St. Patrick’s lament.
Tuesday, March 17th, 2020
Dublin in May 2017.
We were excited to hear, when we visited him in February, that nephew-the-younger’s Seattle high school band was going to get the chance to perform in Ireland on this St. Patrick’s Day. Marching down a Main Street in Dublin! Beyond that, it sounded like a great trip to visit lots of towns and sights on the Emerald Isle.
Well, you know what happened. We all know what happened. The parade was called off in Dublin. The trip was called off. School itself was called off.
Last night, my brother and sister-and-law returned from a not-really-that-long European trip that started normally, with stores, museums, attractions open, and ended with the feeling they were getting the last flight out of town. They’re home safely. The nephew is safe with his family in the Pacific Northwest.
And we too are fine. We’re all ready to spend the next two weeks or so (to begin with?) in a sequestered mode. It’s like we’re all antisocial novelists.
