Maura’s List of Ridiculously Great Irish Things

(google image via literatehousewife.com)

(For best results, please read with an Irish brogue.)

Sure, if I didn’t have big plans for this week! I thought I’d be tellin’ ye all kinds of tall tales and reciting dirty limericks and playin’ Irish drinking songs for ye on th’ days leadin’ up to this, St. Patrick’s Day. But alas, it was not meant to be. I’m still tryin’ to handle my tasks at the office now that I’m one editor short.

While I’m doin’ me work, I’ll be leavin’ ye with some ridiculous Irish greatness to consider.

~*~

Confession Jokes

Who doesn’t love a quick bit about sin and atonement? There are lots of jokes about confession, but this one’s my favorite:

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six months since my last confession. On top of that, I’ve been with a loose woman.”

The priest sighs. “Is that you, Tommy O’Shaughnessy?”

“Yes, Father, ’tis I.”

“And who might be the woman you were with?”

“I shan’t be tellin’ you, Father. It would ruin her reputation.”

“Well, Tommy, I’m bound to find out sooner or later, so you may as well tell me now. Was it Brenda O’Malley?”

“I cannot say, Father.”

“Was it Patricia Fitzgerald?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’ll not name her.”

“Was it Fiona Mallory, then?”

“Please, Father, I cannot tell you.”

The priest sighs in frustration. “You’re a steadfast lad, Tommy O’Shaughnessy, and I admire that. But, you’ve sinned, and you must atone. Be off with you now…”

Tommy walks back to his pew. His friend Sean slides over and whispers, “What’d you get?”

Tommy pats his friend on the back. “Three more good leads, lad. Let’s go.”

The Wild Rover by The Pogues

No one captures an Irish drinking song better than Shane MacGowan and his band’s punk take on this traditional Irish tune.

Requiscat by Oscar Wilde

Wilde is widely considered to be one of the most brilliant writers of his time. What I love most about this piece is how he uses understatement and control to so elegantly convey one of life’s most devastating emotions.

Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.

Peace, peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

James Joyce’s Dubliners

When you have an Irish mother like I do, Irish fiction has a way of peppering the bookshelves. When I was 9, I picked up Finnegan’s Wake, realized it was too far over my head, and never revisited Joyce again.

Until.

Last year I read Dubliners, and spent every last word cursing myself for having missed out on Joyce for so long.

If you’re so inspired, read this Dubliners excerpt, titled “The Sisters.”

Irish Cream Coffee

Forget Guinness. Here’s how to celebrate the luck o’ the Irish.

1 12-oz. wine glass, preheated 10 oz. Bewley’s Gold Roast Instant Coffee
1-1/2 jigger Bailey’s Original Irish Cream
1/4 c. heavy cream, whipped until stiff peaks form ground cinnamon (optional)

Pour hot coffee into the heated glass. Add the Bailey’s and stir well to blend. Top with a mound of whipped cream. Sprinkle with cinnamon if desired.
Yield: 1 serving

Irish Soda Bread

Of course you’ll need to nibble on something while you enjoy your favorite Irish beverage. Here’s a recipe from Gourmet Magazine, March 2002 to get you started.

(google image via justcastironcookware.com)

Irish Setters

When I was but a wee lass, we had a dog who looked just like this:

(google image via dogbreedinfo.com)

His name was Rory, and from what I remember, he slobbered a lot and wasn’t very smart, but I loved him.

Irish Blessings

I like to laugh at the raunchy ones. (Who doesn’t?) But what I like even more is a kind phrase said with sincerity, like this one.

May you live a long life
Full of gladness and health,
With a pocket of gold
As the least of your wealth.
May the dreams you hold dearest,
Be those which come true,
The kindness you spread,
Keep returning to you.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day to ye and yours!

~*~ Follow me on Twitter: @36×37
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It’s My Last Holiday Post, I Swear.

I baked for six hours on Saturday.

Gingerbread. Sugar cookies. Chocolate chip. Seven-layer bars. Brownies.

I’d like to say I did it because I’m a slave to the Christmas baking tradition, but that’s not exactly true. The holiday season is just a happy excuse to plug in the Kitchen Aid mixer, switch on some music, and bake for a long and lovely while. It’s relaxing. It’s cheerful. It makes the house smell heavy with butter and flour, rather than the perpetual aroma of morning pancakes.

Plus, in spurts, I had company. H decorated a “Ginger Daddy.”

…and O iced a “Ginger O, and a Ginger Mama.” According to O, the Ginger Mama was white because “she put on too much lotion.”

