HAPPY STAINT PATRICK'S DAY 2008

My dear friend, Frances, has taken the high road home. She lived long (93 yrs.) and went down easy. I called her "My favorite Nebraska farmer." She planted a couple of tomato plants at her apartment and loved giving away her roses. She said it made them bloom more. Each summer Sunday she took one to church for the altar.

She had a child-like curiosity about everything. Often she spoke of how she loved the "great mystery of life." Her laughter came quick and easy. I called her every week. When I was traveling and lost I told her I didn't know where I was, but this is what I see.

Fun to be around and positive to the core, people fought for her company. I think she was 93 going on 20. When times were tough she'd say, "The road will straighten out - eventually."

Her father was full-blooded Irish and taught her about the stars. St. Patrick's Day was a favorite holiday. She wore her green suit and favorite hat to celebrate. Her straight back, twinkly eyes and white hair swept up, gave her the appearance of European Royalty.

In Taste of Home I found an Irish recipe for meringue cups she would have liked. The baked meringue nest is topped with a mixture of eagle brand condensed milk, whipped cream and green food coloring. Topped with candied green cherries split to make a three-leaf clover and stem it celebrates the Irish symbol of the Trinity.

March 5th her body was laid to rest in an old cemetery south of Decatur, NE, but her spirit is limitless. She forever and always lives in our hearts and we in hers. I lift my cup to you, Frances. Thanks for everything and Happy Saint Patrick's Day.

2008 Red Convertible Travel Series

For the love of green

My friend, Frances, is 91 going on 20. Small, she walks straight and tall. Her white hair waves up adding the illusion of height. There's an air of European royalty about her, and a twinkle in her eye. She's quick to laugh - fun to be with. People fight for her company. She's Irish, and as perpetually positive as Ireland is perpetually green. To quote her, "Oh, how I love the mystery of life."

Would that we could, I'd take her to Ireland. We'd drive on the left in a small car, manage the roundabouts, shake our heads at those paying no attention to the "Do Not Overtake" (don't pass signs), and puzzle over "Traffic Calming" (slow down).

This time of year the dewy air is scented with daffodils, pink and white blooms of flowering trees, yellow forsythia, and brightly colored primrose near the deep green ground cover, the deep green that is Ireland. On cloudy days the green is even darker.

Stacked white stones mark fence lines and gardens. Extracting stones from the ground is akin to dentistry, earth heaves them slowly. A miniature house of stone with a thatched room sits among the organized rocks testifying to a slow, labor intensive time. To some, the good old days.

Over shepherd's pie or Irish stew, lamb either way you look at it, and a pint at a local pub, we'd celebrate Saint Patrick's Day thankful he drove the snakes out. We'd see if they play Country Western to celebrate - Willie Nelson, or have gone strictly native this year. Either way, we'd have a bloody good time!

Copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series