Saturday, March 17, 2012


Barbara Ward-Finneran
The Irish are shaking everything they've got today and many are looking forward to kicking back some dark ale or green beer.  On this day when everyone is Irish, we celebrate one of the world's most popular saints, St. Patrick, who is the Patron Saint of Ireland.

Even the secular world embraces him like they do St. Valentine and St. Nicholas. Catholic, Christian or not - everyone loves these saints!

Saint Patrick was actually born in Scotland in the year 387. His parents were Romans living in Britian.  They were in charge of the colonies.  Around the age of 14, he was captured during raiding party and brought to Ireland, the, a land of Druids and pagans, as a slave. Patrick was forced to heard and tend sheep. During his imprisonment he learned the language and customs of the people and grew closer to God in prayer.

Patrick's captivity lasted until he was around 20.  He escaped by following God's directions from a dream.  God told him to leave ireland by going to the coast.  There sailors took him back to Britian and he was reunited with his family.  Other dreams spoke to him.  he had another one in which he heard the people of Ireland calling to him, "we beg you, holy youth, to come and walk among us once more."

He studied and became a priest and was later ordained a Bishop and sent to share the Gospel in Slane, Ireland.  Patrick preached for 40 years and converted thousands to Christianity and began built churches all over Ireland.  he worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in Confessions.  He is also credited with bringing the written word to Ireland.

Saint Patrick used the Shamrock to teach the Trinity - God the Father, God, the Son and God the Spirit - three parts yet one God.  The Shamrock and has been associated with him and the Irish ever since then.

The issue of Saint Patrick and the snakes is by some thought to be literal and by others a metaphor.  Either way the stories of him driving the snakes out of Ireland are cherished and still told today.

After years of livingin poverty, traveling the country and enduring suffering, he died at Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland on March 17, in the year 461.

His love and total devotion to and trust in God is a shinning example to people to this day.

Today everyone is Irish, and we at DRL wish you a Happy St. Patrick's day!!



Slainte: means Good health ---Slainte is the Gaelic word for health.

Slan: meaning farewell Slan is the Gaelic word for safe so it means keep safe.

Erin go Bragh: Means in Gaelic "Ireland forever."

Cead Mile Failte: which means A Hundred Thousand welcomes -- from the Gaelic

Dia is Muire Dhuit: Means hello in Gaelic, literally means "God and Mary with you."

Dia is Mhuire Duit agus Padraig: How the person responds,"God and Mary and St. Patrick with you."

Go N-eiri an bothar leat: May the Road Rise to Meet You-- From the Gaelic, which means may success be with you.

Pog Mo Thoin: Yes, it means what you think it does, Gaelic for kiss my ...

La Fheile Padraig brea dhibh go leir: Have a great St. Pat's everyone



La Fheile Padraig brea dhibh go leir means have a great St. Patrick's day everyone

At. Patrick's day did not become a national holiday in Ireland in 1903 and the first parade wasn't held in Dublin until 1931

The Irish flag is green, white and orange.  Green symbolizes the people of the south, and orange the north.  The white represents the peace that brought them together as a nation.  

Leprechauns are the official shoe makers of the fairy kingdom.

The first St. Patrick's Day was celebrated in 1737 in Boston, Massachusetts.  

St. Patrick was born around 385AD

St. Patrick's true given name was Maewyn Succat

The first official St. Patrick' s day parade was held in New York City in 1766.  

According to the 2003 US Census, 34 million Americans have Irish ancestry.  Nine times the population of Ireland.

The harp is a symbol of Ireland.

Shamrock is the national flower of Ireland.

There are four places in the United States named Shamrock (West Virginia, Texas, Indiana, Oklahoma) and nine Dublin's (Dublin, California and Dublin, Ohio are most populous)

The color of green is commonly associated with Ireland, also known as "the Emerald Isle". 

According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the highest number of leaves found on a clover is fourteen!

The color originally associated with St. Patrick was blue; green became associated during the 19th century

It is estimated that there are about 10,000 regular clovers for every four-leaf clover.

New York's St. Patrick's Day parade is the longest running civilian parade in the world. This year nearly three million spectators are expected to watch the spectacle and some 150,000 participants plan to march.