Dairy/Egg-free Sugar Cookies

I can’t even begin to tell you how delicious (and easy) these are, courtesy of The Gluttonous Vegan.

You’ll need:

2 cups all purpose flour

a pinch of sea salt

1/3 cup vegan margarine

3/4 cup icing/confectioners sugar

1/4 cup canola/sunflower oil

1 tsp almond extract (optional)

Instructions:

PREHEAT your oven to 325 degrees.

CREAM together the margarine, sugar, oil and almond extract until smooth. Add the flour and salt and mix again until it’s a squishy dough.

COVER a baking tray in some grease-proof paper.

PULL OFF small lumps and shape into balls. Place each ball on the tray and flatten into thin discs.

BAKE for 10-14 minutes. You’ll know they’re finished when the edges are just slightly golden.

ICE and DECORATE at will.

Dairy/Egg-free Brownies

It hurts my heart to say this, since I prefer to bake from scratch, but check out Cherrybrook Kitchen’s allergen-free brownie mix. These brownies are better than any non-mix allergen-free brownie recipe I’ve tried.

Dairy/Egg-free Gingerbread

See Monday’s post.

GB’s Most Excellent Chocolate Chip Cookies*

You’ll need:

• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 2 sticks of butter, softened
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 3/4 cup packed brown sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 2 large eggs
• 2 cups (12-oz. pkg.) of semi-sweet chocolate chips

*I’m leaving out the secret ingredient.

Instructions:

PREHEAT oven to 375° F.

COMBINE flour, baking soda and salt in small bowl. Beat butter, granulated sugar, brown sugar and vanilla extract in large mixer bowl until creamy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Gradually beat in flour mixture. Stir in chocolate chips. Drop by rounded tablespoon onto an ungreased baking sheets.

BAKE for 9 to 11 minutes or until golden brown. Cool on baking sheets for 2 minutes; remove to wire racks to cool completely.

7-layer Bars

You’ll need:

1 stick of butter, melted

1 sleeve of graham crackers, ground

1 can of sweetened condensed milk

1 12-oz. pkg. of semi-sweet chocolate chips

1 12-oz. pkg. of butterscotch chips

½ cup coconut flakes

½ cup chopped pecans

Instructions:

PREHEAT oven to 350 degrees.

POUR melted butter into a 9×13-inch baking dish.

GRIND the graham crackers in a food processor, then pour evenly over the butter, pushing down to make a crust.

POUR sweetened condensed milk evenly over the graham cracker crust.

ADD the semi-sweet chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, coconut flakes and chopped pecans evenly, one ingredient at a time.

BAKE for 20-25 minutes, or until golden brown around the edges.

The best part was packing up the cookies and giving them away. Now, I have an excuse to bake again in a few days.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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Songs of Snow and Heartbreak

 

(google image from tinyfarmblog.com)

Snow is falling again on Columbus. It has been all week, in a quiet, steady flurry from sky to ground. I’m breathlessly glad to see it, because this time of year, every year, I fall head over heels in love with Snow. I don’t mean for it to happen, it just does.

And so Snow and I rekindle an annual affair that lasts through January. We spend cozy nights at home watching movies and sipping cocoa while I gaze at it adoringly. I don’t notice at first that Snow is cold and unresponsive. Love is blind that way.

Finally, though, I do notice, and by February, I am done with Snow—done!—because by then, it has grown slovenly and gray. It stops being romantic, and it won’t clean up after itself. I ask it to leave and it won’t. Things grow sour when I tell it to stop tracking itself across the wooden floors, and in March, it disappears altogether. I’m glad to see it go, and I forget all about it…until December shows up again on my doorstep.

~*~

Snow must have its way with everyone, because it keeps popping up in some of the songs I love. My iTunes alone have nine songs that feature Snow as a lead character, and every one of those tracks is about unspeakable heartbreak, longing and loss.

So. I’m banking on something. I’m banking on YOUR affair with snow. It’s alright to admit it—I know how Snow gets around. That’s why I’m posting these songs today: so we can commiserate.

Bon Iver – Blood Bank

Basically, this song boils down to two people who have a strange conversation at a blood bank and end up making out in a car—that is covered in Snow! (I’m not surprised.) The track is gorgeous, and the instrumental end is absolutely devastating.

Winter ’05 – Ra Ra Riot

This song is about a man standing on the bank of a frozen river, crooning about a long-lost lover. The strings lend an undeniable warmth to the track, which makes me think Ra Ra Riot’s affair with Snow isn’t as conflicted as mine is.

