My children have genuine Irish heritage, thanks to my husband. All they get from me is a hankering to pillage and plunder the coastline, thanks to my Scandinavian roots.
I did not color the milk green or make shamrock pancakes. But I did take a swing at corned beef and cabbage for the first time in my life and it turned out quite yummy.
Weekends have a way of getting busy.
Busy in a sneaky way, wherein duties and events keep spawning, propogating, inserting themselves into the mix.
Most of it is kind of fun.
And when it's not fun, I imagine it is.
Best of all, the desert is amazing at this time of year. It is amazing at any time of year, but especially right now. It hums with an energy I'm pretty sure it collects by sucking the life force out of my soul...which is kind of ironic, when you think about it.
Who am I to complain, though? My ancestors sacked villages.
My husband's ancestors hid pots of gold at the end of rainbows.
I guess that's why we're celebrating his heritage today and not mine.
Happy St. Patrick's to you. xo