We don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day really, and in any given week we could be broke and not able to do anything anyways. But I was inspired. There was some story on the radio of a couple that meet each other Valentine’s Day cards. Apparently, merry was inspired as well, as she made me one. I’ve made many cards in my time, but it’s not my favorite gesture and I thought of something more appropriate for women with cycles of the seasons with boxes of holiday decorations going to and from the attic. I made her paper-doll-style decorations that I affixed to the banister. It went over splendidly, and I even agree to make new ones next year, partially as an object lesson on not hoarding.
St. Patrick’s Day was more placating me than her. In most moods I could care less about the day, but now that I live in South Buffalo it almost seems like an obligation to do something, even if you’re not Irish. And for everyone around us, that something means going to a bar. Apparently, many neighborhood denizens wake up drunk that day. I had no intention of following suit of course, but decided it was about time to put in an appearance. I dragged Merry toolbar named Manny’s, recommended by my teller at the neighborhood bank.
We walked for several blocks and there was electricity in the air (along with a few stumbling people). We ended up with complementary fries and they didn’t charge us for drinks, probably because they were non-alcoholic. I didn’t have a taste for it, but if they would have had green beer, I would’ve tried it. She sang along to some traditional Irish hymn, and I quietly grooved to its more modern equivalents in between. It was just satisfying to be out and about with neighbors I had still not met. We were the new kids on the block for sure, and I sort of longed to be part of a community where everyone knew each other. Maybe someday, but that will depend in part on showing our faces more regularly at local establishments.
Earlier in the day, I was looked at strangely by varous locals and a cashier commented about looking for a pot of gold after seeing me. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t wearing a lick of green and I am of average height. My vest sweater over dress shirt with golf-style cap apparently made me qualify as a leprechaun. I wished I had a picture of me in front of the house, posing for a motivational poster that reads, “I’m Not Irish: I Just Live in South Buffalo”.
Lastly, a week ago, I attended my second of two funerals this year. It was the father of a friend, and I ended up filling in as pall bearer at the cemetery. The deceased was a brilliant man interested in everything — I wish I could have known him. In fact, he was on the Buffalo team for the Manhattan Project and helped invent the uranium rods that are used to this day in nuclear fission. What a small world this is. I guess I’ll have to show my face more often in the global neighborhood as well.