Nutty Irishmen.

I know it’s late, but Happy Saint Patty’s day to you!

The story goes that the Pantier family was richly steeped in Irish blood, until a fancy Frenchman traipsed in and won the heart of a lass. Now, all Americanized, it’s Pantier, pronounced “Pan-teer,” instead of “Pan-tea-ay” just to spite that French dude, I’m sure.

Actually, I’m not quite certain if that’s really true or not. But that’s exactly the way Hank told it. Hank will now be referred to as “O’Henry” throughout the remainder of this post. (You can read it aloud with an Irish accent – here’s help with that.)

In February, O’Henry decided to run for the the Erie Board of Trustees. It was a quick trip to Nordstrom’s for a suit and fancy shoes (the home office doesn’t require them, and the old ones were SEVERELY dipping into that fashion faux pas area…oh jeez, there’s that French coming in again. Can’t shake the ancestral roots, man.), and off he went down the bonny campaign trail (oh yeah, Irish lore, here we come). He printed up flyers and signs, then walked around to distribute stuff. Ballots have been mailed out to voters and we now await election day: April 6th.

O’Henry’s mom, Gram, came fer a pint last week. Ok, ok. She came for a visit, I mean. She and Holden hit it off like a huge basket of four-leaf clovers. They made crafty animals, went to gymnastics together, played the Wii – Holden even fashioned a Mii for her, complete with glasses. Gram was a great sport; Holden battled her ruthlessly in sword fighting and knocked her derriere (grr. darn french curse) right off the platform every time. What a fine Gram, she is.

Ewan was a naughty leprechaun and didn’t warm up to Gram this trip, but I’m sure the boy-o will soon e’er he get shoved back down into his pot o’ gold by his Ma and Da. That red hair and fiery temperament make me laugh a stitch or two now, but soon I fear ‘twil be a sad tale of wars lost and love forlorn.

Ok I won’t forlorn my love for him, but I do intend to win a lot of battles.