St. Paddy's Day Parade
Posted: Monday, March 15, 2010
by Dianne Lehmann
Artisan Jewelry from SyZyGy
I don't wear a watch. I gave it up years ago. I felt that the watch was stressing me. It applied something I referred to as "time pressure." Well, it was actually my response to it, but sometimes I just gotta lay blame outside myself, OKAY? It seemed that I would glance at it constantly and think that I never had enough of it time, that is. Driving to work, getting ready for work, eating breakfast. I'd strap it on first thing and my eyes would only leave it for mere minutes at a time. My husband gave his up at the same time. He thought it seemed like a good idea.
I do, however, have a clock on my night table beside my side of the bed. I love my clock. I can glance at it as I am lying awake unable to sleep and thus report to my husband the next morning just what time it was I last looked at it before finally falling asleep some indeterminate time later. Or precisely what time it was when his snores awoke me. Pleading excessive tiredness will often get me off the hook for doing the dinner dishes. A big yawn and a comment about how little sleep I got will usually get a smile from my husband. He knows me so well. Mainly, though, I'm just obsessive about some things. Well okay, a lot of things. I try not to let it interfere too much in my life. I'm not always successful, as you may have already guessed. And if not, this next will confirm it.
My clock is four minutes and 49 seconds fast compared to Greenwich Mean Time as adjusted for the time zone in which I live. So when I tell you, in the interest of accuracy and nothing else (really), that at 1:48 a.m. on March 17 th , the doorbell rang, please keep that minor discrepancy in mind. Actually, it rang slightly before 1:48. The bell awoke me, my eyes popped open and in my desire to be sure to tell Bernd the time, I looked to my clock to see the seven become and eight at that very instant.
Bernd, my husband, and I don't pay much attention to special occasions and holidays except that we each consider the other's birthday to be a very special day. Isn't that just too sweet? Still, I was very well aware when I went to bed the previous evening that the next day would be St. Patrick's Day. I mean, how could you not know that? There'd been all that talk of parades and cheap green beer for days previously. All the stores had been offering silly green hats with black bands and shiny buckles and all sorts of glittery shamrock thises and thatses.
Our doorbell doesn't ring much in the middle of the night. It doesn't have a mind of its own unlike our smoke detectors seem to. Actually, our doorbell doesn't ring much at all period, but when it rings in the wee hours of a holiday day, I've come to expect nothing good of it.
So, rousing myself, I slipped from between the sheets (they are still flannel at this time of year at this elevation). Bernd was breathing deeply, soundly locked in his earplugged-oblivious sleep. I walked to the front door and calmly flipped on the outside lights. In the past, it has not benefitted me at all to leave them off and I wanted a good view of what might be lurking outside my front door when I opened it. I paused a moment before opening the door. It is still cold enough that the compact fluorescent bulbs with which we replaced all of our incandenscents (aren't we the good ecologically minded couple) take a few moments to warm up to peak operating temperature and therefore peak brightness.
Everyone knows what a Leprechaun looks like; or should I say how one dresses. Shoot, who hasn't eaten some Lucky Charms cereal at some point in their life. Sat staring at the box on the table before you while you slurped up the milk and sugary goodness of it at an unreasonable 6:30 a.m. before trudging off to that mostly unbearable job your parents refer to as grade school and for which you do not get paid. Oh the incredible unfairness of it all. What most people do not know, however, is that solitary Leprechauns generally wear red. It's the trooping Leprechauns that wear green. Since they are usually pictured wearing green, my guess is that most folks (even if they think they've seen a solitary Leprechaun) have seen the trooping kind. Possibly it is like with rabbits. For everyone you see, there are several more in the bush.
If you've read any of my other accounts of my middle-of-the-night escapades, you've probably already figured out where this is headed.
Once I had given the front light enough time to brighten all the way (despite what they say about output, really, these CFL's don't come near to mimicking those good old incandescents mourn the good old days), I opened the door without further ado and what I saw prompted that paragraph about Leprechauns.
