When Irish Eyes are "CSIing"
A story from Moochie and Prairie for St. Patrick's Day. Actually mostly Moochie and a little Prairie.
And, no, we don't own anything concerning CSI, nor are we paid with anything beyond a few reviews. If we did, Sara and Gil would be spending St. Pat's Day in Dublin, LOL! (Note from Moochie: I was born in Dublin and I someday hope to see it again).
Wednesday, St. Patrick's Day, 2010
Jim Brass, with the blue eyes of his Irish mother, sighed in exhaustion. It had been a very rough shift and he was looking forward to getting home and have a shot of some Jameson Whiskey. The best Whiskey Ireland produced. Really good in coffee.
Catherine Flynn Willows, looked forward to spending the evening with her Mother, Lily Flynn. She knew her Mom had made the traditional corned beef and cabbage. While Cath didn't really like either, she'd eat it, just to please her Mom.
Greg Sanders, who never spoke about anything but his Norwegian ancestry, knew perfectly well that his Dad's Mother was Irish, quietly decided to find an Irish bar and raise a toast to the side of the family he knew almost nothing about.
Doc Robbins didn't have any problems with St. Pat's Day. He was darn near 100 per cent Irish. He and Judy were going over to their oldest son's house and the whole Robbins clan was going to chow down on Colcannon* and Irish stew.
Nick Stokes was desperately hoping Mandy would not be delayed in ending her shift. He knew both sets of her grandparents had Irish members and he so wanted to take her to McMahon's restaurant. There was a very special question he wanted to ask her.
David Hodges had one Irish grandparent. The only person who had ever shown him unconditional love, without expectations or demands. He wanted to raise a toast to that man. Wendy understood and had brought over a bottle of Jameson. Neither of them actually drank whiskey, but Dave poured a "wee dram" for them both and they saluted Daniel MacSweeney. After they stopped gagging, they poured the rest down the sink.
Jeff McKean, sitting in a cell on Death Row, looked at his fat-ridden corned beef, the lumpy mashed potatoes, the totally limp and smelly cabbage, and wished he had a leprechaun in his life who could change what had happened in his life.
Ray Langston woke on St. Patrick's Day. He wasn't due into the Lab until much, much later, so he lay in his bed and thought about his Great-Grandmother, Phoebe Jane Yarnell. She'd been born a slave on a plantation outside of St. Louis Missouri, in 1862, fathered by the Irish owner, Joseph Yarnell. She was 3 quarters white, but married a black man named Tom Langston. Tom's owner's name was Edward Langston. When the Civil War ended, Tom took his owner's name as his own. Little did he know that Ed Langston actually was his father. Tom and Phoebe had seven children, one of which, Ray, was his grandfather. Today's Ray didn't have the heart to wear green for St. Patrick's Day.
Conrad Ecklie woke up on St. Pat's Day, disgruntled, as always. His best CSI Level 3 was in Paris, three had asked for the day off, and he wasn't in a good mood. Lord help anyone who ticked him off today.
Dave Phillips was Jewish, but his wife, who had converted to the Jewish religion upon their marriage, was Irish and had been raised Catholic. He honored her heritage and made sure his boys respected the beliefs of her side of the family. He had a silly card to present to his wife, and he and the boys had agreed to make shamrock shaped pancakes for breakfast.
On the other side of the world, Gil Grissom lay spent after making sweet, passionate love with his wife. Sara was curled around him, her long legs tangled with his. She slept with her head on his shoulder and her hand over his heart, breathing softly against his neck. Moonbeams slanted through the blinds and kissed her pale skin with their soft light.
Grissom trailed his fingertips lightly down her back, causing her to shiver. She stirred and placed a kiss under his chin.
"What time is it?" she grunted, snuggling closer.
"I don't know," he replied, too comfortable to try to get a glimpse of the clock; he didn't want to disturb her. "It's early." Pressing a kiss to Sara's forehead, he whispered, "Happy St. Patrick's Day, Sara. I am the luckiest man alive to have you in my life." He knew it was corny and cliché, but he always had a hard time finding his words around Sara. She continued to boggle his mind, even after he had known her for many years. Heck, he was married to her now and her beauty inside and out never ceased to amaze him. He slipped his hand over to the nightstand and picked up an envelope, slipping it into her hand.
"What's this?" she asked, opening the envelope in the moonlight.
"I know you've always wanted to go to Ireland to research more about your great grandmother." One late, rainy night in Vegas, Sara had shared with him about the stories her mother had told her about her grandmother in Ireland and about how loving and kind she had been. Sara had wanted to visit Ireland ever since.
"We're going to Dublin?" she asked excitedly.
"Next week," he answered, a smile in his voice. He loved making Sara happy.
Sara propped herself up on her elbow and traced Gil's lips with a long, slender finger before leaning forward to mold her lips to his. She then spent the rest of the night showing her husband just how much she loved him.
To the Reader: I'll leave the rest to your imaginations…. Prairie
Happy St. Patrick's Day from Moochie and Prairie!
* (Colcannon is a traditional Irish potato dish: Mashed potatoes, butter, leeks, onions, celery, carrots, basil-all mashed together. The leeks, onions, celery and carrots need to be steamed first, before being added to the potatoes. Then you mash them together. It's really yummy)!