St. Patrick’s Day, 2026. A Tuesday. Not a bad day, but of course, there is a chill in the air. The Irish rarely have good weather for their parade. Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, and almost everyone else have good weather. The Irish? Not so much. It’s been a slow morning so far. I’ve been here for 2 very long hours, leaving me with 6 long hours.

Bill returns for a few hours today, according to Bill’s plan. He drops some kids off at the exchange place in Jersey City, parks his bus somewhere for a ride share back to Hoboken for a nap of a few hours. Mike was supposed to be there but I just arranged for a ride share for Mike to head back to his crib.

I keep checking fruit stand requests that should come in, but aren’t at the moment. Bill is parking his car in Jersey City. His charges, his people are ferrying it over to Manhattan, and since he does not have to be anywhere until this evening, he’s going to nap at our apartment. Mike felt Bill would have wanted his time alone so that is why Mike left. Quite noble I would say.

Bill is still in Jersey City so I really can’t say whether or not his plan will come off.

So it’s St. Patrick’s Day. Growing up Irish Catholic, it was a big deal in our house. And going to Catholic school also meant the wearing of the green for the holiday. It was expected of us. There was a green tie that was handed down from Frank to Brian to Me. My mother made corned beef and cabbage but I can’t say I have ever had any. It’s not like my mother would make something special for me, and Mom would always say, ‘I’m not running a diner’ so you ate what was in front of you. But I swear I do not recall having corned beef and cabbage ever.

In high school, I am thinking 1977 I was allowed to head into the city with a high school friend, Paul Hanely to watch the parade. It was cold of course and I was on the lookout for sex though it was not going to happen. After wqatching some the parade Paul and I wandered around midtown and after being sufficiently bored, headed back home on out buses. Paul lived in Hillsdale and I was in Lodi. I never saw him after sophomore year. Maybe freshman year. I did an online search and came up empty handed.

Another St Patick’s Day was with my brother Brian. Our mother allowed us to go to the city for the parade, Brian’s friends joined us. We made it to about 60th Street and Fifth Avenue by Central Park. I was watching kids charge the police inside the park and while that was going on I lost my brother and his friends could care less.

I knew I couldn’t depend on them and wound up walking from 60th and Fifth to 42nd and 8th. In the 1970’s Times Square. I didn’t know enough to be afraid. I made it to the gate for the bus where I found Brian, frightened by the fact my parents would have killed him if he came home without me. He was so relieved he smacked me for losing him and eventually finding him.