make a week of it.

It's turned out that our St. Patrick's Day festivities have occurred more over a St. Patrick's Day week. We bought a twelve pack of Smithwick's Irish Ale and enjoyed some on Monday evening. The night before the 17th, Jeremy and I drove down to Hickory to the Taproom, a wonderfully oaken pub, to hear The Belfast Boys play some traditional Irish music and have a few pints. That was a wonderful night full of good company, good beer, and heart-rending music. There is just something about Irish (and Scottish) music that stirs my very core. It's enchanting in a very literal sense of the word, it captivates my senses and imparts an otherworldly essence to surround me--it changes me. It was wonderful to see Alan play again, and brilliant to finally see Adrian play with him as well. The were, not surprisingly, fantastic.
St. Paddy's Day itself was a little more low key, I worked both my jobs, proudly sporting some green earrings and a Celtic knotwork hair clip. Thursday was another low-key day of working for both Jeremy and me, but that evening we went to the store to purchase the necessities of what would come the next morning, which included a pack of Guinness. This morning I cooked us up an Ulster Fry, complete with potato bread, streaky bacon, tomatoes, and Heinz 57 beans, among other things. It was delicious, but very filling, and more than a little hard on the arteries I'm sure.
Tonight, Jeremy and I are headed the the Diana Wortham theatre to see Battlefield Band, a Scottish band that plays traditional music as well as new self-penned music as well, on a variety of instruments traditional and non. I won free tickets at Biltmore to the show tonight, and we're looking forward to it.
Considering, due to various circumstances, that this has been Jeremy and my first St. Patrick's Day together, I think it's turned out quite nicely.

On another note, I recently altered an old vintage peacoat that was my grandmother's to fit me. I took in the sleeves and the body of the coat, as well as put on twelve new buttons. Here's the finished product. (I unfortunately did not have the foresight to snap a 'before' photo, but oh well.)

in verse.

No, I won't be writing this post in verse, but the subject will largely be upon that of verse--I'm sure none of you needed that clarification but look, I've gone and given it anyway.
This past weekend managed to be quite lovely in spite of the fact that I worked Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Jeremy and I made the trek to Hickory on Friday night through torrential rain to see a show at Drip's, which incidentally was my favorite teenage hangout which was since closed, then reopened under the same name though instead of being a coffee shop with occasional shows and open mic nights, is now a venue that happens to have a full espresso bar. Anyway, yet another needless clarification that I'm leaving in anyway. We arrived into Hickory a bit early so we could make a stop at our favorite public house, The Olde Hickory Taproom--Jeremy got a Scottish Ale and an Oktoberfest Seasonal beer while I got a Black Velvet (half hard cider, half Guinness). It was great to be there again, and all three of my favorite bartenders were working, which is always nice. After filling up on good beer and pub chips, we walked over to Drip's to await the start of the show. The opener, Ian Thomas, was a bit late so the start was pushed back a bit, but once he got there and everything started it was great. Ian was a folksy, bluesy, americana-esque singer, and his stuff was a lot of fun--full of guitar, harmonica, and kazoo, yes, kazoo.
Adrian Rice, Irish poet, went on next to reveal some of his newly written Hickory Haiku, that were absolutely brilliant. I've recently started reading his poetry again, since I've started to understand and appreciate poetry for this first time in my life. Let me tell you, he is phenomenal. I've known he was good, but reading poem after poem cleverly crafted and evocative in each its own way is a screaming testament to his singular talent. I feel honored to call him friend and inspiration to my own poetic aspirations. I was able to sit with him and his lovely wife Molly, and of course Peanut, to whom I look forward to meeting in person in March. It was wonderful to be able to sit with them, and catch up and just see their faces and hear their voices--it had been entirely too long. I look forward to catching up with them again soon, over Guinness and hot Irish stew.
After Adrian, the headliner, Alyn Mearns took the stage with his guitar. Beginning with his own rendition of David Bowie's Nature Boy which was merely the beginning of a beautifully poetic collage of verse and chords. One song in particular stuck with me, the words based on Napoleon's love letters to Josephine, a woman he never could conquer as all the land under his thumb. His whole set was just brilliant, and so unique. During one song, he used a wine glass to distort the sound of his guitar, sliding it up and down the strings. A tremendous talent, and a humble one too, which makes it all the better. His family, wife and kids, were all there too, which I always think is so neat to see. I was able to get a photograph of his son in the foreground with Alyn in the back, on stage, playing--I think it's a poignant shot.
Anyway, it was a great weekend, and so great to see Molly and Adrian, even with the news that my poem and short story were somehow never entered into the contest I sent them too. I've gotten over it now, and am just glad that I had to opportunity to witness such great talent in verse and music, and I hope I'll able to get Alyn and The Belfast Boys up here to Black Mountain to play at the White Horse sometime soon. I'm hoping to continue my education in poetry and shape my own poetic hand as well. Thanks for a great weekend.

Cheers,

Caitlin