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Posts Tagged ‘beer’

Photo courtesy Google Images

Photo courtesy Google Images

So today’s all about the green. My way of getting into the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day? I’m hosting the lucky Irish Take It Or Leave It game.

Before we embark on the this journey of totally random guessing, let’s explore a few facts about St. Patrick and his very party-friendly day.

1. The color green is commonly associated with Ireland, the Emerald Isle, but did you know that the actual color of St. Patrick is blue. In several artworks depicting the saint, he is shown wearing blue vestments. Green in Irish legends, was worn by faeries and immortals and by people who wanted to encourage their crops to grow. I didn’t even know saints had colors.

2.   St. Patrick wasn’t Irish, and he wasn’t born in Ireland. Patrick’s parents were Roman citizens living in modern-day England, or more precisely in Scotland or Wales. Go figure.

3.  The shamrock is a popular Irish symbol, but it is not the symbol of Ireland. The national symbol of Ireland is the harp. And I would have guessed the bag pipe. Duh.

4. Speaking of shamrocks, one estimate suggests that there are 10,000 3-leaf clovers for every 1 four-leaf. So your odds of finding a four-leaf clover are, about 1 in 10,000. Rather like the lottery.

5.  The very first St. Patrick’s Day parade was not in Ireland. It was in Boston in 1787. Hey, I don’t make this stuff up.

Photo courtesy Google Images

Photo courtesy Google Images

6.  The activity most associated with St. Patrick’s Day is drinking. However, Irish law, from 1903 to 1970, declared St. Patrick’s Day a religious observance for the entire country meaning that all pubs were shut down for the day. That meant no beer, not even the green kind, for public celebrants. The law was overturned in 1970, when St. Patrick’s was reclassified as a national holiday – allowing the taps to flow freely once again. Praise the Lord!

7.  Speaking of drinking, the phrase “drowning the shamrock,” is from the custom of floating a shamrock on the top of whiskey before drinking it. The Irish believe that if you keep the custom, you will have a prosperous year.

So, now that you know all that, let’s see how well you think you know me. Here’s a reminder of the rules: Post your guesses (would I take it, or leave it) in the comments section below. I will post the choices on Monday and my responses on Thursday. The person with the most correct guesses is my winner, but you must re-post in the comments section in order to claim your prize. Unclaimed prizes will be forfeited after one week from posting the answers.

Good luck and happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Photo Courtesy Google Images

Photo Courtesy Google Images

1. Kiss the blarney stone.

2.  Kiss a drunken Irishman.

3.  Sing Danny Boy acapella in a bar full of drunken Irishmen.

4.  Eat corn beef and cabbage.

5.  Drink green beer.

6.  Drown the shamrock.

7.  Perform an Irish jig in the St. Patrick’s Day parade.

8.  Spend a hour looking for 4-leafers in a field of clover.

9.  Wear blue instead of green in honor of St. Patrick.

10.  Dye my hair green.

Do you do anything special for St. Patrick’s day? Are you Irish, or even a little bit Irish, or wish you were Irish?

Word of the day:  Davit

Fun fact about me:  I was once part of a bowling team.

Original post by Jansen Schmidt, March 2014. Photos courtesy Google Images.

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At the end of last year, blogger extraordinaire, Ginger Calem, blogged about memories of her first car. There were many responses to that post, one of which was mine. (See http://www.gingercalem.wordpress.com). I’ve been thinking about that post ever since and those thoughts were the brain child of this month’s blog topic.

When I got my first car, I had my driver’s license and had been driving independently for over a year. I learned to drive on my parents’ Plymouth Volare. I know, you’re all insanely jealous, but alas, we did live in the lap of luxury so we could afford those extra little creature comforts. (Yeah right.) But, that’s not the real issue I’m discussing here. My first car was a rebuilt 1969 Volkswagen beetle. It was being used by our neighbors as a chicken feed storage bin and was infested with cobwebs and black widow spiders when we towed the thing home with 4 flat tires and a broken windshield.

This whole dream car thing started when my family and I took a little camping trip along the Northern California coast the summer before my senior year of high school. There were a lot of people having a lot of fun on the sand dunes, including a boy – a really cute boy – who had an awesome baja bug! It was love at first sight. Not so much for the boy, although he was dreamy, as for that really cute, totally cool car. My parents were over-the-top pleased that my heart’s desire for a “first car” was a Volkswagen. They’d lucked out. My brother wanted a brand new turbo-charged Mustang (which he got by the way) and I only wanted a cheap, used, inexpensive-to-insure, beetle!

That started the search for my dream car and my dad’s new project – building a baja bug! As any awesome dad would do, he made my dream come true. He transformed that feed shed into my very first cute little car. About a week before school started, it was ready. Bright and shiny and purring like a kitten. One problem – I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift. Dad to the rescue again. Below is an almost verbatim re-telling of my one and only lesson for learning to drive a stick shift:

Sunday afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky. Dad drives us out to outer Mongolia where we’re sure not to encounter another living person, pulls over to the side of the road and gets out. I adjust my new driver’s seat, buckle my new seat belt, adjust my new killer radio and sparkly new mirrors (in that order) and place hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2. I look to my dad for instructions. He cracks open a beer and says, “Well drive. And don’t spill my beer.”

Now, please understand, I am NOT condoning this method of instruction. Nor is this particularly good parenting. However, I understand now my dad’s redneck way of getting me to learn to drive with that extra pedal on the floor. The one thing my dad loves more than almost anything is beer. To waste even one small drop by allowing it to spill is nothing short of sacrilige. I didn’t want that hanging over my head. And, heaven knows I didn’t want my new car smelling like beer. I was only 17 years old for crying out loud! Let me tell you, I learned quickly how to ease off that clutch. We jerked down that road exactly one time in each gear before I got the hang of it. Dad held the beer can out the window just in case, but it only took that one lesson and I was driving like a pro! According to my dad, it was a one-beer lesson. I think he was a little disappointed that I caught on so quickly.

Anyway, suffice it to say, I haven’t had an automatic transmission vehicle since 1981. I not only learned how to drive a manual transmission, I fell in love with the manual transmission.

So there you have it. My drinking and driver’s education trip down memory lane!

Now tell me, what’s your “learning to drive” story?

Word of the Day:  Demurrage

Fun fact about me:  I’ve never had a broken bone! (knocking on wood now)

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