May the Road Rise Up to Meet You

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Friends!

Since we’re all friends here, I’ll be honest… I adore St. Patrick’s Day!

And it’s not because I need an excuse to drink green beverages.  (Ew…)

When I hear, “Happy St. Paddy’s Day,” my mind skips over the the shelf labeled Memories That Made Jocelyn, and takes down a battered green leather-bound Memory Album, embellished with flaking gold-leaf shamrocks.  Inside I find snapshots and camcorder footage of my life.

I’m on an intensely lit stage singing, “May the road rise up to meet you,” with the Women’s Choir.  “Irish Blessing” closes every concert of my undergrad career.  The line at the end, “Until we meet again,” launches my light lyric voice into the ethereal heights, and my heart is full.

I see the shamrocks in my science-professor-grandmother’s dining room cabinet.  This year, my science fair project is to study the mighty shamrock’s penchant for opening and closing its leaves.  Turns out, shamrocks have internal clocks!

I’m at the Murphy Family Reunion in the hotel’s cavernous and impressively-white meeting room.  I’m young, so I only know my immediate family, and I’m intimidated by the massive number of milling Murphys.  This is also why Murphy’s Law totally affects me—it’s in my blood.

I’m in McCarthy’s—a dimly lit Irish pub in Kentucky.  My favorite spot is in the deep hug of a worn mahogany booth.  It’s just a touch chilly here by the front window, and I don’t bother trying to gaze through the glass that hasn’t been washed since the joint opened.  I focus instead on my friends.

I’m watching Darby O’Gill and the Little People (while falling in love with a very young Sean Connery), singing along to Finian’s Rainbow, and reading all of the Maeve Binchy books I can lay my hands on.

I’m singing City of Chicago at Camp Albemarle.  The loggia’s air conditioning is on point in the choir rehearsal room, so I forget about the New Jersey summer steam that cloys at the towering windows.  Safe inside, we’re singing about my Murphy ancestors’ voyage in 1847, “the year it all began.”  (Check out Christy Moore’s singing the original if you have a minute.)

I’m perusing my Clones Lace pattern book that details the traditional Irish crochet lace techniques.  I’m dreaming up an elaborate shawl that I have yet to gather the courage to begin.  Someday, folks.  Someday…

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I’ll stop flipping through my Memory Album for your sake.  But I will say this—I appreciate the fact that a holiday can be such a blessing in a person’s life.

And it isn’t about the holiday.

It’s about all of the Life Moments that it recalls.  Not only am I alive today thanks to those lovely Irish potatoes, but I am also All of Me because of the many Irish-related memories that I have accumulated and packed away.  Those memories don’t get pulled off the shelf often, but holidays have a way of coercing you into doing things you might not do otherwise.

I will end my not-very-knitterly post with a few pictures of my very Irishy knits that I will be wearing on March 17th.  The first is the Bright Axis Tee by Stephanie Lotven, using Must Stash Yarns in “100% Irish” and “Shire,” plus a touch of Leading Men Fiber Arts’ “Swamp Thing.” (For more info and a better view of the top, check out my most recent YouTube episode.)

The second is my Hippo for St. Paddy’s Day Socks with yarn from lolodidit.

And finally, the socks that I will be hanging on my wall—my new Fade Into Neverland Socks in lolodidit’s “Irish Blessing” and “Sassenach.”

These things make me happy.

I wish you a very Happy (and Memorable) St. Patrick’s Day.

Slàinte Mhaith!