(no subject)
So it's the Clancy Brothers and the Dubliners and the likes for me this St. Patrick's. Our family traditions and heritage have slowly faded to null since Geema died. No corned beef and cabbage (I usually just ate the cabbage and potatoes and soda bread), no green milk or beer, no re-telling of the family stories. It's really sad. What's even sadder is how much listening to this music makes me want to go to Ireland. Some day.
But while I'm thinking about it, I'll tell you a little story. Someones got to do it.
In the old days on the Emerald Isle lived the Moriarty family. Well, more like one of a few hundred Moriarty families. This family had two young boys. One day, a war started, and the British, thinking that Ireland was like, a part of their kingdom or something, went to draft all the young boys from the land to fight for the queen's army. These brothers were like "Fahk noe. We're rahnning awaye, we are." During the night they packed a couple sacks, probably potato sacks, and before day break they slipped away in their row boat. They rowed and rowed out into the shipping lanes and waited. When they saw a ship finally approaching, they turned the boat and flanked it's bow. Being that there were very strict rules about running over people in row boats, and the boys refused to move, the ship was forced to lower a dingy and take them on board. It so happened that the ship was headed to the state of Virginia. And so, the Moriarty boys found themselves in the Blue Ridge mountains, where the married and made babies. One of their babies had a baby with someone else, and that baby was my grandmother, Francesca Lee Moeller. The name Lee is now kept as a family name to tie us to the River Lee in Ireland. (Though we're not actually sure if they were from the County Cork where the River Lee is located. Since they were young, unmarried, and lived in the middle of nowhere, there are no records of them besides the family stories.) Hence my middle name. And also my pasty skin, blue eyes, freckles, and curly hair. Oh and my love of beer and fighting and obnoxious music too.
The end, you scalliwags.
But while I'm thinking about it, I'll tell you a little story. Someones got to do it.
In the old days on the Emerald Isle lived the Moriarty family. Well, more like one of a few hundred Moriarty families. This family had two young boys. One day, a war started, and the British, thinking that Ireland was like, a part of their kingdom or something, went to draft all the young boys from the land to fight for the queen's army. These brothers were like "Fahk noe. We're rahnning awaye, we are." During the night they packed a couple sacks, probably potato sacks, and before day break they slipped away in their row boat. They rowed and rowed out into the shipping lanes and waited. When they saw a ship finally approaching, they turned the boat and flanked it's bow. Being that there were very strict rules about running over people in row boats, and the boys refused to move, the ship was forced to lower a dingy and take them on board. It so happened that the ship was headed to the state of Virginia. And so, the Moriarty boys found themselves in the Blue Ridge mountains, where the married and made babies. One of their babies had a baby with someone else, and that baby was my grandmother, Francesca Lee Moeller. The name Lee is now kept as a family name to tie us to the River Lee in Ireland. (Though we're not actually sure if they were from the County Cork where the River Lee is located. Since they were young, unmarried, and lived in the middle of nowhere, there are no records of them besides the family stories.) Hence my middle name. And also my pasty skin, blue eyes, freckles, and curly hair. Oh and my love of beer and fighting and obnoxious music too.
The end, you scalliwags.