There were a mess of them. Hmm, wonder what the actual term for a flock of Leprechauns might be? Delight of Leprechauns, maybe. Oh wait! An Impossibility of Leprechauns. Yup, that's the ticket.
At any rate, they were all wearing green, to my utter relief. One likes to know that she can rely on the information found at Wikipedia. But the outfits were not precisely as pictured there and they were all dressed exactly alike. They ranged in height from about three to three and a half feet tall; of course some of that height was their hats. No telling what was under them their heads could be pointy or not. And not a one of them doffed their hat in greeting. It has been my experience that my middle-of-the-night visitors are short on politeness.
While being generally green, the outfits were skin tight. And I have to tell you, if you've never seen a Leprechaun as close to naked as this, be grateful. The green parts covered their short and rotund torsos and went all the way down to their big knobby knees. From there, they became white which only accentuated their lumpy calves. Their footwear was black and looked a lot like the shoes Pilgrims are always pictured wearing minus the shiny buckles. There was a triangle-shaped bit that was widest at the throat and extended down to what I presumed was the bottom of their breast bones where it made a point. This triangle was white. Their hats were black and resembled Pilgrim hats. But instead of a shiny buckle on the band, there was a milky white cabochon-cut stone-looking thing in an oval shape that appeared to be about 35mm long by about 25mm wide. A cabochon is a stone of any material, cut into a shape then polished smooth and shiny. They generally are domed (the thickest point is in the very middle of it), but not always. As for the size, I'm good at guessing that sort of thing because I am a silversmith and a lapidary (cuts and polishes stones) and we generally work in millimeters. As for their faces, well let's just say that I made a note to myself to find out if George Lucas has ever visited Ireland . That and the ears standing sideways from their heads. Pointy big ears.
I'm sure that I had a most surprised and perplexed look on my face when I opened the door and saw the Impossibility of them (there were eight of them and I'm thinking that when the number tops ten, you could call them a Great Impossibility of Leprechauns). A very questioning "hello" is all that came out of me. Then the lead Leprechaun launched into a speech.
"It is our understanding that amenable you are. Avail ourselves of your spatio-dimensional anomaly we would. Payment we would make. What tender accept you might?"
I was totally flummoxed (now there's a weird word if ever there was one), to say the least and replied with, "My what?" I did though have some idea of what it (hey, I'm not going to try to assign gender here, I'm not nuts) was talking about. I'd just never heard it called that. Actually, I can't remember that any of the previous visitors referred to it by name.
"Assured we have been that a spatio-dimensional anomaly you possess. Told we have been that resides it does in the space refer you do to utility room. Very much to use it we would like. Make payment we can. Would you like what kind?"
"Unh," I said, "I, uh, don't know. Whatcha got?" I was so hoping they didn't think that squids were a legal form of tender. Or that they'd want a cat as change.
The lead Leprechaun pulled off his hat and rummaged around for a bit and produced several faceted gemstones and some coins that looked to be gold. Would you believe it if I said I was overcome with an issue of ethics at that moment? No? I didn't think so. For the sake of appearances though, I said, "I'm not sure I should accept payment."
"Fair is fair," it replied, "and always our way we pay."
"Well, okay," I said, "if you insist. How many of those (and I pointed to his gnarly fingered hands) do you think is fair?"
"Take all. Matters it not to us." Did my eyes light up just then? Good chance of that. Bernd has been out of work for some time now and we've been spending savings. A quick influx of some cash would be most welcome. I held out both of my hands cupped together and it dumped the lot into them. It was a reassuringly heavy weight in my hands.
"Thank you so much. You've no idea how well we can use this." And stepping aside while opening the door wider, I invited the lot of them into my living room. But first I had to put down my loot and unlock the security screen door.
When they came into my living room, they stood around in a clump and I started to think that maybe I should revise my term for a group of Leprechauns. Coagulation of Leprechauns was sounding pretty good.
I gestured grandly and said, "If you will just step this way, I will show you to my utility room." And follow me the lot of them did. They fell in step behind Leprechaun #1 two by two by two by one in lock-step. All that was missing was a high school band blaring out "Mine Irish Eyes are Smiling" enthusiastically and a bit off key.