Legend says that each leaf of the four leaf clover means something: the first is for hope, the second for faith, the third for love and the fourth for luck.  

Traditional St Patrick’s Day food includes, Irish soda bread, corned beef and cabbage, Irish stew, and of course, Guinness.

Virtual "Green Beer" is on the house at the lounge today! :)

May the luck of the Irish be with you today!  Happy St. Patricks Day!

Happy St. Paddy's Day from the DRL Crew!

Friday, March 16, 2012

PARANORMAL PUB: Spend St Patrick's Day Hunting for Ghosts!

New York, NY - Pete and Stew Kandel noted paranormal investigators and licensed NYC tour guides aka the “Ghost Doctors” will celebrate St. Patrick's Day with spirits of another kind-Ghosts.

“Since the very first St. Patrick's Day parade back in 1766, NYC has been a center of celebration for this special day. And for about a hundred years travelers from all around the world would enter NYC via Grand Central Terminal to partake in the activities that only NYC can offer for this festive holiday,” says Dr. Stew. “This St. Patrick's Day we'll be searching Grand Central for some ghosts that just want to have fun.”

This St. Patrick's Day (3/17/12) the Ghost Doctors will lead a group of aspiring ghost hunters through Grand Central Terminal. After a crash course in ghost hunting – which will include the use of a variety of electronic and traditional ghost hunting equipment – the new recruits will set out on a paranormal quest in search of spirits of St. Patrick's Day past. “On this day even the ghostly spirits should have a bit of the Irish in them and with a bit luck and a four-leaf clover we might just experience a paranormal hooley,” says Dr. Pete.

To find out more about this special upcoming St. Patrick's Day Ghost Hunting Tour in Grand Central Terminal go to their website

Ghost Doctors (, based in New York City, is the premier ghost hunting tour in NYC that actually allows participants to experience “real” ghost hunts. Their ghosts hunts can be suited for both public, private and corporate events.

Thursday, March 15, 2012


Barbara Ward-Finneran
Ever feel like you’ve had an epic fail.  It’s when the things you’ve promised yourself somehow fell to the way side and “everything else” got more important.  Got more important then you.  “Everything else” is important, so it has to have a place.  It has to fit into your life.  Yet the “fit” gets messy and you lose not only focus but balance.  You forsake your control and power for the greater good.  For the “life” that gets in the way. For the everything else that must get done.  
Sometimes you have to close your eyes, remember what’s really important.  You have to put yourself into that image and trust that you belong there.  I know that you must keep yourself in the equation or you’ll never prove. Anyone whose good with mathematical interactions knows you have to prove at the end of the day.  (Okay, truth be told, I’m not always the greatest at mathematical magic, but Daddy was a banker and I get proving!) However, if you fail to keep yourself in the calculations, there’s nothing to prove.  All your best efforts will leave you like something is missing.  Leave you longing for more.  
I know this is true. Not all that long ago I walked a path where I allowed myself to be “lost”.  Lost in a dark place to an addiction that numbed the pain.  An emotional eater  who tail spun into morbid obesity that tipped the scales at well over 250 pounds.  An atrocity for my 5’1” frame.  It didn’t happen over night.  It didn’t happen without me being keenly and painfully aware of every guilty bite, aware of every emotion that I buried.  Knowing day after day that it needed to stop.  Knowing that every five or ten pounds that you allow to be okay invites more. One day I had enough and dialed up my own resurrection.  Decided that the issues and problems would remain, but I didn’t have to keep slowly killing myself. It was time to reclaim the part of me that was hurting and heal it.  Time to take my power back.  And, I did.  It was recovery that had to do with a whole lot more then the 90 pounds I shed.  
For over 30 months it was a success that was sweet most days and larger then life on others.  I worked blood, sweat and tears, to be heathy, to feel better, to look better and most importantly to feel like me, to feel whole.   
In the last six months I found myself somewhere between broken promises and an epic fail.  I allowed a new job and it’s new obligations to get in my way.  The job has it’s place, purpose, prestige and need.  For this woman already running on overdrive there wasn’t much time to dole out to this new endeavor, something had to give.  What was I thinking?!  I allowed it to be me. I took the hit!   One more thing “to do” became one too many.  My gym visits were the first to be sacrificed followed by my at home workout routines.  In the weeks that followed I became desensitized to the few pounds that crept up on the scale.  In the chaos of the constant busy conceding to the two or three pounds, only to become five and then even a few more.  The line I walked became unbalanced. I felt it physically and emotionally. The voice in my head torn between the dark side that I remembered (and lurked) and the optimist that said you’ll get your control back; in a few weeks, on the first of the month, over the break, at the new year, etc. You let the first five slip by and before you know it the next five begin to up the anti. It was slow... but it was happening.  Once again all to aware, but not going there.  There wasn’t time.  I needed enough time to carve out a schedule, to make it a habit again, to get control.  Another day, another week slips by... and nothing gave, except the scale working it’s way towards a ten pound gain.  
ENOUGH!  What am I doing?!  What was I thinking?!?! Finally - I let it click once again.  ENOUGH!  I am - so NOT going back there!  I was all to tuned in to how easily it could happen.  Finally... I refuse to let “it” happen.  
You can’t worry about making it perfect.  You cannot wait until there is enough time to make the perfect schedule. To make the perfect balance.  You have to concern yourself only with making it happen.  As best as you can  - today.  Just do it.  Start.  Start over.
I can’t get to the gym a few times a week, every week.  But, I’ve finally gone back.  I can’t get the home routine to fit certain days and times on schedule.  But, I can commit to 10 miles a week and make that work.  Make the scale roll back.  
I found the time to "rest" my strappy stilettos and lace up my running shoes. Two point five weeks and 25.3 miles in - I am back in the game - I am doing it.  (Again!) I made myself a priority.  I am redefining the rules, taking back control and reclaiming balance.  Not to mention the added dose of endorphins - there’s still never enough time - but - all is better! It is empowering. 
It is not an epic inadequacy to demand a do-over.   There is no shame in beginning again.  The only failure in starting over is talking and thinking about it rather then doing it.  Just do it. 


