Magically Delicious!

Today's the day I love to hate, and hate to love. Since I was a boy, St. Patrick's day has been a bittersweet event. While it's nice that in our culture just about the only Saint's day that is celebrated is my own, I've been bombarded by all the horrid cliches and stereotypes that go with it.

Shamrocks; nobody knows what they really are, and few understand their place in the story of St. Patrick any longer. Leprechauns; made out to be cute here in the 'States, but actually figures of menace to most in Ireland. Bad approximations of an Irish brogue; if I hear another person approach me trying to sound Irish and sounding like Scotty from Star Trek I think I'll run screaming into the road.

Then there are the snakes. My dear mother, who after all named me Patrick, made a point when I was a kid of buying me a really huge rubber snake every March 17th. While I continue to be amused by the Far Side panel illustrating St. Patrick literally driving the snakes from Ireland, I'm tired as hell of explaining the metaphor of non-Roman Catholic Christianity that the snakes actually represented to the Roman Bishop we all know as St. Patrick. He was a bit of an ecclesiastical thug.

Nice outfit though. I do dig the green wardrobe thing.

Worst of all is the corned beef, cabbage, and green beer. Thankfully in recent years people have mostly abandoned the green beer in favor of a good stout. While I'm not a Guinness man myself (I rather preferred Murphy's when I used the stuff) at least it's honestly Irish. Corned beef and cabbage though is entirely an American thing, not unlike parades on St. Patrick's day. Don't get me started on Lucky Charms.

One year in March I had to write a letter to my oldest daughter's teacher, correcting her lesson in Irish history that was concluded by the sentence "It's a good thing those Irish had all those potatoes or they would have starved." I am not making this up.

Celebrate being Irish we do though, so our family went out in a cold rain (now THAT'S Irish) to do our bit. There were no pipes. There were only miniature Irish flags. There was lots of beer, corned beef, and cabbage.

Robin and the kids have heard me go off on this little speech every year, so by this time they know I'd rather be anywhere than a pub, eat anything but corned beef, and no I don't want to watch "Darby O'Gill and the Little People".

So Robin made soda bread to go with our chicken dinner. For those who don't know, soda bread is a bit of magic, as it's risen with just soda (hence the name of course) and no yeast. It's fast, it's cheap, and it's really really delicious.

We did add some potatoes, so we didn't starve.

Viva los San Patricios!

Stars in His Eyes

Just the other day Izzy got his first pair of glasses. I'd had mine for many years by the time I was his age, but Izzy waited until the ripe old age of eight. He'd been telling us for a while he needed them, but since he was reading fine, and smacking the baseball regularly, we didn't think it was too bad.

It was a bit ironic to have him come show me his new specs, as they are almost identical to mine. My friend Jim Bailey and I look enough alike that we get mistaken for each other weekly. Now I have a short doppelganger too; Izzy is mini-me.

Later that night Robin and the kids were out, and Izzy and I were alone on the deck. He yelled out "Hey dad!" I can see the stars! I can really see them!"

It took a minute for it to register, but Izzy had never been able to see the stars. Now that the night sky was so clear he had me draw a map of Orion so he could find it in the sky. Needless to say I was happy to do it, and totally blown away by the chance to be there when he discovered the heavens for the first time.

For all the time I spend shooting into the night, and so many times Izzy's been by my side, I really had no clue that he could not see what I was shooting until I showed him a picture.

Now I have this picture of my boy, so I never forget that night.

Why I Love My Girls

I love my girls because they give me things. I love my girls because they feed me. I love my girls for the cute noises they make. I love my girls because they come back even if I've been chasing them around the yard.

I love my girls, so I have many. I love them for their variety and their color. I love them because if I watch them a while they never fail to make me laugh. I love my girls because they play hard to get. I love them because they stop running in the evening and let themselves be caught.

I love my girls all year round, but I really remember the basis of my love in the spring. You see, that's when my girls start laying eggs again.

Now all the reasons I've said love my girls are real, but some more real than others. I've always been true to my belly. I like to eat. Eggs from the hens make so many things so much better.

That's why I love my girls.

My New Laptop

I got a handwritten letter from my friend Eric last year. I wanted to write him back, but the penmanship classes I had at Sacred Heart were all many years ago, and I never did have a very good hand.

Around the third grade I started taking typing during summer school. My mom was a legal secretary at the time and she knocked out a blazing 80+ words per minute. It was her idea that we all learn to touch type before we were 10. She was right. It was a good idea.

Our typing classroom was a room full of Royals, Burroughs, and all the other usual giant typing machines. Any one of them could have served as an anchor to a reasonably large boat. We got a great workout doing our typing drills. These machines were beasts.

Just after my letter from Eric came, I set out to find an old portable. I liked the idea of being a bit more thoughtful and taking time with a letter...and must say it was all kinds of fun to open the mail box and find a personal letter. It'd been a long time.

So I got this wonderful machine at a yard sale for five bucks. Nice. Robin cleaned it up and got me a new ribbon for Christmas. During her research locating the ribbon etc. she found the same machine for sale on the internet for many hundreds of dollars. Evidently it's rare and there are collectors. I have a collection of one.

