Wearing of the green

Five years ago today, I landed in Dublin at 5 in the morning. It was St. Patrick's Day, my first time in Ireland. I didn't expect to love the place but I did, pretty much the minute I got in the taxi and rode into the center of town as the sky began to brighten. It turned into a bright and sunny and cold holiday Sunday. We spent the late morning and early afternoon having brunch in the hotel restaurant, mingling with happy Irish families enjoying a three-day weekend. I dragged my mother to the parade, and then returned her to the hotel where my sister and her friend were already sleeping after the all-night flight; and I wandered the city by myself for a few hours until I was literally too tired to take another step. Another taxi took me back to the hotel, where my sister’s friend and I sat in the bar and had a drink and made friends with an already-drunk Irishwoman named Orla who was just getting started on her holiday drinking. Later that evening, we would wave goodbye to poor Orla as the Garda escorted her out of the bar, whose staff had had quite enough of Orla’s shenanigans. 

Dublin quays, March 17, 2019

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It's Sunday today too. We'll probably not go to any Irish pubs or restaurants to celebrate. They will be too crowded. In Dublin, the crowds are the point; but of course, inconvenience in a foreign country is an adventure. Inconvenience close to home is just inconvenient. 

I'm wearing green, at least. A green cardigan (one of exactly three green garments in my wardrobe if you don’t count t-shirts) with a white shirt, and claddagh earrings. When I was young, I purposely avoided wearing anything green or Irish-themed on St. Patrick's Day or any time in March. Now, I like St. Patrick's Day. It'd be nice to be in Dublin right now. I hope Orla is having a nice holiday.