In the New Year – The Walkmen

I had to post this, mostly because it’s one of my top-five favorite songs of all time. It’s about a man who tries to rally from heartbreak by telling himself—unconvincingly—that next year will be better. The ending lyrics are what get me the most: “My friends and my family–they are asking of me: “How long will you ramble?” But how long will you stay with me? Snow is still falling. I’m almost home. I’ll see you in the New Year.”

Winter – Tori Amos

I’ve said before that I’m not a crier, but I can’t make it through this song without feeling weepy. It’s about a daughter facing the loss of a parent, and Snow is a metaphor for death. Honestly, I don’t know how Tori can make it through even the first verse without breaking down completely. Best get your hanky ready. (It’s ok, I’ll wait while you find one.)

Furr – Blitzen Trapper

Finally!—A song that offers you Snow in all its December charm, rather than as the dysfunctional jerk we’ll see again in February. (I had to end on a high-note.)

This is just to say: We don’t always love what’s good for us. And so Snow, I’ll relish you while you’re here, and I’ll do so without apology. But please don’t think me unkind when I flee to Florida in January. It’s just that this year, I need to take matters into my own hands. I hope you’ll understand.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
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Holiday Cheer in Strange Places

(Image from http://www.baxterboo.com)

It’s Tuesday at 7AM, and I’ve just admitted to Jim the Manager of the Honda Service Department that my last oil change was in June. Now my oil light is on (again). It’s lucky Jones [my car] and I made it here at all, if you want to know the truth.

The good news is that now I’m just hours from owning a working radio. Plus, the sign on the wall says “Free Car Wash!”  This early-morning trip to the dealership is totally worth it.

But the radio is my most pressing issue. “My car battery died in June,” I say to Jim the Manager of the Honda Service Department. “And since then, my radio won’t work—not even the CD player. I guess I’m supposed to enter some sort of code to reprogram it?”

“We can do that for you,” he says. Then he rests his chin on his hands and raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been six months without a radio?”

“It’s been awful. Lots of long, silent drives to work.”

He shakes his head in mock-commiseration. “Ok, so you need an oil change. And a radio reset. You have two recalls, too—wiper motor, and [something else I can’t remember]. Anything else?”

“That free car wash would be lovely!” I gush. Because, truly, Jones needs it. Along with an intense interior scrub-down. Nasty.

Jim the Manger of the Honda Service Department smirks at me. Then he looks at the bored-looking guy next to him. “Mike. We runnin’ the car wash today?”

Mike doesn’t look away from the Deep Space he’s staring into. “It’s 10 degrees.”

Jim the Manger of the Honda Service Department looks back at me. “Too cold.”

I glance at Jones and sigh. Sorry, buddy, I think. No bathtime for you until spring.

~*~

I trudge through the slushy parking lot and pass Jones on my way to GB’s nameless car. Now that I feel like an idiot for asking about the Free Car Wash! in freezing weather, my nerves are rubbed raw from embarrassment.

When I open the passenger side door, I can see that my three guys aren’t faring much better. The small ones are hungry and bored. The big one is frazzled from trying to keep the small ones from crying.

“I’m sorry, guys!” I say. “Thanks for waiting. Let’s go home and I’ll make you breakfast before I start working.”

“You were in there so wooooooong!” O wails.

“Dat took forEVer, Mama,” H chimes in. And while I’m attempting to soothe them, this comes on the radio:

The Singing Dogs ~ Jingle Bells (via YouTube)

I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but that’s really all it takes. Two happy guys in the back seat, one happy guy in the front, and me, crying with laughter. I think under usual circumstances, this song wouldn’t be funny. But it is today.

Even better, the next song is this—my favorite Christmas carol arrangement of all time:

Johnny Mercer & The Pied Pipers ~ Santa Claus is Coming to Town (via YouTube)

Happiness. There’s just nothing like a Big Band horn section.

Later, Jim the Manger of the Honda Service Department calls to say my battery is old and needs to be replaced. I think he feels badly about the Free Car Wash! thing, because he gives me a 15% discount “on the sly.”

I suspect he’s upselling me, and that the discount is his way of reconciling his guilt. But I don’t really care to test my theory by saying no and driving around with a dying battery. Instead, I’ll tell myself that he heard The Singing Dog’s version of Jingle Bells, too, and now he’s full of holiday cheer, and as a result this discount is Honda’s gift to me.

It’s a Christmas miracle.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
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10 Questions I Really Should Ask My Mother

(courtesy of Pink Sherbet Photography)

My mother has a knack for building traditions.

When I was small, she’d wait until the first weekend in December to decorate for the holidays. Then slowly, over a period of two or three days, hints of the season would begin to appear. Garland on the banister.  A wreath on the door. Christmas music boxes and pretty handmade Santas she bought from a local craftsman. Eventually, we would trim the tree together, and she’d weave quick and cheerful remembrances as we hung the ornaments one by one.

She’d host lavish Christmas parties for the neighborhood and insist on doing all the cooking herself: homemade sauce, hand-rolled manicotti, spiced nuts, beef tenderloin, antipasto, red wine. When I was older, she let me invite my friends; we’d act as servers, passing trays of hors d’oeuvres and hiding the homemade candy so we could sneak snacks over gossip in the middle of the night. The next day’s leftovers were fantastic.

Those parties were social—always fun-filled and merry. But more than that, they were open-hearted and generous. People loved to attend, because they adored my mom. They left feeling well-fed and well-loved, energized and ready for the bustling remains of the season.

~*~

That’s where my love for tradition began. In my house, we launch the Christmas season the day after Thanksgiving. The boys watch The Polar Express and sip hot cocoa while we deck the tree and wrap a tidy electric train around its base. We spend our days baking cookies, decorating ornaments, writing letters to Santa, assembling Lego advent calendar pieces, and attending and hosting parties.

I love it. But try as I might, I can’t replicate my mother’s knack for celebrating a holiday. Now that we’re under different roofs, I miss the days we slipped aprons over our heads and laughed together with wooden spoons in our hands.

That’s why I kicked off a new December tradition a few years ago: holiday brunch with my mom. She picks the place, and (for once) promises not to fight me for the check.

~*~

I’ve wanted to try Rigsby’s for ages. When it opened 20 or so years ago, it almost single-handedly pulled Columbus out of the chain restaurant doldrums and into the realm of fine dining. I’m excited, but I’m nervous, too, because there’s something I should admit: This year, I have ulterior motives for brunch.

A few years ago, I found a list CNN.com reposted from Real Simple Magazine: 10 Questions to Ask Your Mother. That list is in my pocket this afternoon, and I’m planning to blurt out every last question. They’re all things I’d love to know about the woman sitting across from me. I can’t even guess what her answers will be.

1. What’s the one thing you would have done differently as a mom?

2. Why did you choose to be with my father?

3. In what ways do you think I’m like you?

4. Which one of us kids did you like the best?

5. Is there anything you have always wanted to tell me but never have?

6. Do you think it’s easier or harder to be a mother now than when you were raising our family?

7. Is there anything you regret not having asked your parents?

8. What’s the best thing I can do for you right now?

9. Is there anything you wish had been different between us — or that you would still like to change?

10. When did you realize you were no longer a child?

We order the risotto, and I have no idea what we’re talking about. I just keep thinking about the list, the list, the list, and I scold myself for stalling. This shouldn’t be a problem. I should be able to ask these questions. What if I don’t want to know the answer to #9? But also, what if I do? I…don’t know. Maybe I should skip it?

I look up and see my mother’s beautiful eyes and kind face. She’s telling me about a great aunt who is getting ready to celebrate a milestone birthday. The risotto appears, and it’s hands down the best thing I’ve tasted. Ever. In my mind, I fold the list and file it away for later.

~*~

It’s funny how little we know about the people we love best. I could interview my parents for hours and never quite scratch the surface. After years of prying with an inquisitive mind, and always getting an answer, I still just know basics. The names of their childhood friends. What their houses looked like. Their favorite subjects in school, the times they caused trouble, the way they met. Bits and pieces of their shared and individual histories.

If they were to sit down for hours and write every facet of their lives they can remember, I still wouldn’t know everything.

Parents are mysterious. That’s just how nature works. They are ornaments in our minds’ eyes, pulled from boxes, held up to the light, displayed in our fingertips so we can recall bits of our shared stories: the way their kitchen smells like spices, how my mother’s face changes when my dad makes her laugh, and all the other little things I’ve observed and recorded in the capsule of my memory all these years. I touch the glass of those memories and think, “that is my mom.” When really, there is so much more to her than that.

I’ll hold on to the list. I’ll memorize it so I can weave it into some thread of a future conversation. But today isn’t the day. We have risotto to eat, and an afternoon to just enjoy being together.

But you know the questions now, Mom. So get your answers ready.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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