21 March 2018
Story #900
R. Linda:
St. Paddy's Day, I was quite alone in the house. Everyone had gone early to a science fair at the middle school a few towns over. Not being a science buff, I preferred to sleep in, and me excuse was that it was St. Patrick's Day, and I, being Irish, should be allowed the luxury of an Irish holiday. Of course, me little grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam piped up that she was as Irish as Irish could be, and she didn't need to sleep in. Well, I said I worked all week, and as I know, work can't compare to house cleaning, laundry washing, cooking and the myriad of chores she does to keep this house in running order. I wanted the morning off because, well, just because. None of the wee ones had any exhibits at the fair, so I was not being a deadbeat Da. I got my way, as it turned out.
As I said, it was just me, the dog and the cats. I saw the coffee was on the burner, so I poured a cup and was quite content to stand by the window, basking in the sunlight, looking out at the field and woods in the back. The dog, being an Irish Red and White Setter, was sitting by the fridge, looking at me as if she were waiting for a treat, because she, too, is of Irish descent, and a St. Paddy's Day treat was in order. I got her one and returned to me stance by the window to the sound of her crunching. I thought it was too quiet, so I asked the Kitchen Alexa to play me St. Patrick's Day music. I was thinking of a pub song or two and maybe a few jigs and the like, but that be not what I got.
"Playing St. Patrick's Day music from Amazon Music." The kitchen Alexa announced.
I poured another coffee, thinking a little Jameson would go good with it and a touch of whipped cream. But I didn't get to do that because the next thing I heard was:
"I'm a sailor peg
And I've lost my leg
Climbing up the topsails
I've lost my leg!
I'm shipping up to Boston, whoa
I'm shipping up to Boston, whoa
I'm shipping up to Boston, whoa
I'm shipping off to find my wooden leg."
"Alexa! Next!" I shouted. The Dropkick Murphys stopped, and then this started:
"Well, I stumbled in at two a.m. all drunk and full of smoke
My wife said I have had enough; that's it, I'm sick; get out
So I stumbled down to Kelly's Pub across the edge of town
An' I told the boys me story, and we had another round."
"Alexa, next!" I was getting frustrated. The Boston Irish band, the Dropkick Murphys, was not my idea of St. Patrick's Day songs.
"In the town of Milton
One Brian Flnnigaun battered away till his money was spent
Then he hit a big one and felt like a man again
Bought a three-decker with two floors for rent."
"Alexa, STOP, I SAY! That be quite enough." Annoyed, I left the munching dog and went to my office. I sat down with me coffee, completely forgetting that I was going to doctor it, when the silence began to get to me. I looked at the office Alexa with squinted eyes. Well, I'd give it one more try, and if I got Dropkicks again, I'd unplug the kitchen and office Alexa.
"Alexa, play me St. Patrick's Day music."
"Playing St. Patrick's Day music from Amazon Music." It said, much to me dismay, as that was the same thing the kitchen Alexa had said.
"Oh, as I went home on a Monday night
As drunk as drunk could be
I saw a horse outside the door
Where my old horse should be
Well, I called me wife, and I said to her
"Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that horse outside the door
Where my old horse should be?"
Ay, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool
Still, you cannot see
That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But a saddle on a sow, sure, I never saw before."
Well, THAT was more like it. I listened to tunes by the Dubliners, Celtic Thunder, The Chieftains, The Clancy Brothers, and the Irish Rovers, to name a few. I felt like I was back home, but not exactly. Northern Ireland isn't the place to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, but when I've been to Dublin on the day, I've had a wonderful time on pub crawls throughout the day and night. In me younger years, to be sure, but still.
I don't know why one Alexa will play one thing and the other, when asked the same, plays another. Sometimes, I'd ask the kitchen Alexa about American measurements from Brit ones and get told she doesn't know. Or, I'd ask her to play a type of music, and she'd play something entirely different. When I ask her things, she be snarky or ignores me altogether, but the one in the office is an entirely different sort. She answers me with the correct information, or she plays what I request, and it's like night and day. I don't understand how one can be so different from the other. Of course, me cousin Sean says it's because the kitchen Alexa is a leprechaun, and that's the trouble. OK, Sean!
