When Looking for a Leprechaun (I meant to say Pot of Gold, but I am enjoying the slip…)
Looks like I didn’t need a leprechaun this year. Every year I recruit a leprechaun to come visit my class on St. Patrick’s Day. Obviously this year, it wasn’t necessary. >Now that St. Patrick’s Day is over, and with it my search for the perfect leprechaun, I am going to share with you a little secret I have uncovered.
When leprechauns are not making shoes, they are selling groceries. Take last year, my perfect leprechaun was at Trader Joe’s. His profile screamed leprechaun from every rainbow. And, this year I found my leprechaun at Mom’s. She let me take her picture, a rare event for a leprechaun.
So now I know that next year, when I look for a leprechaun to add to my collection, I will have to try another grocery store. You see I think they will each be having their own territory. Maybe the Cherrydale Safeway next time or better yet, Harris Teeter, it has more of leprechaun ring to it.
Come to think of it, why wouldn’t a leprechaun take shelter in a grocery store? Where else could you find an Irish 7 course meal…. A six pack of Guinness and a potato- (that is not original- it’s a bad Irish joke, been around for a while) Seriously, there is nothing in Ireland, foodwise, of greater importance than a potato. Did you know that there are 90 words in Gaelic for potato? There are 15 railway stations in the country named after heroes of the Easter rebellion and their mainstay was none other than potatoes. The main word for potato in Gaelic is “prata” pronounced (prawh-tah).
That is when I realized I had come to the right place. As I placed my groceries on the counter, the clerk picked up a potato, looked at the cashier and said “prawh-tah” as she placed it in the bag. A paidrin (paahdreen ) is a tiny potato. She looked at one of my smaller spuds and sputtered out “paadreen” as she threw it on top of my prawtah. The cat was out of the bag. The gold was out of the pot and the leprechaun smiled at me in a knowing way and began to laugh, throwing back her green hair. At that point I asked to take her picture as I knew that having processed my spuds, she wouldn’t be around for long. A meal of bangers and mash was probably awaiting her and keeping our social distance, there was no chance I could catch her. I would not see her pot of gold today, but maybe her pot of potatoes.
Now the one thing I had to reconcile when I got home and thought about it was the roasary my mom gave me which was also called a paidrin in Gaelic. What could my roasary possibly have to do with a tiny potato? Did people pray for potatoes for dinner? Did they pray when the crops were damaged and only giving them small potatoes (that is one explanation I found), or did someone make a rosary out of tiny potatoes back in St. Patrick’s time when leprechauns roamed freely eating potatoes, mending shoes, and dancing jigs? Only the wee people know for sure, and you know where to find them. SSSShhh, this is our secret