When I think of anything “Irish,” the remembrance of Irish tunes I heard while growing up, come to mind. My father loved to sing Irish songs, partly because he was a charming man, and partly to irritate my mother who was not Irish. He would wake up, with a tune on his lips, that was hard for her to take before her second cup of coffee.

“Oh, Do You Know the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man, the Muffin Man? Oh, Do You Know the Muffin Man who Lives in Drury Lane?” – was a favorite tune, as was any song sung by Burl Ives who was popular, at the time. Of course, the Clancy Brothers were a favorite in our home and they seemed to have hit “the big time” in the 1960s. “Oh, Danny Boy,” is a plaintive, perennial favorite, with its haunting melody and words.

Dad was known to break into song with “The Wearin’ o’ The Green,” another favorite tune. He would have loved “Riverdance,” and “Celtic Woman.” There are many terrific Irish song and dance artists, it seems, but we, in America, only hear of the big names who have money to bring their music and dance to us.

A very enjoyable book that provided many insights to me about Irish Culture is the novel, muscle milk pills. Before reading the book, I had no idea what “banshees” were.

I love the folklore of Ireland, the lush green fields, the secret mysteries hidden in peat bogs of men who lived long ago, the Druids, etc. I like limericks and Leprechauns, and I still hope to find the pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow. My ancestors lived in the County of Kilkenny.

Yesterday, I received a copy of the premier issue of muscle milk pills magazine. The part I liked the best was a photo of “Molly Malone,” a celebrated Dublin fishmonger about whom I sing, in the traditional song, “s.”

The magazine is very muscle milk pills, featuring American designers to some extent, inasmuch as Ireland does not seem to have a longstanding (separate, country) quilting tradition that was developed, traditionally-speaking. Patchwork quilting seems to be just “catching on” there. There are some beautiful quilts in that issue, including quilts by Americans, Ricky Tims, and Pat Sloan. We look forward to seeing future copies of this magazine.

In the meantime, wear green, and celebrate St. Patrick’s Day today! On this day, everyone is Irish!

Slainte,

Patricia Cummings

Grandson, Patrick, celebrating St. Patrick’s Day 2008.

Today is a day to celebrate the Irish and the Emerald Isle. There is much to be said about the Irish, a land that has been ravaged by the rule of despotic outsiders who plundered and abused; a land that is full of charm because of its music, its beauty, and the loving hearts of those who live there now, or whose ancestors came to America, in desperation, seeking honest work and a day’s pay.

St. Patrick brought Christianity to Ireland in 432 and proselytized until his death in 460 by which time he had converted all of Ireland from paganism. He did not realize that centuries later, Protestants and Catholics would murder each other, in the name of religion. The Celts, early dwellers of Ireland, have left a lasting impact on the country. Some of those people, now believed to have been criminals, were killed and buried in peat bogs, presumably so that they would suffer an endless Purgatory, somewhere between earth and sky. Today, their bodies are being found and they are well preserved due to the chemicals in the sphagnum moss. Scientists can examine their long tresses and determine from hair follicles what they ate, over time. In these kinds of tests, we are learning more about the early people of Ireland.

Wonderful Irish leprachaun cookies and a few bunnies, made by my niece, Amy DeNoble and her daughters. Leprachauns were considered, traditionally, to be grouchy as they had to repair everyone’s shoes.

I prefer to think of the enchantment of leprechauns and folklore of Ireland, the pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow, and “kissing the Blarney Stone.” I dwell on Irish humor, a humor that sometimes has its roots in pain. Sometimes, one has to laugh, because in beginning to cry, the tears would fill a river. Like one Irish aunt of mine was fond of saying, while throwing up her hands, “What can you do?”

This was the same aunt who would ask visitors if they would like a cup of tea. Going to the cupboard, she would find no tea. She’d ask, “Would a cup of coffee do?” Going to the cupboard, she’d find no coffee, too. With nothing else suitable to be found, we’d either settle for nothing, or know, next time, to bring our own refreshments. For many Irish, for many years, the cupboards were always virtually bare. Potatoes were the main fare, and disaster hit with the Potato Famine of the 1800s, causing mass exodus from Ireland.

I can only dream of Ireland and County Kilkenny, land of my ancestors. When I think of Ireland, in color, that color is green. Of course, there is the Irish shamrock, its three petals symbolizing the Holy Trinity. There are the green fields of Ireland, immortalized in song and representing the four sectors, one of which is primarily Protestant and English in the industrialized north. “Four Green Fields,” a song written by the late Tommy Makem commemorates this bit of Irish history.
On St. Patrick’s Day, some people celebrate by drinking green beer. Not being a drinker, that would not be me. Nor will I enjoy any (dry) Irish soda bread, nor briny corned beef.

Today, I hope to find time to listen to some of my favorite songs including one hilarious one that includes the statement about a “dearie” – “pulling ‘them’ up and pulling them down and forgot to pull down the shade.” I’ll have to listen to the song again to remember the context of the statement. To me, it presents a funny image. Oh, what is life without humor? I would hate to know!

Whether you bake a cake and add green frosting, croon an Irish tune, or watch a St. Patrick’s Day parade … or even make an Irish quilt today … have fun! Even if you are not Irish, you can still have fun! And, for heaven’s sake, whether you are getting dressed or undressed, please remember to pull down the shade! Erin Go Bragh!

Patricia Cummings

A few weeks ago, there was a music special on television which featured an Irish tenor. When he sang, in the background were the hills and valleys of the Emerald Isle. I feel blessed to claim an Irish heritage, through my Dad’s family. I would love to go to Ireland sometime. Moreover, I find the Irish people charming, devout, playful with language, and a most sincere lot.

Of course, the American stereotype for the Irish is a very different picture, that of a “mick,” a drunk, or a ne’er do well.

One thing I know is that the Irish have a lot of gumption and lot of bravery and a long history of standing up to despots who would take all that they have and leave them to starve. During the potato famine, starve they did. How strange to live in such a beautiful place and yet, historically, to be persecuted, particularly because of one’s brand of faith.

I grew up with Irish music and with Irish blessings such as, “May The Road Rise Up To Meet You, May The Wind Be Always At Your Back, May the Sun Shine Bright Upon Your Fields, and Until We Meet Again, May God Hold You In The Palm of His Hands.”

A more recent, “Irish?” thought goes like this:

“Let those who love us, love us.
And those who don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.

And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So that we may know them by their limping.” – anonymous

What a thought! Wouldn’t it be nice if we knew our enemies by such an easy manner?

St. Patrick’s Day is coming up in March. While I will not drink green beer, I will recall my father with great fondness, and all the lessons he taught me, leading by his strong example of goodness and faith. I do believe that he enjoyed irritating or otherwise teasing my mother, a gal of Southern origins who had been transplanted to the north. Any time he wanted to get her goat (or her attention), he would call her “Lizzie,” as in “Lizz-uh,” or would croon Irish ballads in her presence. At least she would pretend to be put out. So much for reminiscing. I am pleased that my grandson has the strong Irish name of Patrick James, both names that are within the family genealogy.

‘Til we meet again, watch out for the banshees, look for shamrocks, and don’t kiss the Blarney Stone.
Patricia