St. Patrick's Day

I wouldn’t venture to say that St. Patrick’s Day was a huge deal in my family, but with my mother’s family being Irish, I do remember it being special. St. Patrick’s Day for us was a day to eat good food, get together with family, and reconnect to our Irish roots for a day (even if no self-respecting Irishman would cook corned-beef unless his life depended on it). Since Boston has more Irish than Ireland itself, I was looking forward to an interesting St. Paddy’s Day.

Nan had been planning for a week what we would eat: corned-beef (that my stomach would later regret), cabbage, potatoes, carrots, the typical fare. I brought to the table some homemade Irish soda bread and Joe bought us some beers (Guiness for him, Belgian for Nan, Scottish for me) and we had a feast. It was great.

Since we were planning on attending the annual parade in South Boston the next day, we decided to take it easy. The rest of the day was spent watching movies and playing video games under warm blankets, a nice, relaxing way to spend a holiday that for most people includes liver-busting levels of drinking. Later that evening, we caught up with Freddie, my friend and former intern from Reno who had just flown to Boston to see if it is somewhere he would eventually like to live. We ate more food despite our bursting bellies (that again, my stomach would later regret), then called it an early night.

The next morning we headed out to Southie. The day was absolutely gorgeous, so I decided to travel light (a move I would later regret). By the time we hit the red-line into JFK/UMass, the clouds had rolled into town, the wind had whipped itself into a fit, and the temperature had dropped by 10 degrees. The walk from the train stop to where we eventually ate breakfast wasn’t so bad, but by the time we decided to find a place to watch the parade, Nan and I were ready to die. We severely regretted not bringing a blanket or something to keep us warm. We bounced around in the street trying to keep warm, but nothing really helped. At one point, Nan even announced that her toe had fallen off. A few interesting floats went by (the Metalworkers Union with their guys dressed up like Tin Man, the Star Wars float, the bagpipes, bands, and little celtic dancers), but I think after a while we were just too cold to care. Luckily, Joe’s friend (and our savior) Jen showed up and escorted us back to her place, where she treated us to tea, hot cocoa, Guiness, and snacks. By that point, though, it was too late. I was cold to the bone.

A warm bath and a nap later, I am still trying to shake the cold of today. Stupid New England. You know, it has been like 75 degrees in Reno all week, and I can’t say that I haven’t been jealous. Yes, the cold makes me feel stronger, more hardy, but sometimes it is just a pain in the ass (and toes and fingers and face). I think I’m ready for spring now, guys.