Wednesday, March 14, 2012

KISS ME I'M IRISH - Mar Chuid Dá (Part II)

Jillian B. Hart

She found herself very melancholy and couldn't even explain why if she had been asked.  Rather then give into the blues she fashioned on a casual emerald green dress and zipped up the knee length, spiked, black boots. Slipped into a leather jacket and headed out the door.  People watching always lifted her spirits and gave her inspiration to write.  What better night to gather in the sights.  

She sat at the bar, taking in the blur of faces on the dance floor. The festive holiday sounds emanated through the room mixed with dance tunes.  Shiny plastic four leaf clovers and green beads dangled from necks and bounced across chests in erratic and off beat motions. Choirs of "Slainte" replaced the usual shouts of cheers followed by the clinks of beer mugs.  Green beer overflowed, yet, not her drink of preference so she had ordered Bailey's straight up.  Every one was Irish today.  Yet her Irish eyes were far from smiling.  Although she had never fancied this Irish pub in the city, perhaps this wasn't the right pub to observe the happy crowds, as something about the place reminded her of times gone by. 


Marion Pellicano Ambrose
The rituals and traditions of a law enforcement officer’s funeral are both moving and meaningful. They provide closure and comfort to both the family and the law enforcement community. The proceedings usually begin with the gathering of law enforcement officers from neighboring agencies. Today, for Deputy Barbara Pill’s funeral, thousands of police, deputies, troopers, firefighters and other sworn personnel gathered and stood in formation for almost 2 hours in preparation for the service.

It took over half an hour for all these men and women to file into Calvary Church and fill the 5,000 seats to overflowing. The service usually follows the religious customs of the family. In this case, Pastors from Deputy Pill’s Church in Sebastian, and the Pastor of Calvary Church in Melbourne spoke. Chief Jack Parker of the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department spoke beautifully about Barbara’s dedication, service and spirit. The most touching moment was when her son, also a law enforcement officer, spoke about his mother. At police funerals, other family members, fellow officers or friends may speak if it is the wish of the family. At Barbara Pill’s funeral, several Brad Paisley songs were played while a video of her with friends, family, and at work was shown. The musical group for the church also performed “I Can Only Imagine”. All during these happenings, officers in dress uniform stood guard at both sides of the coffin and switched details every 15 minutes or so. Each change of detail was performed to perfection with respect and dignity.