Anyway, later, when everyone was home and the day had worn on, Mam was preparing (under protest) corned beef and cabbage for the Irish Americans in the house. It was the dish expected, not the traditional Irish stew, that Mam made with potato soup, soda bread, baked beans (those from Boston, I'll give the beans that), and she did not make her Bailey's chocolate cake. No, instead, we had the poor man's dish of boiled beef and cabbage with brown bread (the only authentic Irish thing on the menu) and cupcakes with green icing shamrocks for dessert. I tell ya! I didn't enjoy any of that. I wished for authentic Irish fare and made a secret pact with Mam that next year, even if I had to cook it all, I'd make what we usually ate on St. Patrick's Day.
The whole idea of the corned beef and cabbage was started by me eldest, O'Hare O'Sullivan (now there's an Irish name if ever there was one). Yes, he be 11 years old, and already, we are experiencing teen angst. His temper matches his red hair, and his skill at complaining about everything be reaching epic Irish heights. He is not interested in sports this year, it be the drums, so we are all pretty deaf as a result. He has to have designer clothing, or he'd rather wear the same thing over and over again (unwashed) of designer duds he does own. Well, at Christmas, everyone saved their pennies to buy him his Lucky Brand dark jeans, besides other things, but the Lucky Brand was what he wanted most. I was somewhat taken aback by the request for clothes instead of toys, but realised he is growing up, he is. So Lucky Brand he got, and our purses were quite empty as a result. Now, when I saw the jeans, I was thinking they weren't worth the price. They were all ripped at the knee and faded here and there, but he was happy.
"Did ye get those jeans second-hand?" I asked Tonya,
"Hell no! Why do you ask?"
"Look at the knees all ripped up." I pointed at the knees.
"That's the style."
"Ok, if you say so," I said.
Now, Mam was thinking the same as I about those jeans, but she wasn't there when Tonya explained 'style'; no, she was oblivious that these were the trend again. I thought all that went out twenty years ago, but we can thank Kim Kardashian for the comeback, I be told. To make a long story short (I know, admirable attempt), Mam was still unhappy with changing her menu for St. Pat's. Needing something to do to relieve the stress, she spied these on O'Hare's bed.
Story #900
R. Linda:
St. Paddy's Day, I was quite alone in the house. Everyone had gone early to a science fair at the middle school a few towns over. Not being a science buff, I preferred to sleep in, and me excuse was that it was St. Patrick's Day, and I, being Irish, should be allowed the luxury of an Irish holiday. Of course, me little grey-haired, apple-cheeked Mam piped up that she was as Irish as Irish could be, and she didn't need to sleep in. Well, I said I worked all week, and as I know, work can't compare to house cleaning, laundry washing, cooking and the myriad of chores she does to keep this house in running order. I wanted the morning off because, well, just because. None of the wee ones had any exhibits at the fair, so I was not being a deadbeat Da. I got my way, as it turned out.
As I said, it was just me, the dog and the cats. I saw the coffee was on the burner, so I poured a cup and was quite content to stand by the window, basking in the sunlight, looking out at the field and woods in the back. The dog, being an Irish Red and White Setter, was sitting by the fridge, looking at me as if she were waiting for a treat, because she, too, is of Irish descent, and a St. Paddy's Day treat was in order. I got her one and returned to me stance by the window to the sound of her crunching. I thought it was too quiet, so I asked the Kitchen Alexa to play me St. Patrick's Day music. I was thinking of a pub song or two and maybe a few jigs and the like, but that be not what I got.
"Playing St. Patrick's Day music from Amazon Music." The kitchen Alexa announced.
I poured another coffee, thinking a little Jameson would go good with it and a touch of whipped cream. But I didn't get to do that because the next thing I heard was:
"I'm a sailor peg
And I've lost my leg
Climbing up the topsails
I've lost my leg!
I'm shipping up to Boston, whoa
I'm shipping up to Boston, whoa
I'm shipping up to Boston, whoa
I'm shipping off to find my wooden leg."
"Alexa! Next!" I shouted. The Dropkick Murphys stopped, and then this started:
"Well, I stumbled in at two a.m. all drunk and full of smoke
My wife said I have had enough; that's it, I'm sick; get out
So I stumbled down to Kelly's Pub across the edge of town
An' I told the boys me story, and we had another round."
"Alexa, next!" I was getting frustrated. The Boston Irish band, the Dropkick Murphys, was not my idea of St. Patrick's Day songs.
