A day for the Irish and how'd it get to be mid-March?

St. Patrick's Day. As one whose Irish ancestry never seemed to pull us deeply into "makin' a show" during childhood, I am put off by the Germans Poles Vietnamese and Guatamalans who feel compelled to put something green on and engage in blather over rainbows and leprechauns and their ilk this one day of the year. I didn't really find myself stunned speechless by the legions of Irish ancestors I had until I was a grownup and the geneology turned up surname after surname. We always knew we were Byrnes, but the FitzGeralds, McGartneys, Dooleys, Dodicans and so on did make me pay attention. Next year, I think I'll wear green on the feast of St. Brendan and St. Brigid and see if anyone notices.

This month has bustled past. Dryest March I think we've ever had. No rain until yesterday. Just California weather. And me on the road down to Roseburg and then off for 24 hours in Palm Springs. The time-where does it go? Speaking of which I have to run...

Will write later. Slainte!