The gift for blarney
By Karl Terry
We’re all a little bit Irish on March 17. In my case I just don’t know for sure how Irish.
There were a lot of Terrys back in England and still are and a few in Cork County, Ireland. The family histories I’ve seen indicate I’m probably descended from the Irish bunch. I’m pretty sure the Kennedy side of the family was Irish at some point.
I’m short of stature and a bit paunchy with bushy eyebrows, but I can’t say for sure if there are leprechauns in my family tree. I did, however, really like the movie “The Gnome-Mobile” growing up. I figure those gnomes in the movie must have been descended from Irish leprechauns, or at least that’s the way it looked to a 7 year old.
I’ve always followed the rainbow hoping to find where I left my pot of gold, but so far my travels have only landed me at the foot of the darned old Blarney Stone. There’s no doubt I’ve kissed that rock more than a few times as any regular reader of this column can tell you I’ve been overly blessed with the gift of blarney.
For those of you unfamiliar with the meaning of the word blarney, it basically means the gift of gab or the art of clever, charming or flattering talk. Yep, I must be Irish.
I’ll admit I look good in green and I don’t like snakes anymore than the good St. Patrick. But I don’t care for green beer or so much for cabbage and I really don’t like it when good-looking young Irish lasses pinch my backside when they don’t find me wearing green.
If that pretty Irish gal had long red hair and a short temper I would probably quickly forgive her trespasses. However, I can’t abide her holding me hostage until I grant her three wishes.
Leprechauns, really! Who believes in such things. My mother may well have found me underneath a cabbage leaf as she claims, but I assure you one and all I have no magical powers.
My life has, however, been lived in a bed of four-leaf clover. I’ve been more blessed than most. I’ve always said, “It’s better to spend money like there’s no tomorrow than it is to live tonight like there’s no money.” I have the credit card statements to prove it too.
What a bunch of blarney this column has been so far. But just the same I should leave you all with a traditional Irish blessing to get you through tomorrow. So here it is lads and lassies:
“May your blessings outnumber the shamrocks that grow and may trouble avoid you wherever you go.”
Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at: firstname.lastname@example.org