Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

MSN photo

Ireland. Trees are rare as sunshine. Roads are twisted. Rocks a plenty. Hospitality warm. Willie Nelson music on St. Patrick's Day.

2006 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

A Quiet Hero:

unpretentious; more "heart" than most; pushes forward in spite of limitations - health or financial; goes beyond the extra mile - my friend, Lil.

The cat in the window watched its keeper open the door. Stepping inside my eyes popped. The homeowner noticed and laughed. “I have twenty-nine of them.” We have two. Twenty-nine I couldn’t imagine. They were everywhere, high and low. I chuckled at the longhaired white cat stretched out on her back on the kitchen table.

The moment Lil sat down one hopped on her lap for a pet. Another hopped on mine she tried to shoo off, but animals know I like them. Petting him soothed my longing for our pets back home. I smiled. He purred.

“How did you get so many?”
"People just drop them off. Each one has a story. This one (black and in her lap) was shot in Houston. He still has a bullet in his spine. Doc said he can't operate; it's too close to a nerve.” He jumped down satisfied. She smiled ready to welcome another. I imagined an invisible neon sign with a flashing arrow pointing down: homeless cats - stop here for food, shelter, and love.

Lil is a former Humane Society board member. But for her, they'd all be deceased. Her doctor said caring for them keeps her going. "Some of them sleep with me. I live alone."
"No you don't," I exclaimed. We both laughed.

"Do you have help with their maintenance?”
“Not really. I use coupons when I can. Basically, it comes out of my pocket. I have them neutered and spayed too."

Patron saint of the animals, Saint Frances of Assisi is remembered for his love and service to animals. I see the likes of him in Lil. God bless her.

copyright 2006 Red Convertible Travel Series