"In the town of Milton
One Brian Flnnigaun battered away till his money was spent
Then he hit a big one and felt like a man again
Bought a three-decker with two floors for rent."
"Alexa, STOP, I SAY! That be quite enough." Annoyed, I left the munching dog and went to my office. I sat down with me coffee, completely forgetting that I was going to doctor it, when the silence began to get to me. I looked at the office Alexa with squinted eyes. Well, I'd give it one more try, and if I got Dropkicks again, I'd unplug the kitchen and office Alexa.
"Alexa, play me St. Patrick's Day music."
"Playing St. Patrick's Day music from Amazon Music." It said, much to me dismay, as that was the same thing the kitchen Alexa had said.
"Oh, as I went home on a Monday night
As drunk as drunk could be
I saw a horse outside the door
Where my old horse should be
Well, I called me wife, and I said to her
"Will you kindly tell to me
Who owns that horse outside the door
Where my old horse should be?"
Ay, you're drunk, you're drunk, you silly old fool
Still, you cannot see
That's a lovely sow that my mother sent to me
Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more
But a saddle on a sow, sure, I never saw before."
Well, THAT was more like it. I listened to tunes by the Dubliners, Celtic Thunder, The Chieftains, The Clancy Brothers, and the Irish Rovers, to name a few. I felt like I was back home, but not exactly. Northern Ireland isn't the place to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, but when I've been to Dublin on the day, I've had a wonderful time on pub crawls throughout the day and night. In me younger years, to be sure, but still.
I don't know why one Alexa will play one thing and the other, when asked the same, plays another. Sometimes, I'd ask the kitchen Alexa about American measurements from Brit ones and get told she doesn't know. Or, I'd ask her to play a type of music, and she'd play something entirely different. When I ask her things, she be snarky or ignores me altogether, but the one in the office is an entirely different sort. She answers me with the correct information, or she plays what I request, and it's like night and day. I don't understand how one can be so different from the other. Of course, me cousin Sean says it's because the kitchen Alexa is a leprechaun, and that's the trouble. OK, Sean!
Anyway, later, when everyone was home and the day had worn on, Mam was preparing (under protest) corned beef and cabbage for the Irish Americans in the house. It was the dish expected, not the traditional Irish stew, that Mam made with potato soup, soda bread, baked beans (those from Boston, I'll give the beans that), and she did not make her Bailey's chocolate cake. No, instead, we had the poor man's dish of boiled beef and cabbage with brown bread (the only authentic Irish thing on the menu) and cupcakes with green icing shamrocks for dessert. I tell ya! I didn't enjoy any of that. I wished for authentic Irish fare and made a secret pact with Mam that next year, even if I had to cook it all, I'd make what we usually ate on St. Patrick's Day.
The whole idea of the corned beef and cabbage was started by me eldest, O'Hare O'Sullivan (now there's an Irish name if ever there was one). Yes, he be 11 years old, and already, we are experiencing teen angst. His temper matches his red hair, and his skill at complaining about everything be reaching epic Irish heights. He is not interested in sports this year, it be the drums, so we are all pretty deaf as a result. He has to have designer clothing, or he'd rather wear the same thing over and over again (unwashed) of designer duds he does own. Well, at Christmas, everyone saved their pennies to buy him his Lucky Brand dark jeans, besides other things, but the Lucky Brand was what he wanted most. I was somewhat taken aback by the request for clothes instead of toys, but realised he is growing up, he is. So Lucky Brand he got, and our purses were quite empty as a result. Now, when I saw the jeans, I was thinking they weren't worth the price. They were all ripped at the knee and faded here and there, but he was happy.
"Did ye get those jeans second-hand?" I asked Tonya,
"Hell no! Why do you ask?"
"Look at the knees all ripped up." I pointed at the knees.
"That's the style."
"Ok, if you say so," I said.
