in which this is the foggy dew

The past couple of days have been foggy, rain hovering (unfallen, luckily) overhead--a lot like Ireland, really, which is appropriate considering that St. Patrick's Day is this weekend. I guess you can call this my pastel tribute to St. Paddy. It's kind of funny, I really don't own any green clothes. Or purple, for that matter. They just don't really look that good on me (I'm so pale, they usually just make me look sickly and/or tired). Anyway, this is never really a problem until St. Patrick's Day rolls around and I need a green outfit to wear onstage. Last year I cheated and just wore green tights, but I may have to pull a similar stunt this Saturday...

(sweater/belt/blouse: goodwill; socks: uo; shoes: lulu*s)

Tonight is Art Club, and then I'm off into the woods for the weekend! Here's hoping my car survives the drive (you haven't experienced mud season until you've been to rural Vermont in early spring). And I'll leave you with a traditional Irish song (more for my benefit--I'll be singing it for the first time on Saturday and I need to try my best to remember the words!):

The Foggy Dew

'Twas down by the glen one Easter morn, to a city far road I

When Ireland's lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by

No pipe did hum and no battle drum did sound its dread tattoo

But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out in the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin town they hung out a flag of war

'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than in Sulva or Sud El Bar

Then from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through

While Brittania's sons with their long range guns sailed in from the foggy dew

'Twas England bade our wild geese go that small nations might be free

Their lonely graves by Sulva's waves on the fringe of the gray North Sea

But had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Valera true

Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep on the hills of the foggy dew

The bravest fell and the solemn bell rang mournfully and clear

For those that died that Eastertide in the springing of the year

And the world did gaze in deep amaze at those fearless men and true

Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

star of the county down

From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay

And from Galway to Dublin town

No maid I've seen like the sweet cailín

That I met in the County Down

Near Banbridge town, in the County Down

One morning last July

Down a bóithrín green came a sweet cailín

And she smiled as she passed me by.

She looked so sweet from her two bare feet

To the sheen of her nut brown hair

Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself

To make sure I was standing there.

As she onward sped I shook my head

And I gazed with a feeling rare

And I said, says I, to a passerby

"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"

He smiled at me, and with pride says he,

"That's the gem of Ireland's crown.

She's young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann

She's the star of the County Down."

I've travelled a bit, but never was hit

Since my roving career began

But fair and square I surrendered there

To the charms of young Rose McCann.

I'd a heart to let and no tenant yet

Did I meet with in shawl or gown

But in she went and I asked no rent

From the star of the County Down.

At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there

And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes

And I'll try sheep's eyes, and deludhering lies

On the heart of the nut-brown rose.

No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke

Though with rust my plow turns brown

Till a smiling bride by my own fireside

Sits the star of the County Down.

From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay

And from Galway to Dublin town

No maid I've seen like the sweet cailín

That I met in the County Down.

(dress: forever 21; tights: gap; shoes: seychelles; scarf/belt: thrifted; sweatshirt: irish tourist shop)

So this outfit is perhaps more gypsy-folk than Irish-folk, but no matter... I've got a little green going on, which is more than I can say for last year's ensemble. I thought I should probably wear my Ireland sweatshirt for at least one photo, since I found it in a bag of my old clothes last week (pretty timely). When our semester in Dublin was over, my friend Olya and I bought matching sweatshirts (hers was like this but dark green) and took a bus across the country, visiting Sligo, Cork, and Galway (where I promptly had my wallet stolen with my temporary passport inside [since it had originally been stolen in Rome] and spent the rest of the trip crying on the phone trying to find a way to get on an international flight without a replacement).

The lyrics in this post are from my new favorite song in our repertoire. Tonight's the big night! I'm hoping to finagle some video out of the show, but knowing me and my family we will be way too disorganized to manage it :)

Happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone!

Sláinte!

bonjour wednesday!

Last week of the year, you have been a lonely one.

I bought this top for 10 euros when I was living in Ireland. The corset clasps are pretty mangled and I think it's nearing the end of its life... I may have to retire it entirely into the trash for 2010, but I did want to get one last wear out of it before saying goodbye!

(skirt/scarf/belt: vintage; corset top: some store in Ireland, maybe TopShop, definitely clearance; shoes: DSW; cardigan: old H&M)

Please forgive the blurry photo, but my camera apparently had a secret anxiety attack this morning because there were major focus issues. It was probably just freaked out about going outside--I know I was! Temperatures haven't climbed above zero this week!