Happy Monday! Did you have a good weekend? From the looks of Facebook and Twitter, I gather many folks wore o’ the green and all that other St. Patrick’s Day stuff.
I spent Sunday hanging with my mom, and as we walked down the street flanked by a family in shades of Emerald, she looked at her orange scarf and said, “I accidentally wore the opposite color you’re supposed to wear—I hope no one minds!” Like someone would be legitimately offended.
“No one will be mad at you for wearing orange on St. Patrick’s Day!” I said. “Besides, it’s not like either of us is all that Irish.” I was wearing an orange scarf too, and no, we hadn’t planned to coordinate.
Ancestry is a funny thing. So first there was that time I found out my Greek family is actually sort of Turkish (?) by way of border changes, and yesterday I got to hear the story of how I’m not really related to my Scottish (so-called) ancestors by blood, as my great-grandma’s biological father was some Irish guy passing through town (whether he was a soldier or a sailor or some other sort of transient gent is unclear).
So anyway, guess I’m a little more Irish than I thought. That still doesn’t mean I did anything to mark the day. After yoga plans fell through due to a funny miscommunication about it being a prenatal class (still not really sure what the deal was), we spent some time walking around, eventually making our way to a flea market. After wandering about in the cold trying to decide what to get for lunch, we made our way to Ocean Grill. Whenever my mom and I get together, one or both of us seems to be craving fish—me because I don’t make it for myself that often, and her for, well, the same reason, as my dad won’t eat it. This time, we were both in the mood for it. I went with the grilled branzino, and we split a side of brussels sprouts. I didn’t get a picture, but they came with a little “ALLERGY” flag because we told them tree-nuts were on the no-fly list. That always embarrasses me, but better safe than struggling to breathe.
We’ve also decided make a tradition of getting our nails done at this one place we’ve gone to a few times. Not only do they give great manicures, they also do amazing massages while you get your nails done. Totally worth the extra few bucks. If you couldn’t tell from other recent posts, I’m a sucker for a good massage—why bribe myself with, like, shoes, when I can have that instead?
So yeah. My shoulders are only very tight instead of impossibly tight today and my nails are a bright shade of gold. I tried to get some work done on a research project about breakfast intake, but instead, I wasted a few hours learning this song on the ukulele because sometimes, well, it’s more important to play obscure old Elvis Costello songs over and over than to do work that you will probably have to do over later anyway. All to keep from losing one’s mind…
Did you do anything for St. Patrick’s Day? How do you keep from losing your mind?