Tabhair 'om póg, is Éireannach mé

Unfortunately I think most of the rest of you are going to get pinched.


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long ago & far away

I've seen a lot of old family photos recently, and I thought I'd share one.

The uncle of my uncle is shown here, walking tall at the front of the line, just to the left of the man saluting. They were marching in some sort of small town parade in Abbeyleix, Co. Laois - back when Irishmen still carried guns.


Perhaps someone could help me identify the rifle.

The new country

My father arrived in New York City on November 23, 1955 in search of a brighter future.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. I will be forever grateful.

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fist fèis

That cheeseball Michael Flatley aside, Irish stepdancing is a very serious, athletic business. The torso is held ramrod straight, arms are held motionless at the sides, and everything below the hips is usually a blur of intricate motion. The rhythm is hypnotic and, even without music, the sound of stepdancing is unmistakable.

Two professional Irish dancers have uniquely translated this tradition using something they were never allowed to before - their hands.

Enjoy. (I recommend you view this full size)



Bonus! This hand dance is an even better example of the pure rhythm of Irish dance.

pale blue people

Ladies, for your viewing pleasure, I give you the 2011 Sexy Irish Farmers calendar...12 months of hunky men who also glow in the dark!

heads up

After reading about the gurhka who was disciplined for beheading a Taliban, I realized that I had a miniature version of the kukri knife that was most likely used to do the deed.

Made by in Nepal by the official Kukri suppliers to Ghurkas, this knife was a birthday gift from a dear friend and a very welcome addition to my growing collection of sharp and stabbies.

(historical side note: Guess who else seemed to take heads in battle?)

It's holy water, I swear.

Himself has been in the poitín.

You know, back in the old days in Ireland, everyone would have felt sorry for poor old Joe and matched him up with a lovely girl from the neighboring village - aye, a bit slow but pretty enough in the face, to be sure. She'd fix him his tea, remind him to wash before Mass, and put another piece of turf on the fire so he didn't freeze to death in the winter. Sitting quietly together one evening, she'd look at the portrait of JFK hanging above the mantle, tenderly pat Joe's hand and say, "See, Joe? Anything's possible in Amerikay."

And indeed it is.

a proper Irish drink

...one of two that was enjoyed by a sometimes improper Irish me.









(proof for Zendo Deb)

3/17, protips

It's spelled "Paddy", not "Patty."

Your attire should be more like this:

and a little less like this:

The phrase "Erin go bragh" has nothing to do with women's undergarments, and if the beverage you're drinking with your corned beef and cabbage looks like this...

...may the cat eat you and the Devil eat the cat. (traditional Irish curse. Yes, really.)

Stay safe everyone, and have a happy St. Patrick's Day.

go raibh maith agat

Want to learn Irish?

There's an app for that. (& it's free until St. Patrick's Day!)

9+ lives

A very long time ago, an Irish monk took a break from transcription practice to write an ode to his constant companion, a cat named Pangur Bán. It compares the author's search for knowledge to the cat's hunt for mice - work that they seem to joyfully do in each other's company.

So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Ban, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

It's a lovely little poem and through it, Pangur has become one of the most famous individual cats in history. No surprise then, that he has now found the sort of immortality the cats of ancient Egypt could have only dreamed of...the monk's little white mouser has been included in a beautiful new animated film called The Secret of Kells.



The film is up for an Oscar this year and will be in limited U.S. release starting March 12th.

p.s. Be sure to check out the clip where Pangur and the fairy Aisling save the day!

a stereotypical conversation

Last Saturday, we ventured out into the cold and took my mom to Cleveland's Playhouse Square to see Flanagan's Wake, an improvisational, interactive play. It was a lot of fun.

But as Mike and I discussed the show yesterday, we realized we had spent an evening laughing and enjoying ourselves at what was basically two hours worth of racial stereotyping. For example...

As we entered the cabaret theater to take our seats, each audience member was given a name tag. Women had the name "Mary" added to their first name and men, "Patrick" So I became Mary Breda and Mike was Michael Patrick (funny because that is his real name and he actually has about 4 first cousins named Mary Somethingoranother.) This was done, presumably, because all the Irish name their children this way, dontcha know? The actors all sounded vaguely like a cross between the Lucky Charms leprechaun and someone from Belfast, where every sentence sounds like it's a question? and they were sure to use the requisite "JAY-sis" while taking the Lord's name in vain. I was somewhat disappointed that no one managed to slip in a "JAY-sis, Mary and Joseph," which I have been known to say on more than one occasion.

