The Irish In Me

When I was a child (Yes, kiddies, I did not come fully grown with wrinkles.) my grandmother paid to have our genealogy traced. Not surprisingly, the researcher discovered that we were related to Scotch royalty and that our heritage was a mixture of Scotch, Irish and English. Of course it was all nonsense and all it accomplished was enriching the 'so called' genealogist's pocket.

My younger sister is very active in tracing our family tree through the Mormon genealogy records and if there is royalty in our ancestry she hasn't found it. My maternal grandmother was, however, from the same branch of Spencer's as Lady Diana Spencer. I suppose that might count for a tad of royalty.

Nonetheless, I like to think of myself as having a wee bit of Irish in my blood along with the proven English. I have fair skin that freckles easily and my hair had enough red in it that my husband used to call me his little red head. Yes, I know that that combination can be found in many cultures and is not unique to Ireland, but, to me, it was proof that I had an Irish ancestor. Additionally, I believed it because I was told it was true by my grandmother. How could my dear grandmother be wrong? ~ ;-).

I am presenting an Irish bagpiper that a friend sent me in an e-mail. We Irish have to stick together

As a bagpiper, I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man who had no family or friends. The funeral was to be held at a new cemetery in the remote countryside and this man would be the first to be laid to rest there.

As I was not familiar with the backwoods area, I became lost and being a typical man, did not stop for directions. I finally arrived an hour late. I saw the backhoe and the crew who were eating lunch but the hearse was nowhere in sight.

I apologized to the workers for my tardiness and stepped to the side of the open grave where I saw the vault lid already in place.

I assured the workers I would not hold them up for long but this was the proper thing to do. The workers gathered around, still eating their lunch. I played out my heart and soul.

As I played the workers began to weep. I played and I played like I'd never played before, from Going Home and The Lord is My Shepherd to Flowers of the Forest. I closed the lengthy session with Amazing Grace and walked to my car.

As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, I overheard one of the workers saying to another, "Sweet Jeezuz, Mary'n Joseph, I never seen nothin' like that before and I've been putting in septic tanks for twenty years."