Every since I saw the stage show Riverdance a few weeks ago, I’ve been playing the CD we bought at the show. The music is lifting, gets my energy moving and my feet want to dance.
I can’t dance.
I don’t know how to tap, but I took years of ballet as a youth.
Wish as I might, my legs don’t want to flail around like those Irish dancers.
I’m not Irish.
I detest corned beef and cabbage.
But I kind of like sauerkraut, which is sour cabbage.
Potatoes? Take em or leave em.
Except chips. And dip.
My favorite color is green though.
But that doesn’t help with the dancing thing.
I don’t believe in leprechauns.
Have you seen one?
The dude on the box of Lucky Charms doesn’t count.
I do like Lucky Charms, especially the little marshmallows.
I bet they don’t eat LC in a real Irish Pub.
I’ve never been to a pub. That I know of.
I’ve been to bars that try to act like a pub.
Without the Irish music and the fish-n-chips.
St. Patrick was Irish.
He drove the snakes out of Ireland.
I’m not that afraid of snakes.
I say that now, because I’m not face to face with one.
If I were, I’d probably drive them out of my way.
That doesn’t make me a saint.
Pretty far from sainthood I am.
I wonder if Pat danced all straight and tall, stomping.
Stomping on the snakes.
This is a strange post. Not that my readers will be driven away.
Like the snakes.
My readers are just a few, no matter what I write or don’t write.
I’m back to dancing again.
I bet that would be good exercise. If I could find an over 50 Non Irish dancing class to join.
I promise if you stick around, I won’t ramble like this.