Last week we ventured east to the Twin Cities Irish Fest, held each year on Harriet Island in St. Paul, Minnesota. The “we” consisted of my wife, myself, and our good friends, Paul and Jodi. The weekend consisted of some good music, some good food and drink, and some tremendous people watching.

As the comedian Jeff Foxworthy once said, ““If you ever start feeling like you have the goofiest, craziest, most dysfunctional family in the world, all you have to do is go to a state fair. Because five minutes at the fair, you’ll be going, ‘You know, we’re alright. We are dang near royalty.'”

Anything that ends in “Fest” or “Fair” seems to emit a Bat-signal to the battiest among us. Which, always prompts me to contemplate when I find myself among them, “Maybe I ain’t so normal either?” Maybe the guy in the kilt, puffy-sleeved pirate shirt, compression socks, orthopedic Sketchers, and a fedora thinks I’m a bit odd? Maybe he’s right. We’re all rowing the same boat.

Kilts do look comfortable, but time-and-time again over the years I have talked Myself out of draping those plaid-pleats over my pouty posterior. It was pouty last time I looked anyway, but that was many moons ago, so the pout may have had a falling out since then. So it goes.

I hope I am able to continue to stand firm and thwart Myself, but he’s persistent, not very reasonable, void of fashion sense, and knows which sock I stash my cash in. Wish me luck, and I beg of you, refrain from encouraging his flights of fancy. He knows not what he do.

As I said, “some” of the music was good, and of course, some of it wasn’t so good, but that’s to be expected when a festival is trying to satisfy the tastes of vast and varying makes, models, and vintages of weirdos. Us weirdos enjoyed The High Kings (again) and a young lady named Adrienne O’Shea. Give them a listen, you might not like them.

As for the food…I always say that you know when a meal was really good or really bad, when you find yourself thinking about it for days after you consumed it. Scottish meat pies and skewers of bacon wrapped chicken have been flittering through my mind since we pointed the car west and returned home. On my mind in a good way. Not in the way the tripe I tried in Italy keeps rearing its ugly intestines.

It was an enjoyable trip. We have made this trip with Jodi and Paul before, and our travels with them make me think of the Irish proverb, “Giorraìonn beirt bòthar”, which translates to “Two people shorten a road.” There are four of us, but yes, good company shortens the road. Good company that never fails to respond when the Bat-signal goes out.

May there be many more such trips. “May the road rise to meet you, may the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face…”

Sláinte.