Maybe not enough meatloaf for another meal, but too much for a Depression baby to throw away.

Ditto stories.

Write about wonderful little Fran Murtaugh who moved to Salisbury to be near her son, Jimmy, because she was supposed to die but refused to do it when she got here, and the story keeps on going on.

Instead of dying she’s spent the past 12 years doing whatever she could do for someone else. And what’s doing more than spreading a little St. Patrick’s Day cheer?

After all, she says, laughter, like prayer, should be one of life’s staples.

Among her staples was a clipping a friend sent her from her hometown paper in Elmira, N.Y., where more than enough Irishmen settled to turn St. Patrick’s Day into a real celebration and where the local newspapers assigned a bar review to its news staff and then unabashedly reported they had done it.

Maybe because it was his feast day.

Maybe because spring was officially near, and unofficially already here.

And she found enough leftover Irish toasts and blessings in the bottom of her bag of goodies to fill a column long after St. Patrick’s Day was past and reminded me they have to be passed on, on St. Patrick’s Day or after.

That’s the one basic rule — even if it’s unenforceable — for an Irish toast, whether you have a pint of ale in your hand or not.

Besides, leftovers often taste better than the first time around. So read and smile — and pass them on:

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“May you have warm words on a cold evening,
a full moon on a dark night,
and the road downhill all the way to your door.”

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“May you die in your bed at 95 years, shot by a jealous husband — or wife.”

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“Saint Patrick was a gentleman,
who through strategy and stealth,
drove all the snakes from Ireland —
here’s a bumper to his health.

But not too many bumpers,
lest we lose ourselves, and then
forget the good Saint Patrick,
and see the snakes again.”

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“May a doctor never earn a dollar out of you and your heart never give out.”

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“May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back,
the sun shine warm upon your face,
the rain fall soft upon your fields,
and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.”

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