A Tale of $2 Shamrocks

This afternoon, I was in the grocery and saw a pot of shamrocks. Every St. Patrick's Day, Dad would have me hunt some down--often at great expense. This was a 4" potted plant, and the shamrocks were spectacular--and they were only $2--cheap for shamrocks, as Dad might say. I took them out to the car and suddenly couldn't stop crying. I was thinking how pleased he would be if he had ridden with me and been presented with such a lovely pot of shamrocks. I couldn't stop. I must have been there a long time, because I had to turn on the car and the heater! (It snowed here!)

I thought, well, this is ridiculous. He lived nearly 97 years and it wasn't like I was the only one who sought his favor with shamrocks. So I calmed down and started to drive. About three miles from home on the two-lane road leading to our house, a sudden well of brilliant blue skies opened up on the horizon. I thought to myself -- just the color of his eyes. Suddenly, I was happy, not forlorn. It was--as he would say--a cheerful, authentic sign that I had such an advantage in life -- his puckish Irish twinkle and those eyes--which I have myself.

Wow. Turned my mood around. So here I am--with so many mind-numbing details to manage, saddened by his absence, yet laughing happily at the thought of his wink in that gloomy, wet sky.

I do everything I can these days to find cheer--and there it was, sunshine and a blue sky--just for me, from him and his shamrocks.