St. Patrick's Day

I woke up melancholy today.  Actually, that is not absolutely true, a sense of melancholy has been stalking me for the last week.  And here is why.

St. Patrick's Day.  If you don't know this about me, I have a strong connection with my Irish heritage.  It may be because my dad was raised for the first six years of his life by immigrants from Ireland, his mother's aunt and her husband, so that when he was very tired, or tipsy, he had a brogue.

It may be because my father's cousin Agnes, whenever I saw her as a child, would grab me by both cheeks and say "This one has the map of Ireland written all over her face".

But mostly, I think it is because although many families biggest annual celebration is Thanksgiving, or Christmas or Easter, the biggest annual bash at George and Harriet Marion's house was the annual St. Patrick's day party.

Pounds and pounds of corned beef, cabbage and potatoes.  Dozens of loaves of Irish Soda Bread.  Gallons of beer.  Vats of coffee for Irish Coffee.  Lots of food and drink and conversation, until inevitably, the song sheets came out, and the singing started.  There was never a dry eye in the house when they sang "Mother Machree".

The parties were the highlight of the year for me for many years.  The family, the friends, the absolute joy of that day.

After I moved to Louisiana, there was still magic to St. Patrick's Day.  New Orleans loves a party, and the Irish were one of many ethnic groups to make a mark on this city and her culture.  I went back to New Jersey a couple of times for the St. Patrick's Day parade, but there was always a parade here too.  Where they throw cabbages and potatoes and carrots from the floats, I kid you not.

And many years, we did a St. Patrick's Day road race.  And for the last couple of years, the Guinness challenge 8K.  Even though the race was cancelled last year at the last minute, we picked up our shirts, and bought our own Guinness, and did the race on our own at the lakefront.

But this year, the vacuum where St. Patrick's Day celebrations should be is weighing on me.  This long pandemic isolation is taking it's toll.  But wallowing in melancholy, while very Irish, is not very me.

So this morning, despite the fact that I don't need the calories, I baked myself a loaf of Irish Soda Bread, which I will enjoy with my daily cup of Irish Breakfast tea.  And I will have corned beef and cabbage and potatoes for dinner.  And I might even find "Mother Machree" on YouTube and shed a few tears of my own.

Because if you can't celebrate melancholy in the midst of joy, or joy in the midst of melancholy, are you really celebrating the Irish at all?