Hail Glorious St. Patrick

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit - Happy Saint Patrick's Day.

St Patrick.

Saint Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland. He brought Christianity to Ireland in the 5th century and used the shamrock to explain the holy trinity to the pagan people.

It is our national feast day and as it usually rains, it is believed to " wet the shamrock".  The "wearing of the green" is a tradition along with wearing a sprig of shamrock on one's lapel.

Ireland - beautiful and green.

Frank Patterson singing Hail Glorious St Patrick. The hymn we all learned at school.  It still evokes lovely happy memories when I hear it on this special day.

A bunch of Shamrock.


The first Irish postage stamp - 2p or tuppence!

The Irish pound note which was in circulation for fifty years.

The beautiful painting of Lady Hazel Lavery as Kathleen Ní Houlihán (1928) which hangs in the National Gallery of Ireland. Lady Lavery was the wife of Irish painter, Sir John Lavery, (1956-1941). An engraving of the painting appeared on the Irish banknotes, as seen above.

"Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit.

Siobhán Ní Shúilleabháin

Happy Spring

Spring has well truly arrived here in Dublin. The weather is lovely and the snowdrops, crocus, narcissi and daffodils are blooming to brighten our lives.

I found this sweet little spring photograph on the internet.

Changed the dresser for Spring, clean and bright.

I love to change my dresser according to the Seasons.  After Christmas, everything seems heavy, so to lighten the mood in the house and my mind, I make little changes around the house to bring a light and airy feeling ready for Spring.  It also motivates me to get started on the spring cleaning. I look forward to the longer brighter days, hearing the birds singing while they are busy building their nests.  In my opinion, one couldn't help but feel happy and hopeful.

Which reminds me!  I was introduced to Emily Dickinson's delightful poem "Hope" by my Son, while he was learning it at school, and it remains one of my favourite poems to this day.

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul

and sings the tune without the words

and never stops at all.

And sweetest in the Gale is heard

and sore must be the storm

that could bash the little Bird

that kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land

and on the strangest sea

Yet, never in extremity

It asked a crumb of me.