostly it has to do with my deep Irish roots, and, more recently, my fondness for drinking whiskey. This year, we went out to the Blackthorn Pub (such a name!) in South Buffalo, which is traditionally where Irish immigrants would settle, and remains the most Irish part of town to this day. We had some beer and some dinner (corned beef and cabbage for me!) and there was an "Irish" band, who mixed traditional folk songs with "Dream, Dream, Dream" and some crazy song about how the unicorn didn't make it onto the ark and that's why it was extinct now. However, they DID play "Whiskey in the Jar," kind of an unofficial Irish national anthem and I, for one, sang along loudly. I think there may have been some folks who joined me, too. That fulfills a lifelong dream: singing "Whiskey in the Jar" while drinking Irish beer in an Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day. Beauty.

After dinner, we stopped for random desserts (since, in searching "traditional Irish desserts" Mark found things that were made of apples and barley and sounded gross) at Wegman's on our way home to watch The Quiet Man (another St. Patrick's Day tradition) and eat chocolate cheesecake, and drink whiskey and Bailey's. It probably wasn't a good idea to stay up so late on a Thursday night, but it was a grand evening. Let's not forget the reminiscing about our early memories of hearing about "The Troubles" and giving Mark heaps of guff for being British and therefore unable to sympathize with oppressed people and also very likely to get beat up at said pub on said day.

Yesterday was the parade, which was strange because I don't think we've ever had the St. Patrick's Day parade after St. Patrick's Day before. But Buffalo came out in fine style, there were no less than nine folks dressed up as St. Pat himself, along with probably 5 floats of local step dancing schools (which Nikki insisted, as she does every year, that we need to take up). Also, the unions marched, as they always do. We cheer enthusiastically every year for the unions (clever remarks such as, "Yeah, elevator operators! Just say no to stairs!") because they seem to appreciate it most, waving and cheering back at us, unlike the staid firefighters and the fleets of the Ancient Order of Hiberians who always march so stoically, regardless of our vim. Oh well. Also, we decided that next year, as the parade's most vociferous supporters, we need to be in the parade. Really, how hard can it be? Just join the Daughters of Erin society and buy one of those funny white tuxedo jackets and sashes and boom, you're in. Clearly, failure to achieve this goal will mean failure in our life heretofore.

Another year, another enacting of cherished traditions under our belt. I love celebrating with Nikki and Mark (what would St. Patrick's Day be without heckling Mark?!?) but sometimes I wish we had more folks to celebrate with. Maybe we should have tried recruiting some of the Daughters of Erin...ladies??