Against tomorrow’s sky

conways

Another St. Patrick’s Day in the books. It was a gorgeous day here in Cleveland. A little chilly, but the rain that had been forecast earlier in the week didn’t materialize. The watercolor morning sky eventually changed to big puffy blobs of cotton candy clouds in a beautiful stark blue background and it looked like a great day for the parade.

The parade these days for me consists of listening to the drums of all the bands as they line up to prepare for the parade, since parade lineup starts right in front of my work building. Our entire working system was down this morning at my job. The internet, the network, email, all of it. I had some urgent writing jobs I had to take care of which didn’t require any of those things, and got them done, but by 11am my boss was making everyone burgers and potato chips and we broke out the beer we’d all brought and tried to make things a little festive. Certainly when I worked in corporate law, nobody would have been handing out beers at 11am, so it was a nice break.

I sneaked out briefly with the rest of my beer in a coffee tumbler and found my friend in parade lineup. Her daughter is an Irish dancer and this was just one more stop in their very long day with the kid’s dance troupe. Seeing all the places she checked in today online, I’m definitely never getting my kid into that shit.

Coffeed up for the afternoon, I came up with some decent ideas in a creative meeting and then hurried home to make sure the corned beef in the crock pot hadn’t burned up, or burned the whole building down. It was fine, and so I went and picked up my son at school – his last for the next 8 school days because of spring break – and we came home and met Grandma at our place for dinner. I made mashed potatoes, because none of us really like boiled, and grandma made vinegar-garlic coleslaw, which she and I love and which was our cabbage representation.

She doesn’t know anything about our Irish ancestors, which is too bad. She had asked my grandma long ago but she didn’t know anything either. Only the name. Grandma’s Dad was Irish and her Mom came from French immigrants but that’s all anyone knows.

The kid ate at least a full pound of meat and the equivalent of two potatoes, and even a little coleslaw because I insisted, and then had a big dish of ice cream and complained five minutes before bed that he was still hungry. I don’t know how I’m going to afford to feed him as he continues to grow, I swear. I also ate too much, and Grandma and I toasted each other with Conway’s Irish ale, the label on which is actually a picture of the grandfather of a friend of mine – Cleveland can be kind of a small town if you hang around long enough to know enough people. I find it to be very cool.

Tomorrow, the kid is going to a daycare center all day as I’m almost out of vacation (renews in June), and then tomorrow night I’m going out for some fun.

Happy St. Paddy’s, everyone.

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