We Irish like to laugh at ourselves, to be sure, so we didn't find it offensive at all. Oftentimes, stereotypes exist for a reason...I mean, the bartender/mayor character could have been based on my own uncle.

Anyway, in the course of rehashing the event, Mike said, "The show was very similar to Tony & Tina's Wedding - isn't that kind of based on Italian stereotypes?"

"I'm not sure," I've never seen Tony & Tina's Wedding, so I couldn't say.

"I wonder if there are shows for other ethnic groups, like Germans."

"No, there are definitely no shows for Germans. Germans are boring."

Mike nodded in agreement. "Yeah, but we want Germans to be boring...because when Germans start to become exciting, that's when France gets invaded."

Fáilte

...and people wonder why we never have guests.

Heh.

Racist

While hosting Ireland's Prime Minister at the White House on Saint Patrick's Day...

Obama joked about the free-flowing bar and warned his guests not to wear lampshades on their heads in front of the cameras.

I might find Barry's "joke" a lot funnier if he said it while performing a little minstrel show with his hand in a bucket of fried chicken - but I guess I'm just one of those ill-mannered, drunk Irishmen.

Tabhair 'om póg, is Éireannach mé

Saint Patrick's day has always been very traditional for my family. We get up early, go to Mass, and then downtown to the parade. In the evening we all gather at Mom's for corned beef, cabbage, potatoes and of course, Irish brown bread...


Made of white and wheat flours, some buttermilk, a little salt, soda and butter, this rustic bread is heartier than soda bread and so simple to make. And thanks to my Mom, the tradition has been passed on to me.

Part of the fun, of course, is getting your hands in the dough.

Have a lovely Saint Patrick's day, everyone!

hmmph.

Last night, I stopped at my mother's house on the way home from work. It was about 9PM and Mike was already there, helping set up my mom's Christmas tree and enjoying some of her homecooked food.

I got myself a plate and sat down to eat. My family was waiting for me to finish so we could move on to the pie. We chatted a while and got on the topic of whiskey. Mike and I have been exploring different brands of Irish, and I had recently bought a bottle of Feckin' Irish Whiskey, only because the bottle made me laugh out loud in the liquor store*.

Anyway...during this conversation, my mother (who, by the way, has been known to use the word "feck" a few times herself) said, "When I found out I was pregnant with Breda, the first thing her father did was pour himself a big glass of Irish whiskey."

Then Mike - my husband, the man who I vowed to cherish, honor and not pinch - chimes in with, "Yeah! And she's been driving men to drink ever since."

I shot him the look - the one with the eyebrow. He laughed anyway.

__________________

*I brought it up to the counter and asked the clerk (who was clearly descended from a more Mediterranean people) and asked, "Has anyone you know ever tried this? Is it any good? I might get it anyway, the bottle is cracking me up."

The man said, "No, but you know, that's the way they say it in Ireland."

I grinned and said, "Yeah. I do know." I took the bottle home. It's not bad.

grateful

Younger than I am now, my father left Ireland for the United States, hoping for a chance at something better. In 1955, he stepped off an airplane and into a new country, a new life.

He arrived on Thanksgiving Day.

The Cranberries, Ode to My Family

Saturday serenade

An angelic sweetness that can easily turn into a primal howl, Sinéad O'Connor's voice has, to me, always been the voice of Celtic women everywhere. It becomes even more powerful when she's singing about the history of her own people.

Oró Sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile is a rebel song dedicated to the great sea warrior, Gráinne Ní Mháille, better known as Grace O'Malley, pirate and patriot.


Molly Malone is a song that most everyone has heard and can sing along to, Irish or not. Sinéad's version, however, is haunting - as it should be.


(as a side note: sifting through videos of Sinéad and Dolores O'Riordan of the Cranberries is really making me reconsider my attempts to grow my hair long again)

Saoirse, 2

“When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.”

