Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day – one of my favorite holidays (and I do not even drink).
Eleanor Roosevet on her wedding day.
Tomorrow is also the 105th anniversary of Eleanor & Franklin Roosevelt, the 25th Anniversary of my friends, Valerie & Mike Lockhart.
Tomorrow I will have mint green shakes for the students and parents (and siblings who tag along), and THE QUIET MAN will be on the television during the teaching hours.
Here is a nice link about the movie: http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.users.qwest.net/~aknot/quiet3x.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.users.qwest.net/~aknot/quietman.htm&usg=__yHDvVgCnX9Q3P-89iWuQwxk8uIc=&h=262&w=350&sz=23&hl=en&start=10&um=1&tbnid=DdgLwqSkMMKTfM:&tbnh=90&tbnw=120&prev=/images%3Fq%3DThe%2BQuiet%2BMan%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26um%3D1%26newwindow%3D1
And here is one of the more beautiful scenes in the movie – featuring one of the most beautifully, haunting songs, “The Isles Of Innisfree.” This is, perhaps, my most favorite melody of all time.
If you ever get a chance to watch this movie, please do… Barry Fitzgerald is hilarious, and one of the many reasons I love this film.
And to my Irish ancestry, I salute the Clarys, Daughertys, Bannons and Barnetts!
ORIGINAL LYRICS TO THE SONG:
(by Dick Farrelly)
I’ve met some folks who say that I’m a dreamer,
And I’ve no doubt there’s truth in what they say,
But sure a body’s bound to be a dreamer
When all the things he loves are far away.
And precious things are dreams unto an exile.
They take him o’er the land across the sea —
Especially when it happens he’s an exile
From that dear lovely Isle of Inisfree.
And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops
Of this great city, wondrous though it be,
I scarcely feel its wonder or its laughter.
I’m once again back home in Inisfree.
I wander o’er green hills through dreamy valleys
And find a peace no other land could know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels
And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.
And then into a humble shack I wander —
My dear old home — and tenderly behold
The folks I love around the turf fire gathered.
On bended knees ,their rosary is told.
But dreams don’t last —
Though dreams are not forgotten —
And soon I’m back to stern reality.
But though they pave the footways here with gold dust,
I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree.