The Irish Post VI

Shamrock HeartI’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way this Irish post became an annual rite of spring here at Drinks.

Some years have proven better than others since my first jig, but I’m here to report that this St Patty’s Day finds your intrepid reporter in a very good place. The environs of which Joyce once streamed on madly and Wilde satirized out of a hopeless ache. The thing Yeats built churches on with romantically placed nouns and passionately charged verbs.


This St Patrick’s Day was destined to be my first without a pretty lass in quite some time. And then, there she was. And there I was. And now, we’re busy venturing into that crazy little thing called love. Together. As with any good place I reach, my tendency is to give thanks to all the people who helped make me? Me. My Irish posts are female-centric for a reason. I was raised by women, I learned everything I’ll ever need to know from women. I trust them, appreciate and love them. Because they speak my language and I am blessed by their presence.

There’s mom, my first girl. The one who taught me the New York Yankees and the efficacy of fist fighting when all else fails. There’s my little girl, Ari, who happens to be my best friend. I’ve been in love with her since she opened her eyes and looked into me with an entire world of questions in her cry. I’ve got the cousins Yve and Marlene. They were my introduction to how pretty girls live and breathe. The platonic quality of such an education paid off handsomely when I was ready to venture out. There’s Felicia, who shares my affliction for all things Miami Dolphins and who happens to think I give great romantic advice (poor girl) There’s Lindsay, a rainbow haired beauty who has a way with women and words and wit. There’s Karen, the girl I won a dance contest with in Killington Vermont when we thought there was a maybe to us, before we realized the maybe was that I would be the Maid of Honor at her wedding, kinda. There’s Alyce, who would be played by Queen Latifah if they ever wrote her life story. She’s a force of nature who’s raised three kids on her own and seen them out into the world, and she’s proof that superheroes don’t wear capes, they wear whatever the hell they feel like wearing. There’s Tracy, whose relationship with her husband has inspired many a pretty word from my keyboard. And there’s Ashley, who never fails to supply me with bad jokes, wicked humor and brilliantly morbid observations on life. She’s an old soul, and she’s going to marry Jason Seagal one day. I just hope her significant other is cool with that. I have my sister Noelle and her beautiful partner Deanne. For anyone who rails on about the evils of gay marriage, I give you these two. They have been together longer than any couple I know, this side of my parents. And they are raising a brilliant young lady named Julia Skye who is nine, going on thirty. And she just so happens to share my affinity for prank calls and The Carbonaro Effect.

There’s my Holy Trinity here at Drinks. Mama Michelle, Mary Wild Words and Christy Mad Science make this blog so much more than just a place from which I can rant and rave. I can’t imagine not having them around. To bounce ideas off of, to read, to learn from, to laugh with. They inspire, incite, provoke . . . they breathe a different way of looking at the world into me.

Still, I spent most of the past year getting all introspective on things. Like, how was it that the good women kept showing up in my life, and yet . . . I didn’t have that girl? Yanno, the girl who instantly becomes my better half. The girl who finishes my sentences with something better sounding. The girl who whispers my good nights and is my first thought when I awake. The girl who scratches the itch I didn’t even know I had. The girl who is Streisand to my Redford. That girl. 

While I never stopped believing in love, I had called off the search for such a thing. I’m talking the total immersion of the heart and soul stuff that leaves you breathless. The kind of thing that had Lloyd Dobler hoisting a boom box over his head. The way Carly Simone sang it and the Bronte sisters wrote it and Keats imagined it. That.

It’s so easy to stop trying. To stop believing in the idea that you can fall in love again, and that’s because falling in love? Hurts like bloody hell. It can desert you, taunt and torture you. It can crush you into a million unrecognizable pieces of yourself. It can leave you believing that maybe it’s best to go it alone, because doing so is preferable to all that pain.

Well, it’s not. Turns out, choosing to go it alone was’t saving my heart, it was starving it. And then something came along that changed the day I was walking inside of. And now I find myself behaving like a puppy, searching for love songs, wearing a smile that won’t quit and thinking about her, like . . all the time.

As Samuel Beckett is my witness, the Holy Day didn’t forget me. So it is that I have something much more potent than ninety proof happening to me. The funny thing about love is that you never know how much you missed it until it shows up. Love is the craziest idea in the world. It also happens to be the best one. To fall under the spell of another human being is basically like high diving off a star, and knowing you’ll be just fine when you land. Feet on the ground, the wind at your backs and the road rising up to meet two special someones who plan on taking forever with them.

May you share a table with that special someone, and may the conversations go long, the love go plenty and the stars lead you home.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day.


25 thoughts on “The Irish Post VI

  1. LOVE! You’re in love!! I read this twice to make sure. I am head over heels happy for you! Remember when I asked about your Irish post, except I thought it was a Valentine’s Day post and you said there wasn’t anyone, but that this would be your best St. P post ever? Love was crouched around the corner waiting to pounce. Sorry…I’m rambling. Love stories and sweet ass writing does that to me–you’ve put both in one post.
    I’m forever a hopeFUL romantic and I’ve been rooting for you since day one. You’ve got lots of lucky women in your life, my friend. They (WE) are all Irish-blessed to have you. Xo

    • I DO remember that! lol. Yes, I am in love. Madly and completely. I was never going to admit how lonely I had become over the last year, but I was, very much so. I was depressed and lonely and sad as all get out. She changed all that, and she makes it look easy.

      This is a different place for me, because I honestly wondered if I was ever going to find that girl. I was dubious to the chances, I really was. And now, I have to retire the word “never” from my romantic vocabulary.

      I am blessed to know you Mick. Happy St. Patty’s Day!

