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LeprechaunYesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. I tend to relate most strongly with my Italian roots, so I don’t mention my father’s heritage often, but it seems only fair to acknowledge it on the one day a year his nationality gets top billing.

My dad is a wonderful man whose heritage is a volatile mix of Irish, Scottish, German, and Swedish. So, yes, in addition to the passionate Italian in me, I’ve got some whiskey-downing, Scotch-swilling, beer-chugging, Viking-loving blood coursing through these veins. There’s some partying blood in there, and there’s some warrior blood in there, too. So, it’s no surprise I’m not a shy person. I embrace life to its fullest, which means I love big, I cry big, and I get mad… big. Why do anything half-hearted?

irish mealI also celebrate big, which means yesterday’s holiday was a festive one, especially because my in-laws are in town to celebrate with us. (Yes, I’ll use anything as an excuse to celebrate, but come on, a holiday and family visiting? Who wouldn’t celebrate?) Beer, Irish stew, cabbage, potatoes, soda bread… even Irish coffees for dessert.

After all that, I swear I saw a leprechaun with his shillelagh in my yard, holding a four leaf clover sitting on his pot of gold. But before I got outside to greet him, he disappeared over the rainbow, and it was just me in the yard trying to keep my dogs out of the pool, which, I have to tell you, is not easy under the best of circumstances.

Now it’s time to settle back into Lenten restrictions until Easter. So, I’ll leave you with this Irish blessing as I countdown the remaining weeks:

May you always have walls for the winds,
A roof for the rain, tea beside the fire,
Laughter to cheer you, those you love near you,
And all your heart might desire.

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