Sometimes even *I* am a sucker for nostalgia.

I love St. Paddy's Day. I just do. After all, I did get a lot of good things in the total package and I know where some of them originated. I know they came here hundreds of years ago in the bodies and die-hard spirits of my impoverished ancestors who had the drive and the stamina to scratch out a new life in a new land under extremely difficult circumstances. I don't share all of their beliefs, but I'm glad they made it and in spite of everything, I'm glad to be here. Yes, I came from poor dirt farmers who just wouldn't quit and I'm damn proud of it. People like them are what America is all about.

And tonight I toast Jenny, my intuition, who was separated from me by abuse, but has not truly left me. Jenny, with her dirt-stained hands that wouldn't stop working; Jenny, the diligent Irish farmer who flung herself from a cliff after she was stricken with flu and collapsed in the field; Jenny, lover of peppermint tea and nectarines in her 'new' and contemporary home here with me; Jenny, whose abrupt appearance one day accounts for the lives of half of my children - this is her day. And yes, there will be tea. Because I wouldn't be here anymore if not for her.