Ay . . . Me wee lass and I attended a Celtic festival over the weekend. It was a sunny celebration that included toe-dancing girls with bouncing curls, haunting bagpipe tunes, monstrous yet noble hounds, and muscular legs protruding from woolen plaid skirts. Other than the point at which I unwittingly headed a speeding rugby ball (ouch!), it was a pretty mellow time. In another life I may have headed to the Jameson’s booth to soothe such a head injury, but that’s not quite my thing anymore (especially with preteen daughter in tow), so we headed to the shopping tents instead. We encountered the expected piles of tams, namesake key chains, and St. Patrick’s Prayer throws, but you know what struck me most? The many vendors selling brooches: ornate gem-encrusted ones, stamped ones, and simple wire ones.
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