After the service ended in prayer, everyone was dismissed to re form outside. At that time, the bagpipes and drums played, which has been a police and fire department tradition since the time when Irish immigrants brought their traditions with them upon immigrating to America.  Another tradition is the three –volley rifle salute and the playing of Taps, which originated during the American Civil War.

A flying formation of Sheriff’s Department copters passed over in the missing man formation to honor Deputy Pill.

The most difficult tradition for me was the official retiring of the officer’s squad number. A dispatcher is heard over the radio trying to get hold of the officer twice. When he or she does not answer, the dispatcher announces that that officer is 10-7, out of service. This is the officer’s “Last Call”.

The American flag that was draped over the coffin is carefully folded and presented to the deceased's next of kin. The traditional triangular fold represents the triangle hat that was worn by Revolutionary War soldiers.

The funeral procession to the cemetery may involve hundreds of police vehicles, as did Deputy Pill’s. Motorcycles, police cars, possibly mounted police and other vehicles escort the body of the officer to his or her final resting place.

 It’s an extremely difficult ordeal for both the family of the deceased and the law enforcement community, but these traditions are important. They show the living that we honor our heroes and that their sacrifice was not and will never be forgotten. It helps the family to see the close, loving family ties that exist between those who wear the shield, for it is a true brotherhood that outsiders may never fully comprehend. Barbara Pill’s family is truly a law enforcement family, and they knew the dangers and risks that Barbara took each day. Having the amazing show of love, support and brotherhood that took place at Calvary Chapel today, will help them deal with their pain, their loss and the continued sacrifices they will endure as law enforcement officers.

It was a sad, moving, inspiring, day today. May we never have the need for another like it!

"I Can Only Imagine"

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

SHE SAID... KISS ME I'M IRISH - Pháirt Amháin (Part I)

Jillian B. Hart
Kissing is one of the most sensual and sexy ways too express your passion for your partner.  So many ways to get erotic with your lover but most often the starting point is a kiss.  A lingering embrace of lips that leaves your mate longing for more and daydreaming about you long after the moment is gone.

In the chaos of life it is all too easy to forget the power of the kiss.  All to easy to fall into the "smooch" and or "smack' syndrome. The quick peck that has become habit and essentially is so over used that it means nothing. This cordial interaction certainly doesn't raise a pulse.  Day in and day out, reality gets in the way and these kisses have their place but to keep sparks from fizzling a couple must define time to include romantic passionate kisses in their daily love diet.  These encounters need not be saved for "bedroom time" but should rather be used often as prelude to escapades yet to come.  What is more exciting then anticipation?  You want your lover to desire you,  then it is necessary to lay one on them that leaves them longing for more.  Sexy kissing is all about a moment that makes your partner crazy for you.  Kissing must not just be a road map to sex but rather an appreciated act of pleasure unto itself.

YOUR PRESIDENT, HE SAID... I hope I die before I get old

Tony Walker
This week my good friend's father passed away.
As most Catholic's do, the whole process of saying goodbye is dragged out.

So I felt I should be there more than once as a sign of respect to my good friend.

While there the second night, something scary occurred to me.
Have I reached the age where wake's are a social gathering with friends I haven't seen in a long time???
It can't be!!! I'm not old!!!! Wait... who is that bald, gray haired, fat guy in the mirror... holy %$#@ it's me!!!!

I saw Towers, DeBenedettos, Curleys, Voights, so on & so on.
I haven't seen some of these people in years!!!! I loved seeing them but I wish it was a different scenario.
Are we so tied up in life that we can't make time for these people?
Are these the places I am going to catch up with old friends?

Soon I'll be wearing flannels, caps, & khakis all the time.
Soon I'll be hanging out at the OTB.
Soon I'll be going to Church every morning.
Soon I'll be yelling at children to get off my grass.