The lead Leprechaun walked into the laundry room and took off its hat once more. Oh, I forgot to mention that its head was only very slightly pointy. Now from its hat, it pulled a telescoping wand thing and waved it around in the air above its head. I noted that this was pretty much the precise spot the previous visitor accessed. I hesitate to call these beings aliens because you just never know, they might really be Leprechauns. Or maybe Leprechauns have always been aliens. I didn't want to think about it too much.
Then it exclaimed, "Moved again it has! Check I will." It uttered a big sigh of relief and said, "Still here it is. Shifted slightly it has."
So I just had to ask, "Where was it previously?"
"Long, long ago for many, many years, resided it did, far, far away from here. The inhabitants there, fondly do, refer to it as Erin . Your kind, believe I, call it Ireland do."
It was like a little light going on in my head and I said, "You know, that makes a lot of sense to me and explains quite a lot. You visit this planet much?"
"Yes. Assuredly. Most amusing it is. This! What is this? Space inside has it?" Leprechaun #1 said this as it was gesturing rather wildly at my dryer.
"It's my clothes dryer. And yes it has a space inside. That door on the front opens to give access to the interior." Sooo, that explains where all the socks have disappeared to recently.
"Spacious is it? Fit I will?" Even a non-Leprechaun like me could see it was becoming just a little agitated.
So, I sized him up a bit and was glad that years ago (when we still had money) we had purchased a commercially sized clothes dryer. "Yes, I believe that you will fit nicely, but not all of you at once. It's not like the TARDIS or anything, you know, larger on the inside than on the outside."
"Problem is it not. Singly we can go."
So I opened the door and the lead Leprechaun crawled right in. Then it backed out and turned to the crowd with a big smile on its face. At that point, I noticed that the cabochon gem-looking thing on its hat had begun to glow softly with a milky light.
It removed itself entirely from my dryer and motioned one of the other Leprechauns forward. Leprechaun #2 crawled into the dryer and became still with only its feet sticking out. A brief moment passed and then it totally disappeared. All that was left was a bright and very brief rainbow of light that pretty much filled the laundry room and caused to me gasp out loud.
The other six repeated the process and then it was the turn of Leprechaun #1 to depart. I had one last question, well maybe several; it would depend on the answer to the first one.
"Before you go, could you tell me something? For how many of this planet's rotations about its star was this spatio-dimensional anomaly located in Ireland ?" As I was asking this question, I could feel myself squinching up my eyes and starting to purse my lips in an expression of mild worry. I've never had much of a poker face.
"Hard to say it is. Five hundred and twenty-three of those it might be."
"Oh my!" I said, "How long might it stay here do you think?" I was starting to get seriously worried. I mean, who wants alie visitors traipsing through her house at all odd hours of the night on a regular basis? Maybe we should move. Do you suppose you are required to inform any potential buyer of the presence of a spatio-dimensional anomaly in your house?
"Hard to say it is. That long perhaps, or longer. Further inquiries make you?" Apparently it was becoming impatient to depart. The tapping of its foot and its tone of voice were a dead giveaway.
"No," I answered with a sigh, a really big sigh.
"Then, my leave of you I will take. Most pleasant this has been."
"Really?" I said.
"No. Goodbye."
With that, it climbed in and was gone in a rainbow of light. I closed the door to the dryer and went back to bed. The sheets were cold and Bernd was snoring loudly. Finally, I had proof to show to Bernd in the morning.
Then my eyes went wide with worry, I flung myself out of bed and rushed into the living room and looked in Bernd's recliner where I had dumped the gems and golden coins. They were gone. Surprised I was not. After all, there never really is any gold at the end of the rainbow. And you can never really trust a Leprechaun.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Dianne,I am not so much into clock watching, but I know many people are.Thank you for writing the article.Hi Kim.And thank you for reading it. Thanks, too, for taking the time to comment.Dianne
Thanks for the "tale". I saw six pages and hesitated. I enjoyed the read.Hi Jack.That was my fear. Thanks for sticking with it! Glad you enjoyed it.Dianne
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