Seems like Wednesday

Since Wednesday was a national holiday, today seems like Wendesday, even though it's Friday. Fiona danced a Ceili -- a traditional Irish dance -- in school this week. John told us that he only danced in one ceili during his school years. Attending an all-boys Benedictine boarding school, he practiced by dancing with a chair instead of a girl. He still dances like he's dancing with a chair, sort of stiffly, as if his partner had no feet he could stomp. But I dance the same way, so we're well-matched. That's the front of Trinity University, where John works, behind the Leprechaun, who only works there on St. Patrick's Day.

No Snakes, Lots of Ladders

Dubliners celebrate St. Patrick’s Day with a giant parade in the city center. It’s an eclectic affair, featuring elaborate floats, costumed dancers and marching bands from high schools all over the world. My neighbor, Denise, saw us leaving the house to go to the parade and asked if we wanted to borrow her ladder. I figured she was just being friendly, and seeing a rather short family going to a parade she’d offer a ladder, just like she might offer a tired family going on a hike a thermos of cocoa. We declined the ladder, and made our way into the city. The streets were packed. It was hard to just stay on the sidewalks, with so many people walking toward the parade route carrying ladders! Real ladders--tall ones-- like what painters use. Fiona and Myles managed to burrow their way to the front of the crowd, and had a perfect view pressed up against the barriers right along the route. (The tops of their heads are visible here, just to the left of the flag.) John, his mom and I were farther back, next to smart folks standing on those handy ladders they dragged with them. The ladder climbers had a great view of the parade, and I hade a great view of their ladders. Still blessedly no green food or drink on offer. Although people were buying some pale green ice cream from the ice cream truck, but I think it was mint, so it was legitimately green. And an enterprising Japanese man was walking around peddling trays of sushi rolls; but seaweed doesn’t count either.

St. Patrick's Festival in Dublin

Living in the capital of Ireland the week of St. Patrick’s Day begs all kinds of preconceptions about how the Irish celebrate the national holiday. I figured it would be more authentic and traditional than the green-beer-and-leprechaun-hat type partying we know in America. But I never expected men in leotards. Or wheatgrass.
We took Fiona and Myles to the St. Patrick’s Festival in Merrion Square yesterday. We found jugglers, artisan ice cream, carnival rides, vegan raw chocolate cakes, and a couple of Irishmen dressed in leotards doing comedy acrobatics. There were all kinds of free games, like the old-fashioned strong-man contest where you try to bang a heavy hammer down hard on a scale to see how high you can get a sliding weight to rise. Or Myles’ favorite: Stop a greasy rat toy from landing in a bucket of straw. Never heard of that one? Neither had we. Look closely and you can figure it out: That lady slides the furry critter down this chute, and the boys take turns catching it with the wooden club. I was amazed that the food and drinks sold were local independents. Coming from the US, where every last neighborhood art fair is “officially sponsored” by Pepsi-Cola et al., it was refreshing to buy concessions through the window of an eco-bus café.