“Be grateful for luck. Pay the thunder no mind – listen to the birds. And don’t hate nobody.” -Eubie Blake

Wow! That last post was something, huh?

Hmmm….

Still playing with the ideas, but I also have other things that need my attention. Honestly, if I go to Salida on Friday, it will be spontaneous. I’m still on the fence…..

The goddesses of fate and whatnot are tryin’ to tempt me to keep ponderin’ Z, and there’s a long list ahead to occupy my mind, but right now I’m thinking about luck this St. Pat’s Day, and I’m lovin’ the quote/theme for this post: be thankful for good fortune, forget the ick, take time for natural wonders, and don’t be a dick. I like it.

I may not have a pot o’ gold, but I’ve got a lil’ green bowl o’ pot 🙂

It’s the little things really.

***

Smellydog smellydog! What will I feed you?
-Beatrice needs a bath and new food. The bath is #1 on the list because (scroll down if you’re easily disgusted) she was constipated today and now has a poopbuttsupreme.

Gimme gimme food!
-On a whim, I bought mussels (on sale) and linguine. Very excited to try this easy, fancy meal. According to my freezer, it’s time to make a few more meals; so I’ll be reporting new kitchen creations soon.

Guess who’s coming to dinner?
-I’m getting annoyed making meals for one. I love to host. I need dinner guests! And maybe I’ll have some soon. Some of my comedian friends from OKC are (hopefully) coming to visit sometime this month. One’s dealing with a divorce, so it’s all up in the air. Still, I’m excited to (possibly) host friends in my new city! It sucks that I’m kinda backing out of the stand-up game, but we’ll have a good time.

I need a job, damn it.
-No news, no word, no nothing. At least I’m sittin’ pretty for the time being. Very excited about the tax return. And by the end of the month (likely much sooner), I’ll have my computer back up and runnin’!

I gotz my hrrr did, grrrl!
-And it looks great! I get a mini-partial highlight about 3 times a year, and it looks so natural that I have to find the right stylist who uses the right products. I refuse to go back to the days of all-over color nightmares! Luckily, a chick I know named Tiddy works at a salon a mile from my APT and she uses Goldwell. I got notes from my previous stylist, and the results were perfect. Sadly, Tiddy is moving to Crested Butte to open her own salon at the end of the month.

And I’m attending her going away party this Saturday in Conifer!
-I only know Tiddy through mutual friends in CO, but she’s an Okie with whom I have many different mutual friends in OK. Plus, she’s totally rad and down to earth. Crested Butte is one of the most magically delicious places I’ve ever been, so I definitely let her know that if she needs a receptionist at the new salon, I’d probably jump on the opportunity (her boyf is opening a tattoo shop there as well, so there’s another job prospect)! The party in Conifer this weekend is occurring at the same time as the Supermoon!!!! I went to this locale in Conifer last August and was overcome by how beautiful our friends’ place really is. They call it “The Resort” because it seems fitting: 3 bedroom house hidden on the side of a hill surrounded by trees with a huge covered deck in the back. We’ll grill, hunt JelloShotEasterEggs (Tiddy’s special request), and camp out under the stars AND THE SUPERMOON!!!! Supermoon’s are said to cause chaos….. I’m glad I’ll be in good hands. I may need a buddy to tag along! Any takers?

-St. Patrick’s Day
On this day in 2006, my friends’ dad passed away. Casey and Callie and I went to the same high school (Fighting Irish) where both of our dads taught. They shared an office, and their classrooms were next door to each other. They we’re each other’s work-husbands.

In 2006, I was teaching at the only other Catholic high school in OKC, and my students were set to play baseball against my alma mater on St. Pat’s day. It seemed like a cute, Irish tradition to begin, and it’s still going on to this day.

I was supposed to attend the game, but instead, I decided to go out drinking. My dad, of course, was at the game (every game) and called to give me updates all day. I answered the phone, by this time rather annoyed, to hear my dad’s feeble voice say, “Joe’s gone.”

“Where?” I ask.

“Where are you?”

“About to get out of the car and walk in to a party. What’s going on?”

“Joe had a heart-attack on 3rd base. I tried…..”

“What?”

“I was the first responder…. I tried….. but I couldn’t…… I couldn’t help….. He’s gone…. It should’ve been—”

“No. Don’t go there.”

“The paramedics arrived and continued CPR in the ambulance. I followed them to the hospital, but………. My work-best friend…….”

The following week was like a high school reunion. Casey’s friends and Callie’s friends, 4 years apart, met every night to reminisce. We discussed how ironic it was that this well-known baseball coach with 20+ years at an Irish school fell on an Irish holiday.
We held memorial vigils on the baseball diamond (which continued for years after) where former students and players would come to lay flowers, visit, and mourn in the dugout. When I heard the kids were there the day following Joe’s death, my first thought was, “What can I do for my friends?” And I was reminded of my favorite Dad and Joe story that I believe formed my friendship with Casey and Callie because we always loved telling it.

Joe had cancer back when Casey was a freshman and Callie and I weren’t yet at BMCHS. Not many people at school knew about Joe’s upcoming surgery, and Casey was taking it hard. He went to see my dad one day after school and cried discussing it. My dad wanted to visit his friend, but didn’t know what to bring a guy as a “get well” gift. He asked Casey if he could stop by the house and drop something off, and Casey told him that Joe probably wouldn’t come to the door but Callie could take it.

So my dad gathered his guy-appropriate gift, and knocked on the door. A pre-teen Callie was then handed a bouquet of beers: two 6-packs of 12 different dark brews with a balloon hovering above each handle. Her eyes lit up. “Don’t drink it all!” he told her, “Let your dad have at least one!”

So as I drove down Western Ave., tears in my eyes, I stopped at the exact same liquor store my dad had used so long ago, selected 12 different beers, and assembled them in two, cardboard 6-packs. I walked into the dugout to find Casey and Callie (who were not expecting me), and their eyes lit up as I handed a bouquet of beers to each of them and said, “Don’t drink it all. Let your dad have at least one.”

Whit