Happy St. Paddy’s Day

There is always been an issue with which way to express the greatest day in Celticdom.

Patty or Paddy?

First, let me note that “Paddy” is an established pejorative nickname for an Irish male.

https://www.thefreedictionary.com/paddy#:~:text=Used%20as%20a%20disparaging%20term%20for%20a%20person%2C,or%20ancestry.%20%5BNickname%20for%20Irish%20Gaelic%20P%C3%A1draig%2C%20Patrick.%5D

But since the Irish have thick skins and have found far more to life to worry about than what someone calls us, we don’t give a shit.

The argument for “Paddy” is that the saint’s Irish Gaelic name is Pádraig (Patrick in English). Paddy is the proper nickname for Pádraig.

But since very few American greeting card companies are run by the Irish, Patty has been the more acceptable monetized moniker on how the patron St. of Ireland appears to the general public.

However, a little research

– watching a cool video by the cutest vivvienne_in_nyc

(https://www.facebook.com/reel/1244551313598649) –

has disclosed that Pádraig’s actual birth name was Maewyn Succat. And that he was not actually Irish, but Welsh.

And that’s okay, because that leaves Maewyn still a Celt. And the Welsh have the most magnificent singing voices. Plus, the term ‘Celtic’ is a broad Church. The languages and cultures of Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, Ilse of Man, and Brittany are considered the Celtic Nations.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celts

So, it turns out our dear St. Patrick was kidnapped as a child – by Irish pirates (who knew) – from his family in Wales and sold into slavery in Ireland. There he changed his name to the Latin version of Patrick – Patricius.

But Patricius was only one of a few major characters of that name in ancient history.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patricius

So the man who would become known as the Apostle of Ireland had to distinguish himself.

Patricius worked as a shepherd for six years in – of course – Northern Ireland – so it is quite possible that our families crossed paths.

Indeed, it has remained a common practice of my heathen family to maintain a close tie with at least one very Catholic Irishman, so that if we are wrong about our more druidic practices, we have a true believer available on the inside to open the back gate of heaven and allow us to sneak past St. Peter. And speaking of St. Peter, my back gate hook is the brilliant Harvard trained lawyer (but always a BIC) Peter Sheridan, whose named character – along with his wonder dog Fergus – also plays a central role in Where The Ley Lines Meet. But I digress.

Like many Irishman before him, Patricius left his adopted home to seek his fame and fortune – and joined the Catholic Church. Then he went around spreading the good news of Christianity, using the three leaf shamrock as an visual aid to explain the Holy Trinity.

Yadda, yadda, yadda . . . . .

Now the very first St. Patrick’s Day Parade was in 1762 in my hometown – New York City.

It’s been a party ever since.

So, I hope you fine, five readers have had the opportunity to get your Irish on this weekend. You see, on this magical holy day, everyone is Irish. Absolutely everyone. There is no choice in the matter, so just go with it.

Corned beef and cabbage if you are a carnivore. Irish soda bread slathered with Kerrygold if you lean more towards my vegetarian bent.

Here’s a little know factoid. My grandmother, Posie, was a renowned cook. She worked as a cook for some rich Brahmans on the upper east side in her youth when she arrived in America. Everyone of my childhood friends has eaten something she prepared. She was amazing. She not only ran my Clan, she fed us.

Of course, each St. Paddy’s Day, Posie would whip up her Corned Beef and Cabbage, and everyone loved it. Except me. The smell of its slow cooking permeated the house on Mosholu and quite honestly, boiling cabbage stinks to high heaven. So, I never took a bite of that Irish meal until one St. Paddy’s Day, when I was in my late teens, I was invited to dine at the Collins home, and Momma C made CB&C.

You didn’t turn your nose up at one of Momma C’s meals. As a matter of fact, if you had any sense at all, you pretty much just did whatever Momma C told you to do.

For those who have read The Claire Saga, Momma C is the real life blood mother of the guy who provided the basis for the character Murray Conley and the woman whose character appears as Eileen Cotto in all of the books and also the maneater who leads Mark Wallen (my real life dead BIL) astray in FJM. I snuck the rest of the Collins girls in as the Gnomes. Momma C was also a surrogate mother to me and most of the OFC.

Those were good times.

Anyway, today, I will honor my heritage with green and magic.

Unfortunately, I also need to clean the basement – which I do to honor of all of the Irish slaves before me, like Maewyn Succat.

But first, I need to go cuddle some kitties and make my rounds.

And snakes have always been welcome at Casa Claire.

So, today, of all days Irish and Holy, let us make it a great one.