Doodle and I are lying low today. Call us old ladies, but we think St. Patrick's Day in NYC is an obnoxious holiday, sort of like Halloween. It's an excuse to be hammered and scare the shit out of people by vomiting in the light of day and generally acting like a huge ass. We're not big fans.
In Ireland, it's a religious holiday. Not particularly religious at all, I am a big fan of family, and when we spent the holiday over there visiting our relations, saw how they do St. Patrick's Day with Mass, small town parades, and dinner. Maybe a Guinness or three. We toured one of the ruined old abbeys (Thanks, Oliver Cromwell, you ultimate prick) near my great aunties' farm way outside of Galway that day. I believe it was the one pictured here, Abbey Knockmoy. One memory that sticks out in my mind is my aunt Katie in her 80's, bending down to grab a clump of clover from the grass, dirt and all, and sticking it into the buttonhole of her coat. Happy St. Paddy's, Katie and Mary! Hope you're resting in peace; I'm thinking of you.
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