A St. Patrick's Celebration

I'm not quite sure how it's come about that our family, who has barely a drop of Irish blood, ends up celebrating St. Patrick's Day every year . . .

Our celebration this year began in downtown Chicago, early last Saturday morning, where we went to see the annual dying green of the Chicago River . . .

A boat, manned by a small crew dumps about 40 pounds of a harmless vegetable dye into the river, turning its waters a bright green for a few hours . . .  Do you notice the brave little ducks trying to stay out of the path of the boat?  This article explains how Chicago's quirky tradition came about . . .

My husband is the guest photographer for all of the pictures taken downtown, since he has a shiny new smart phone with a cool new camera that he wanted to try out . . .

Me, I usually get so caught up in whatever is happening that I forget to take pictures . . .

We found a nice spot to watch on the Riverwalk, right across from Trump Tower, the skyscraper that has given so many Chicagoans heartburn because of its 20-foot-high Trump sign, which is seen as brash and tasteless . . .

Mr. Trump does seem to have a way of antagonizing folks . . .

The people watching was . . . marvelous . . .

The dyeing of the river was followed by the St. Patrick's Day parade . . .

But it was crowded, with so many young people walking in packs, and drinking, I felt like I was at Daytona Beach during Spring break . . .  

Even though we only stayed for a few minutes of the parade, by the time we got home our day was pretty much gone.  Chicago is always fun, but with a crowd like this, everything moves slowly.  We got home and collapsed on the couch and you wouldn't have been able to budge us if you tried . . . And I had to conserve my energy for our St. Pat's dinner party the following night . . .

Now THIS way of celebrating is more my style!  I really, really love my florist, Robert . . . He's made so many beautiful arrangements for me over the years, that I've lost count . . .

With minimal instructions from me via e-mail, this is what he managed to put together:  Three baskets that held white daisies, lime green button pom poms, white limonium, white wax berries, minty green carnations . . .

And, Bells of Ireland spikes gave the arrangements some height . . .

Robert placed the arrangements in brown rattan baskets, and that became the inspiration for the rest of the table . . .

I used my Spode Delamere Brown . . .  Somehow, this pattern feels right at home whether I dress it up or down, and seemed to get along very nicely with the rustic rattan baskets . . .

The napkins were an Etsy find.  I alternated the two designs throughout the table . . .

Each place setting included an individual butter dish that held delicious Kerrygold Irish butter to spread on Irish Soda bread . . . St. Patrick's Day is the best excuse ever for eating Irish Soda Bread . . .

And a great opportunity to bring out my Laguiole spreaders with the cute little bee on the handles . . .

The hurricane lantern votive holders added a touch more green . . .

Then I scattered some lucky charms on the table . . .

To hopefully lead us to the end of a rainbow, so we could find a pot o' gold!

These brownies with mocha cream frosting and chocolate chips would do very nicely for those who preferred chocolate to a pot o' gold . . . Especially when served with mint chocolate chip ice cream on the side . . .  After they finished their corned beef and cabbage, of course . . .

It was all so much fun, we were all happy to pretend being Irish for a little while! Éire go Brách!

Joining Susan at Between Naps on the Porch for Tablescape Thursday.  Please stop by!

Gondola amore!

From the moment you step into the Alilaguna waterbus at the airport, you begin to spot them . . .

They can be found clustered in front of old palaces . . .

Gliding quietly down narrow canals . . .

Early in the morning . . .

When restaurants haven't even opened yet . . .

And late at night, when the water looks inky black, and you feel you've stepped back in time . . .

Out on the Canal Grande, competing for navigable space with water buses and power boats, while the winged lion, symbol of Venice, keeps watch over it all . . .

Trying to stay relevant in a city that today is largely a living museum . . .

You can spot them from the Bridge of Sighs - the bridge connecting the Ducal Palace to the Prisons.  I can easily imagine a gondola being the last thing a condemned prisoner might see as he crossed the bridge towards his incarceration . . .

How brave these gondolieri are, fighting for survival, physical and metaphorical, in the 21st century!

Some long-ago doge (reigning duke) decreed that all gondole should be black to eliminate unseemly competition for the fanciest rig . . .  (Notice the plural form of gondola is gondole, NOT gondolas, as it was emphatically, albeit politely, pointed out to me by a native) . . .

At one time, there were 10,000 gondole in the Venetian lagoon.  Today, there are roughly 500 of them left, all catering to the tourist industry . . .

And, yes, it was expensive and a bit of a cliché, but how could we NOT indulge in a romantic ride?  Our 4th generation gondoliere sang in a desultory fashion, more to himself than to us, while he steered us through quiet rii (small canals), and onto the Canal Grande . . .

Never ask a gondoliere to sing “O Sole Mio” - that's a Neapolitan song!  That travesty occurs at The Venetian, in Las Vegas!  But, to paraphrase the popular saying:  What happens in Vegas, most definitely ought to stay in Vegas . . .  Click here to hear a charming Venetian folk song . . .

I brought home this bit of lace - made in the island of Burano; and, just recently, had it mounted and framed . . .

The silk backing is Venetian Blue (I kid you NOT!). The gilded frame reminds me of the waves in the Venetian lagoon.  Ah, the romance of Venice has come home with me . . .