Now, Mam was thinking the same as I about those jeans, but she wasn't there when Tonya explained 'style'; no, she was oblivious that these were the trend again. I thought all that went out twenty years ago, but we can thank Kim Kardashian for the comeback, I be told. To make a long story short (I know, admirable attempt), Mam was still unhappy with changing her menu for St. Pat's. Needing something to do to relieve the stress, she spied these on O'Hare's bed.
 |
| O'Hare's favourite pair of Lucky Brand jeans - no more |
Thinking he had torn his jeans, she took them up and well . . . she mended them! Yes, she did, and when she returned them to put them away, she found four other pairs in the same condition. She spent the evening sewing; yes, she did. Imagine me son's reaction the next morning to discovering his coveted and favourite jeans; all his new Lucky Brands had been sewn up! It wasn't pretty; the red of his face matched his hair, it did. He was most incoherent, foaming at the mouth, trying to get his words out, and ended up holding up a pair and pointing at the neatly sewn knees. Jayus, Mary and Joseph and a whole lorry load of bejaysuses came from the lips of me Mam thinking he had lost his mind. She was clueless, the poor old bird. Or so she acted. I noticed her face working, and Tonya whispered to me that Mam was near tears over O'Hare's reaction, but I noticed she'd turn her head, and her shoulders would shake, and I knew she wasn't near tears. She was near full-out hysterical laughter. I got to her before she burst into giggles and got her out of earshot, which wasn't hard; O'Hare was ranting then. Finally, the dam of words had burst through his angry lips as I shoved her into the laundry room and closed the door.
Tonya and I listened patiently as he exploded. Anything American about him went out the window, and there he was, his red face afire, matching his red hair from his anger, shouting at us like a true Irishman, only he wasn't drunk!
I patted Tonya on the shoulder and indicated that he was hers to deal with. Then, I opened the laundry door and slipped inside.
"Mam," I said, "you did a nice turn, but unfortunately, that's the style, the ripped knees."
"Tell 'em the leprechauns did it because he requested an American dinner for an Irish saint's day."
I stopped in me boots, I did. Well, okay, she and Sean were undoubtedly related, given that they came up with the same universal excuse. I did tell the freaking-out O'Hare that. I said we had no idea how the jeans got sewn together, and it must be the leprechauns who did it. I said this as I came out of the laundry, Mam peeking out the cracked door. He stopped his ranting and looked at me like I was crazy. The silence gave Mam the courage to come out of the laundry.
"They play wit yer head dey doo," Mam added before she quickly went back into the laundry because the laughter was bubbling up, and she'd give herself away.
One thing, the boyo suspects it was his mamo sewing his favourite jeans, but he can't prove it, and he can't fathom why she'd do that. His mother got thread rippers and ripped the neat stitches out, so his jeans are back to Lucky Brand normal, and he's back to the American lad he's supposed to be. The Irish is quelled for now, but I am sure when he sees that Irish stew simmering on the cooker next St. Pat's Day, that fit of Irishness will be back. The boyo does like his baked beans, corned beef and cabbage. Yup, he does.
Gabe
Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved
Tonya and I listened patiently as he exploded. Anything American about him went out the window, and there he was, his red face afire, matching his red hair from his anger, shouting at us like a true Irishman, only he wasn't drunk!
I patted Tonya on the shoulder and indicated that he was hers to deal with. Then, I opened the laundry door and slipped inside.
"Mam," I said, "you did a nice turn, but unfortunately, that's the style, the ripped knees."
"Tell 'em the leprechauns did it because he requested an American dinner for an Irish saint's day."
I stopped in me boots, I did. Well, okay, she and Sean were undoubtedly related, given that they came up with the same universal excuse. I did tell the freaking-out O'Hare that. I said we had no idea how the jeans got sewn together, and it must be the leprechauns who did it. I said this as I came out of the laundry, Mam peeking out the cracked door. He stopped his ranting and looked at me like I was crazy. The silence gave Mam the courage to come out of the laundry.
"They play wit yer head dey doo," Mam added before she quickly went back into the laundry because the laughter was bubbling up, and she'd give herself away.
One thing, the boyo suspects it was his mamo sewing his favourite jeans, but he can't prove it, and he can't fathom why she'd do that. His mother got thread rippers and ripped the neat stitches out, so his jeans are back to Lucky Brand normal, and he's back to the American lad he's supposed to be. The Irish is quelled for now, but I am sure when he sees that Irish stew simmering on the cooker next St. Pat's Day, that fit of Irishness will be back. The boyo does like his baked beans, corned beef and cabbage. Yup, he does.
Gabe
Copyright © 2018 All rights reserved
preteen boys are weird at that age. he'll grow out of it eventually. i like the excuse sounds good to me!
ReplyDeleteROFLMAO typical kid. Godd leprechaun
ReplyDelete