I hope I die before I get old.... or is it too late????

Monday, March 12, 2012

PARANORMAL PUB: A Saint Patrick's Day Story

This story truly happened a while ago in Dublin, and on Saint Patrick's Day.

John Bradford, a Dublin University student, was on the side of the road hitchhiking on a very dark night and in the midst of a big storm.

The night was rolling on and no car went by. The storm was so strong he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him.

Suddenly, he saw a car slowly coming towards him and stopped.

John, desperate for shelter and without thinking about it, got into the car and closed the door... Only to realize there was nobody behind the wheel and the engine wasn't on. The car started moving slowly.

John looked at the road ahead and saw a curve approaching. Scared, he started to pray, begging for his life. Then, just before the car hit the curve, a hand appeared out of nowhere through the window, and turned the wheel.

John, paralyzed with terror, watched as the hand came through the window, but never touched or harmed him.

Shortly thereafter, John saw the lights of a pub appear down the road, so, gathering strength; he jumped out of the car and ran to it. Wet and out of breath, he rushed inside and started telling everybody about the horrible experience he had just had.

A silence enveloped the pub when everybody realized he was crying... And wasn't drunk.

Suddenly, the door opened, and two other people walked in from the dark and stormy night. They, like John , were also soaked and out of breath. Looking around, and seeing John Bradford sobbing at the bar, one said to the other....

"Look Paddy....there's the damn idiot that got in the car while we were pushing it!"


Marion Pellicano Ambrose
When my daughter was an infant, I dressed her in frilly little dresses, sunbonnets and little princess shoes. She always looked adorable with her big blue eyes, pink heart shaped lips and long, silky blonde hair. When she turned 4 ½   , I went away for a weekend on retreat and left her alone with my husband. When I returned, she had a short “butch” haircut and was wearing camouflage pants, a black t shirt and sneakers. She was absolutely thrilled with the way she looked and felt and needless to say, there was no getting her back into  “princess” clothing again! At first I was upset, but soon I realized that even at 4, she was making a choice about who she wanted to be, and she was choosing to be active, a little bit tough, and independent, and that was a good thing!

 After that, I made it my business to learn more about raising a “powerful” daughter. Powerful girls are more secure in themselves. They make positive choices and think critically about the world around them. They take action when needed and are able to express their feelings, but also be aware and sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of others.  It seems like it should be easy, right? Well, it isn’t. It takes thought, patience, and a lot of trial and error on the part of both parents. Here’s what my husband and I did.

1.     We let her try different interests. If she showed an interest in Ballet, we took her. We went through piano, ballet, tap, Irish Step Dancing, Soccer, Basketball and gymnastics before she found what she loved – Kung Fu, Clarinet and Art classes. She enjoyed Daisies, Girl Scouts and other activities as well, but these three were her passion. When she got older she got involved in Student Government , German Club, and Swing Dancing. Each activity taught her more confidence and rounded out her personality.

2.    One of the things my husband found easy and I almost had a nervous breakdown over, was allowing her the freedom to take risks, both physical and emotional. She went to a high ropes course and loved it! I had a stomach ache for 2 days after! She rode horses, parasailed, traveled to student conferences out of state and lived through it all, contrary to my worries. Again, each experience made her a stronger, more confident person. Emotional risks included making choices about friends and boyfriends, choices about our Religious and Cultural traditions (once she was old enough). I’m happy to say that she’s developed amazing skills from her successes and her failures.

3.    We made sure we talked every single day. We talked about values, conscience, prejudice, empathy, tolerance, love, intense dislike (we never use the word “hate” in our home), and apathy. We gave her the opportunity to talk about anything without fear. She knew there were consequences for certain actions, but truth was valued highly and lying only added to the consequences.  We tried very hard to model the values we talked about, but openly admitted our failures and weaknesses but with the resolve to try harder.

Sunday, March 11, 2012


Barbara Ward-Finneran

Creating a dream rather then chasing a dream.

Being thankful.  

Having pride in how far you've come.

Being nice. 

Having courage and finding strength.

Loving your life.

Missing someone yet knowing they are with you always.

Keeping the promises that you make to yourself!


The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow