Kansas City Irish Fest News

Today, I am not so much going to write about Irish Fest.  Or I am, just not in a news theme.  Today is bigger for me (granted maybe only me) than news.  Today, I need to share a story of my morning.  Sorry for the length.

First, one detail of the story that I have a slew of health setbacks.  These setbacks have caused more limitations on my life that I would not want to burden anyone with knowing or understanding.  I am currently, for my own determination, trying to slowly overcome while accepting at the same time.

One of the ways for me to try and overcome is to attempt morning walks.  Now, these often do not go so well.  Sadly enough, my limitations have left me taking pride in being able to make it a block away.  I have to set my standards and goals by how many houses I make it away from my house, not how many miles.  I have steeled myself against being paranoid as to what my neighbors might think about some heavy-set girl who can't even make it a block away from home.  I know the truth of my limitations and I have learned to steel myself against what others might think - no small feat if I do say so myself.  Oh, and it is important to know that I listen to music while I walk.  I have it set on random through my thousands of songs and I hope I get uplifting music, but I also like to try and sing to my music.  It helps me to ignore what others might think of me.

Today, I was walking away and I made it far by my own limitations, but I was really striving for slightly further.  I turned around, defeated, and was almost back in my own yard when an Irish song played.

This song was instrumental and it was mostly the fiddler whom I heard.  The song began slow and melancholy.  Naturally, I started crying for the Irish know sadness and grief.  As I got to my house, I leaned against my car to let the music carry my mood.  Suddenly, the beat picked up and the song grew into more. 

As another side note, when I was a freshman in college, I made friends with a woman named Colleen.  She was an Irish dancer through and through.  She was one who celebrated life to a degree that I was just starting to learn through her.  Having never seen or tried Irish dancing, I was in awe of someone who had gotten to perform all her life.  Anyway, I will never forget when she tried to teach me a few basic steps.  And, although I never quite got them right to her standards (Irish dancing is a rigorous endeavor), I felt giddy for having a new facet of being Irish. 

Therefore, like I always do when I hear the right tempo of Irish music and as I am resting against the car, as the music turned celebratory, my feet starting doing those steps I learned.  Granted, they are probably worse than when Colleen was teaching me because time can fog over the details, but my feet were dancing nonetheless. 

As I realize my feet were moving and the spirit of the music was hitting me, I smiled.  Crying my eyes out, I was suddenly hit with so much joy that I was born anew.  With the song carrying me, I made it around a shorter, different block.  But around it I went!  With every step and every beat, my tears switched from melancholy to joy.  I was still crying, but this time out of pride and joy.  How Irish is that...both despair and joy combine in one powerful moment!!!
 
A Irish song.  A memory.  Happy feet.  You may hit a low place and Irish music may find your grief.  However, it can just as easily and instantly pull you out of that slump and put you someplace better than where you were before.  I look forward to having the bands at Irish Fest make me feel all of this and so much more.

Thank you Colleen, thank you Celtic Woman, thank you God for giving me this moment to treasure.