  2. Happy St. Patrick’s Day. Yay that you found love. Laughing at the prank calls. Back when the paper phone book existed friend and I randomly picked names. Our favoritish was the…hi, is your freezer running? (yes) Well you better catch it before it gets away. Lame, I know…but we were 8 years old. The reactions ranged the gamut.

    Hope you have a good one.

    • It does feel like Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day merged, lol.

      Oh my God, I loved prank calling people as a kid! As an adult, I started pranking telemarketers. I’d make up all sorts of crazy scenarios and see how long they would stay on the line with me before hanging up.

      Have a great evening Jaded! Thanks!

        • Oh my goodness. I would pick a topic and run with it. Like, I’d ask for their thoughts on color schemes for the kids rooms, or I would rant on about family (which was GREAT since, yanno . . who are they gonna tell?). Anything and everything. It was never mean, but it was hilarious to get THEM to hang up on ME, lol.

    • Well Colorado,

      You’ve shown yourself to be a kind and thoughtful friend, so it goes to show I am ever more blessed by the women in my life that your omission was not intended as a slight, but rather as a means of brevity.

      We met over an Irish post of mine? This Irish post is why Drinks kept on kicking, that’s for sure.

      I hope you have a blessed St. Patrick’s Day Susie!


  3. Oh Cayman, sounds like something’s got their hooks in you. And I couldn’t be happier for you. You deserve every single good thing that life sends your way. She’s a very lucky lady. And you sound very lucky too. Hard to say who luckiest. How ’bout I just go with both?

    You’re sweet to include me and Mick and Mary. It’s a pleasure to write with you. You’ve got that spark. And I owe so much of my own creativity to you for acting as catalyst. (There’s good things in store for Sam and Dave, I just know it, and I can’t wait!) Loved hearing about the lovely women that surround you and shape you. Your mom, Ari, your sister and niece and friends…

    Love really is a crazy idea–an insane idea really–because it’s scary and it can hurt, but it can also save you and heal you. The more you open yourself to risk, the more you open yourself to joy. It’s funny how it works that way. You remind me of Gibran’s famous words on love:
    Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
    Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
    For love is enough.

    You should say, “I am in the heart of God.”
    You cannot direct the course of love,
    For love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

    To wake at dawn with a winged heart
    To come home in the evening with gratitude;
    And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart
    And a song of praise on your lips.

    Things are good for you, Mr. Thorn; may your good things never end. May your winning streak never end either. 😉 And may the road always rise to meet you.

    So, roll the dice, boy, ‘cause my money’s on you,
    Take my advice now and put your money down too,
    Because there’s something in the eye you can’t pretend,
    And may your winning streak,
    May it never end

    • C,

      You, as much as anyone, have seen the difference in me from there to here. From before she happened to me compared with the after. It’s amazing how another human being can change everything, it’s just a remarkable thing.

      As for who’s luckiest? Me. Hands down.

      I can say ‘likewise’ to your statement about catalysts, as far as creative juices are concerned. You are a live wire of words, and it’s more than just a blast to be able to write with you, it’s an honor. You’re a positively brilliant writer, a trusted friend and a guiding light. Thank you for inciting, provoking and inspiring me. All the time.

      I LOVE Gibran! And yes, for love IS enough. It’s everything. It really, really is.

      And I love that song! Wow, that’s soulful goodness there, isn’t it? You’re the resident musical expert, on top of all your other mad skills.

      You’re really something, Carrots. And thank you. And gracias. And peace.


  4. Cayman…I can’t tell you in words (fathom that!) how sweet i feel inside that you found a love..a lover..someone to make want to breathe in the morning. Without that, i wouldn’t be here. It’s precious beyond all i’ve ever known. I am so happy for you brother! 🙂 for realz. 🙂

    • K,

      You? Wordless? What up with that?

      You’re very sweet, and you happen to be right on. It’s one of those things that makes me wonder what I did before she came along. You’re right though. Someone who makes you want to breathe in the morning, so true.

      And I’m uber glad you have your love in tow, and that you ARE here. I mean, if I can be seriously somber for a moment, it would be really horrible if you weren’t here. Because you’re good people, and the world needs more, not less. You also happen to be unique and talented and genuine. Not to mention, you leave great comments.

      Right back at you sister. Namaste . . . for realz realz!

  5. I loved this Pilgrim. I too was raised by women and can understand everything you admire about that kind o upbringing. Makes for a pretty resilient and grounded man. The best part is being able to not only love but also like your partner. Saddens me a little that That GIRL is still out there without knowing a wonderful person as yourself. Ah well someday. Happy belated St. Patricks Day.

  6. This: “To fall under the spell of another human being is basically like high diving off a star, and knowing you’ll be just fine when you land.” Truer, more powerful words were never written, and I’m ecstatic that you have this in your life. Ain’t no endorphin like love to make you fly high. And no one deserves that high more than you.

    And yes, we women fortunate enough to have stumbled into your arena where we get to experience your wisdom, your wit, and your big ol’ ten gallon heart know without question your love is one lucky girl.

    I guess they don’t call him Saint Patrick for nothing.

    • You’re gonna make me cry, Mary.

      Well, it’s like this. When I got all introspective this past year, I was able to admit to myself that I was lonely as all get out. Sad too. I think the admission allowed me to open up, personally. I’ve never been very trusting, and I’ve always played things close to the vest in order not to get hurt. Dudes aren’t supposed to admit that they’re afraid of being hurt, or worse, that they HAVE been hurt before. But I was, both.

      Love is jumping. And I’m glad I jumped.

      Blessed to have you, Mary Wild Words.

      Peace, love and a nod to St. Patrick.

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