I’m Irish (and English) but I had to look up Saint Patrick when we got back home. You’d think he was some sort of pagan patron saint of debauchery. Turns out he was a Celt so I guess he walks a fine line.
I asked Peggi to take this photo of the guys in the booth next to us. I never would have got the same expression that she is capable of eliciting. We walked over to Shamrock Jack’s for lunch, our tradition on Saint Patty’s Day. When we lived in the city we would just walk to Carroll’s at the corner but out here we walk through the woods and part of the park and then through a funky neighborhood down near the lake that reminds us of Bloomington to get to Shamrock Jack’s. The little pockets of snow looked ridiculous in 55 degrees.
We each wore the only green clothes we have but they don’t come close to the toxic green that most revelers wear. The place was packed at noon. We could hardly hear each other. The music was all thump, thump and then a guy with a guitar started playing goofy folk ditties. After his first song he announced, “Drink up and I’ll sound better”. One of them was stuck in our heads for the way home but I can’t remember it now, thank god. An infomercial was playing on a tv above our booth, featuring Christie Brinkley and Chuck Norris on outdoor exercise equipment. I was mesmerized by the surrealness of it all.
Everybody has Guinness these days. Carroll’s used to have old guys playing accordion and bagpipe players and the Pogues on the juke box. Stuff that would have made Saint Patrick proud.
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