St. P's Day

Happy Saint Patrick's day. You are very right, as I am sure you are thinking that today is not, in fact, St. P's day. Additionally, you're right because I am not catholic and really don't care (usually) about saints' days. But, this years March 17th was so great I wanted to blog about it (blog being the measurement of truly great days). I taught, which is no surprise, but half way through the day I decided to walk down to the copy room. Understand that the English department are full of the snobs of the high school. We see ourselves as the 'true' educators, those with esoteric knowledge the we attempt to shove down the throats of 18 year-olds who only want to graduate in two months--and consequently don't care about English. Anyway, I forget what high school teachers are really like outside of the English wing. But this day helped me to remember. I stumbled upon a teacher who is a short little man, and was wearing a giant green hat, died red hair, a three piece green outfit, completed with fake ears which made him look like a 100% certified, out of the shire, leprechaun. All I could say was top of the morning and rushed off to find the last copy of the Luck of the Irish from blockbuster. One of the many reasons high school is the funniest job I've ever had. And, don't forget, by job I really mean indentured servant to the state of Utah because I spend 60 hours working without pay.

To close the day in St. P-day celebration, my roommate is a keyboardist to a Celtic band (true story) and they had a concert where they followed a bag piping band. It was fantastic...until they tried to make us do Celtic dancing which didn't go over so well. Maybe next time.....


Anyway, I was reading poetry a few nights ago and I stumbled upon this little poem which I think describes Rebbie to a T. And the other creative people in my life.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy. 1844–1881

Ode

WE are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and world-forsakers,	5
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,	10
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure	15
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;	20
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.