Today is St. Patrick’s Day and hordes of people who are descendants of Irish immigrants will gather in New York City to watch bagpipe players, bands, charitable organizations, voluntary associations, youth groups, Irish dancers and politicians marching in this famous March 17 parade.
St. Patrick’s Day is a cultural and religious celebration held on the traditional death date of St. Patrick (circa AD 385-461). St. Patrick is the most well-known saint of Ireland. The day commemorates St. Patrick and the arrival of Christianity in Ireland and is meant to celebrate the heritage and culture of Ireland.
The Lenten restrictions on eating and drinking alcohol are lifted for the day, which historically encouraged the holiday’s consumption of alcohol.
I hate this holiday. It is a celebration where men and women who are wearing lots of green clothing are known most for drinking and puking on the sidewalks; fighting and getting arrested. The streets and the sidewalks are congested. The economy is damaged since this group certainly did not come to Manhattan to shop.
The crowds arrive on trains and buses early in the day because the traffic is terrible and the cost of parking astronomical. And, if you are going to drink … and drink the way my people do on St. Patrick’s Day, at least you can avoid driving. The train and bus stations are a mess at the end of the night when many are struggling home, much worse for having been “over served.”
The cost to provide police and ambulance service for this parade is significant. The cost to clean the city after the celebration has ended is unimaginable. There are better options to this madness. Celebrate Irish poets, playwrights, novelists, philosophers and musicians with concerts and performances. And for God’s sake, stay off the sidewalks and out of the bars.
California painter Julia Kay thought her three-year Daily Portrait blog was just for her. But since then, it has meant much more, for her life, her art, and for her community (including us.)
As always, my children and husband have enriched my emotional education and taught me some things about Thanksgiving.
"Who's bringing breakfast tomorrow?" I asked. The tiny hesitation before her answer told me that my relief had been premature. I closed my eyes even before her words were out. "Uhm, Mama? I forgot to tell you..."
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Dear Brett,
This was a particularly difficult St. Patrick’s Day for those of us who work in New York City. It took me one hour instead of 20 minutes to get to my office. I had to get out of taxi since 53rd St and Madison was my destination and of course 53rd St was blocked so the revelers could begin early. I had to walk on icy side walks and pull my chart bag along while holding onto my handbag and long winter scarf. Patients were late to their appointments and chaos reigned. I finally gave up at noon and left mid-town for a long trudge uptown to get into my car with the Airedale and The Husband. We headed out of NYC before the madness worsened to a village of peace and no parades. Yes, I own it. I am a stick in the mud.
Thanks for reading our post for women over forty!
Well aren’t you a stick in the mud.
Yes Dr. Pat, what a good idea! Too bad it will never happen.
Cheers anyway…