While it's in pretty good shape, it can't make the letter G or the number 6.

My street address is 9767 so I thought that'd present a problem with return addressing an envelope, but I've got a PO Box 1104...OK problem solved there.

But the letter G is something else. Count your Gs...consider your gerunds! They are everywhere; and not. Being raised on my grandmother's knee so to speak, and she being a native of Alabama, she disdained the use of the final G almost completely. There was a lot of doin', goin', and workin' with Grandmere.

So along with a lot of clickin' and clackin' as I churn out the post, you might hear a Coosa County drawl echoed in my typewritten lines.

Back to my typin'...

I Finally Got My Light Bright

When I was a kid, just like everyone else I was hooked to the television. All the normal marketing and advertising tricks they'd come to perfect to suck up the minds and wills of children worked magnificently on me. I can still hear the jingles from Saturday mornings 40 years ago; I am haunted by Hasbro.

We could not afford most of the really "neat-o" toys that were advertised. Were we able to afford them, my mother would certainly not have bought most of them anyway; she had other ideas.

There was one I still want. It was called Light Bright. You may remember it. It was a little 8x10 back-lit panel with a grid of holes in which you could put little colored plastic pegs and make a glowing picture. They had templates of course...the usual cartoon characters etc., but I wanted to make my own.

I never got my Light Bright, but now I have my cameras.

Always fond of breaking the rules, I've found if I do so with my cameras and software I can get my Light-Bright after all...and here you have the result.

It's a picture of my kids' favorite toy; their rope swing.

I had one of those. My mother approved entirely.

Merry Christmas

Patrick

inheritance

How far will you take a joke? At times I think I'll go farther than most, and sometimes baffle those around me with the lengths to which I'll follow a tangent. Ironic laughter (even if it's me laughing alone) seems to motivate me far more than what most people would find worthwhile goals.

Perhaps it's my legacy from my dear departed father. He wrote a lot, and never ever forgot how to laugh.

My kids, like most kids, love to play pirate. When I was their age I did the same.

While I undertook the construction of all kinds of pretend forts and rafts, and later learned to sail on salt water, I never did get to dig up buried treasure. As all parents do, I wish to make possible greater things for my kids than I had myself. So I procured a giant bag of coins.

Some years back the European countries about to go over to the Euro had to collect and convert all their national currency and coin. Just after the conversion, these coins and bills became essentially worthless...unless you really wanted a giant bag of loot.

I got one.

Soon enough it became the stuff of dreams as it was enclosed in a chest and given to Isidore with a complete outfit of pirate accessories.

Random specie from many countries; while beautiful they remain totally worthless. But who's counting?

My kids give me things all the time. As most kids do, they gather things as they find them, and take what they think is the best of what they've found and proudly present them to Robin and me. Treasures all, I wish I could keep up with all the gifts I get from my kids. I've managed to keep a few of the more long-lasting treasures they've given me, but some things necessarily are more transitory.

Ellie gives flowers. Flowers fade and die. Sometimes she gives and gives and gives...and while I can't keep most of what she gives for very long, I'll never be able to let go of her. I hope she keeps piling up things for her daddy.

About the only lasting thing I think my kids will count as a legacy of their father will be an appreciation of that which is beautiful. While you can't count that, and you certainly can't deposit that, I hope they'll keep it forever.

Peace, Love, and Frogs

Our family just completed our usual participation in the Calaveras County Fair. Those of you up on your modern literary history will remember the place as the setting of the tall tale written by Mark Twain, and as the one that set him on the national stage as a writer of note.

Thus our fair is known as the Frogjump.

This years winner was "Bozo" who's set a record, not for jumping far, but for consecutive wins, at 4 years running...er...jumping.

Robin, the kids, and I didn't jump any frogs. Perhaps next year.

As usual I have a booth displaying my photography business, and the kids have entered all kinds of things in the local crafts competitions. All three kids won blue ribbons this year! Lego creations were entered by each, and Elizabeth took a first place in flower arranging.

Eat your heart out Uncle Brendan!

I'm particularly proud of Elizabeth for her prize as the competitors were all adult women and she still took a first prize! She's 5....she's amazing.

I've been told for some time that I should enter a picture in the photography contest. I haven't done so in any venue for some time. Having been a judge in the past it'd be a a bit odd to be a competitor.

There is however the "Mark Twain Liar's Contest" which requires one to enter a piece of written balderdash and then read it on stage.

I was pleased to have been able to attend this years contest, but disappointed to have heard nobody manage a particularly good reading. I don't know about the criteria for the judging of this contest, but if the delivery of the entry is any part, I could take down the field next year.

Certainly I could manage the bullshit.

As for the photography...in the booth this year I decided to include a themed portrait if Isidore. So I got him in the rustic garb and posed him at the neighbor's pond.

Something in the spirit of Mark Twain was in order I thought. It came out well if I do say so myself.

We all had a great time, and Robin and the kids had 4 days of just enjoying themselves. A long needed break for all.

Do yourselves a favor; go fishin' sometime soon.

Patrick