St. Patrick's Day

When I was growing up St. Patrick's day was always a big deal in my household.  My grandmother (I called her Nan) was a bootlegger and also of Irish heritage so she'd dye the beer green to serve to her customers.  These were almost exclusively old men who were either widowers or just wanted out of the house for the day so there was never any drunkenness or rowdiness...except my grandfather (I called him Bobba which must have arisen from the way I said Grampa when I was a baby) who was a verbally abusive weekend drunk.  He was a big man, even in his 80's, and scared to death of my little grandmother who was well under 5' tall so he was never, ever rowdy with her.

Most of Nan's customers were Irish so our little apartment would be filled with them singing the old Irish songs as I sat quietly in a corner and watched and listened with great interest.  I think of my childhood as a colorful one and I identify very strongly with my grandmother's personality which I think I've inherited.  She's the one person who has passed away that I'd give just about anything to have the chance to talk with again.  I never appreciated her when I was young but I see things differently now.

None of Nan's customers left our little apartment without a bag of her preserves to take home with him.  I often think she didn't make much profit from her side business because she also fed them dinner if they stayed late enough.

Nan dyed her hair a henna orange...I think it was supposed to be red but it came out more orange than red.  She'd have little sausage rolls on the top of her head that I thought was a hideous hairstyle but I now accept as her choice and none of my business.  She really was a truly good and generous woman who had too hard a life.  Her husband had died when she was still in her teens and then she had a baby out of wedlock (my mother) in 1918 when she was only 24 years old.  I can't even imagine how hard life must have been for her in that terribly unforgiving society.

Nan married my grandfather, an illiterate who was 13 years her senior, a few years later.  My memory tells me it was a very loving marriage because their fights were only about his drinking.  I remember her hitting him with her purse in anger one day and him not hitting her back.  I, on the other hand, half fainted from the perceived violence.  

I miss both of them very much now that I'm more of their age.  I understand them better and appreciate them and what they did to raise me.  They made big mistakes, that's for sure, but they did what they thought was right.  I have to admit I was a mouthy brat when I was growing up and maybe that's why I'm a mouthy brat but with written words now.

Anyway, my memories of St. Patrick's Day in the 40's and 50's still make me smile and I can almost hear the beautiful songs I heard back then...in my little corner as I watched and listened.