I'll be missing the Irish drummers and bagpipers stopping by the local Irish watering hole on their way out of Southie after the parade. It's okay, though, I've missed them before. (Besides, I have a lovely young lady's first birthday to attend, and that's way better than post-parade frivolity.)
In the meantime, though, may the weather cooperate. I hear it's going to snow in Boston on Sunday morning. We shall see if the Luck of the Irish wins out or not. Remember, there be nothin' under the kilts, lads and lassies. It could make for a fun parade if the wind shifts.
Tomorrow, I'll tell a story about my crazy Irish roots, which turn out to be even stranger than I thought for my entire life. Life can be like that sometimes. It's simply the luck, in this case, of the Irish.
Eirinn go Brach, my friends. Is ait an mac an saol.
