This holiday was always important in our family with us being mostly Irish and all. Our parents insisted we wear green, and as much as possible. No excuses. Looking back at photos like the one above brings back memories of our dad's really ugly clothes, though very stylish at the time. Our mom was always a snappy dresser and had lots of cool scarves she wore either around her neck or in her hair. And look at the carpet in that photo...even it is green. I know the appliances were green too. You know, to match the carpet in the kitchen. Who would put carpet in a kitchen?
Our mom would make corned beef and cabbage. We would come home from school and sports and I always thought the house smelled like a leftover fart. One year she learned she could make corned beef in the Pressure Cooker. That thing always scared the shit out of me and I was no where to be found when she opened it. She once asked if I wanted one and I said "hell no". She did buy me a Crock Pot the St. Patrick's day after I was married when she happened to be visiting us in Louisiana. I used that Crock Pot today and can't believe it's lasted almost 20 years and several moves. It makes me think of my mom and her helpful tools and suggestions. She was, after all the first person we knew with a microwave back in the 70s. When she started making meat loaf and cupcakes in the huge box on the counter -- we were so OVER it and begged her to stop.
I always thought it was funny when St. Patrick's day fell on a Friday during Lent which meant we had "dispensation" from the Pope and we were allowed to eat meat on Friday. I looked forward to this like I looked forward to a Christmas Eve falling on a Saturday or Sunday. But during Lent it meant a reprieve from tuna casserole, soggy fish (in the microwave) or a Filet-of-Fish if we were on the run. However, there's nothing more disappointing as a kid in the days before fast food was common then to end up at a McDonalds on a Friday during Lent with my parents.
When I was in college I discovered that the Filet-o-Fish was a fantastic cure for a hangover, often on the morning of March 18th. Oh, my parents would be so proud.
Creative Writing workshop five minute write
Prompt: Right here, right now
I often have these moments when I ask myself, how the heck did I get
here? If anyone had asked me back in 1987 if I would be living in Montreal, be a stay at home mom for the most part and be raising a child with special needs, I would have said no effing way.
Sometimes I'm resentful when I look back and wonder, what if I didn't move to Louisiana from California, what if I didn't give up this or that job for another? Was it wise to move for love? I used to justify it by saying that I could have the best job in the world, but if I didn't have anyone to share it with, what's the point?
I guess, that is the point. I guess I have given up professional opportunities and made sacrifices for the sake of my family. But does it all matter? I know I am fortunate in that I have been able to make these choices.
I don't believe in coincidences. I don't know what I believe in per se, but I do believe in purpose. There is a reason why we moved to Montreal and I gave up yet another job. There's a reason why I'm "staying home" again. There's a reason why for the first time in my life I have time on my hands and have the opportunity to explore new adventures. There's a reason why I found this creative writing workshop. There's a reason why I'm sitting in this class, right here, right now, trying not to focus on this butt-ugly table cloth* that stares back at me week after week.
Right here, right now. Right now I'm right here where I belong.
*for the past year the workshop/class has been held in a classroom where we sit around a table adorned with the ugliest vinyl tablecloth with the most annoying countrified blue flowers.
