Every so often my dad consults his brother Wayne, the family genealogist, to find out if we're Irish yet. Wayne says no. We're still on the gene pool transplant list. The people on my dad's side are the same old English, Scottish, Welsh people we always were. This conversation inevitably depresses my dad because he longs to be Irish. Irish-ness suits him.
Anyhoo. We don't know a ton about my mother's non-Mormon side. There was a LOT of kicking-over-the-traces in that line. So who knows where they all came from? But one afternoon when I was bored, I googled her maiden name--Covey--and discovered that in some instances, Covey is an Irish surname. So I called up my dad immediately and said, "Guess who might be Irish after all . . . "
P.S. We're not related to the famous Coveys, according to my maternal grandfather. While those Coveys were busy founding Little America motels with excellent coffee shops and also writing books about highly effective habits, our Coveys could be found in the local saloons.
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6 comments:
Name the saloon and I'll be there.
Well hear, hear for the English, Scottish, and particularly the Welsh! The Welsh get left out of everything. The line in "A Man For All Seasons" where Thomas More bemoans the one fellow for selling himself out for Wales always bugs me. There is something very appealing, though, about Ireland and the Irish, I must admit!
If it's not Scottish, it's crrraaap!
I was going to send you an email earlier to give your dad a shout-out on this day of Irishness.
We're not knocking back the ale at my house, but we are loving March Madness. It's Madness, I tell you, madness.
I love that you come from the saloon Coveys.
I'd rather hang out with your Coveys.
Your Coveys would have gotten along great with my Irish ancestors. Agnes and her kids settled Bear Lake (only my favorite place in the world), and not only is she Irish, but her birthday is on St. Patrick's Day!! There are so many reasons I love that woman and I really can't wait to meet her and her whisky-making sons, too!
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