It’s the end of March and two weeks ago was St. Patrick’s Day for 2020. The weather in Southern Ontario was reasonable in light of expectations. I found myself spending less time on Facebook. My sister telephoned me a couple of times.
A cousin of my mother, Cathie, along other lovely people, with a hobby of genealogy, ending with a nice account of the Irish my mother’s side of the family has. It looks like this St. Patrick’s Day, 2020, I’ll be a little less Irish. It looks grim.
the act or instance of making or becoming different.
I wish a lot of things were different, but I never would have chalked up the possibility of experiencing our pandemic catastrophe in my own life. I read of environmental warnings, like that there could be, say, eight years until the damage to the planet caused by humans becomes irreversible, or that global warming will cause sea levels to rise, however active God is on the picture at large. I don’t know how human beings will fare.
To consider attacks between warring groups the world over, hellbent on decreasing each other to iotas, to very small pieces, I think also police and military unfairly treat peaceable citizens, because the police loathe the skin colour or addiction, behaviour that doesn’t toe the line for the safety of the public. I think about these now and again, yet I hadn’t thought of what really descended three months ago. It is hard to contextualize that.
I always do my best to enjoy St. Patrick’s Day, as so many do with aplomb and style. I welcome the end of winter. We are all called on to be, not so much Godfearing, as instead socially distant from one another.
Good on us all the same, that we can find solidarity in separating from one another, in a fashion that, like the lot of the unlucky addict, is no fault of our own.
We will have to come up with new measures to survive, and we have to do it at a time when I am sure many of us would be happier celebrating St. Patty’s in the usual fashion, wearing the colour green, and staying out late. We’re told to stay out of bars and restaurants and nightclubs and still young people want to go to those kinds of haunts. I want to be young myself, but not to the extent I want to risk sacrificing growing old.
I wanted to think about a superb St. Patrick’s Day, and although I recall it every year, I don’t know I could say that any specific March festivity was better than some other. A number of them were beautiful and left me feeling blessed. I am grateful to The Lord.
1998 occurs to me, becoming 21 years of age. However, against how this spring is going, I don’t think the excitement of taking a visit back in time is going to especially cause me to feel better. I like to enjoy speaking a kind word at certain times, because a little kindness sprinkled in the mix, while not reversing the uncertainty that we’re facing, does help temper the darkness.
I would like to wish you a happy St. Patrick’s Day, dreadful or not.
St. Patrick’s Day isn’t to be overlooked, obviously. Go with the luck of the Irish! Let’s have a safe spring!
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