-Edna O'Brien

Ireland continues to say " póg mo thóin" to the EU.

the ABCs of me

Since I'm still recovering from the stress and sleeplessness of party planning, party hosting and post-party clean up and am actively avoiding going into my kitchen because the mess in there is scary and overwhelming, I'm going to steal a meme from Squeaky. Memes are fun little time wasters and I've always believed that if you're having a massive case of bloggersblock, do a meme or post a cat photo. Plus, it might help you all get to know me a bit better. That is, if you're curious. If not, there's a blogroll over to the right of the screen, filled with links to people who are super smart, incredibly witty and probably much more interesting than me - especially today.

The ABCs of Me

Accent: I'm from the Cleveland area. They send newscasters here to learn a non-accent accent.

Breakfast or no breakfast: Coffee first. Must be conscious to even start considering food. But I'm notorious for eating what is not typically breakfast food for breakfast - I horrified my father with my "grilled cheese sandwich & dill pickles for breakfast" phase. I hardly ever eat cold cereal.

Chore I don’t care for: I hate folding laundry.

Dog or Cat: 6 cats - my pride of little lions.

Essential Electronics: The computer is about the extent of the "electronics" in our house. We don't have a fancy stereo or entertainment center.

Favorite Cologne: I don't wear one specific brand of fragrance but when the weather is warm, I like to wear things that smell like orange blossoms, citrus, herbs or green leaves. In the wintertime, I wear a perfume called "Loukhoum" - it makes me smell delicious.

Gold or Silver: I used to only wear silver or white gold but when Mike bought me my engagement ring, he chose yellow gold. One day I asked why and he said he thinks white gold looks cheap. Okay then. Yellow gold it is.

Handbag I carry most often: I'm carrying a dark green purse that I bought on sale at Target. I am so not a fancy purse type of girl. It's shaped like a little duffle bag and has room enough for my wallet, my lipgloss collection, some polyhedral dice and even my pistol, if I have to unholster.

Insomnia: Only if I'm upset, otherwise I could sleep and sleep. Lots of pillows, a rotating selection of cats, soft fleece blankets and a warm man? Snuggle city.

Job Title: SWMBO, reference desk

Kids: Kind of cute, sticky fingered noise makers. Need to learn to use the litterbox.

Living Arrangements: I live with my husband in a nice old house in a fun neighborhood. Would be totally perfect if we could figure out how to run a pipe to the brewery and have a tap in the basement.

Naughtiest Childhood Behavior: I had the worst temper. The worst.

Most Admirable Trait: Um. I have no idea. (learning to control my temper?) Others could answer this better than I could.

Overnight hospital stays: I had to have surgeries on my leg when I was a kid. I would ring the night nurse and ask her to come to my room and tuck me in because I was lonely.

Phobias: I went through a period (not too long ago) where I was developing a phobia about driving on this one road. On one side it drops off and looks like you're driving along the edge of a steep cliff. Every time I traveled on this road I could feel myself getting panicky and anxious, convinced that the car would somehow slide off that edge and I would die either horribly mangled or burned in a fiery car crash. So I forced myself to drive that road over and over. Phobia vanquished.

Quote: My herb garden is right next to my garage. Above the little side window I painted, "Everything that grows holds in perfection but a little moment".... it's Shakespeare

Reason to smile: I know how lucky I truly am.

Siblings: Two half-brothers, one from each of my parents.

Time I wake up: My alarm goes off at 7:15AM but Mike sets the clock ahead. So it might be more like 6:45AM.

Unusual Talent or Skill: You know how some people have perfect pitch? I'm like that with color.

Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: Cauliflower. I spent a summer in Ireland when I was 16 and honestly, I think it's the only vegetable I ate the whole time I was there. With cream sauce. Blech.

Worst Habit: Procrastinating.

X-rays: Yes. Lots. When the doctors are planning on cutting bone out of your leg, they tend to like to see what they're doing first.

Yummy Stuff: Men with shaved heads and goatees. Yes, I have a thing. (Oh? Was this supposed to be about food? Everything is better with butter or bacon.)

Zoo Animal I Like Most: I won the contest to name the twin Siberian tiger cubs at the Cleveland zoo. I like to think of them as "my" tigers. I also really like those teeny tamarin monkeys.

Now you know a little more about The Breda Fallacy - but if you're still not satisfied, here's the cat photo...