Today is rainy and gloomy. The temperature is 42˚. It is a quiet St. Patrick’s Day. All the pubs and bars are closed. Massachusetts is shut down: schools and businesses are closed, and nearly all gatherings canceled. I figure this is the time to celebrate with friends.

When I was in St. Patrick’s Shamrocks drill team, we marched in the South Boston St. Patrick’s Day parade, cancelled this year. Along the parade route, drunken men would march beside us chit-chatting and offering us sips of beer. We were told to ignore them. As if we could. They’d leave us after we had moved on, beyond their local bar. After a couple of years, we no longer marched in South Boston.

My mother sometimes had a St. Patrick’s Day party. I always drove up to my parents’ house for the event. She gave great parties. I remember my father and my uncle Jack singing Irish songs in the kitchen and all of us joining in with them. The kitchen was filled with people. The windows steamed, and the cigarette smoke had us opening the back door. The parties always lasted into the wee mornings. I miss those times.

On my dog Shauna’s first St. Patrick’s Day, my father gave her a plate of corned beef and cabbage because she was Irish. My father loved his corned beef and cabbage. I know I’ve told this story before, but I always remember on St. Patrick’s Day. My mother had cooked the traditional dinner and was putting my father’s dinner on his plate. She couldn’t find the potatoes. She looked under the meat, no potatoes. She looked through the whole pot, no potatoes. She dished out my dad’s dinner and brought it to him. “Where are the potatoes?” was his first comment.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!

The day is cold but sunny. It is only 31˚. The breeze is strong enough to stir the branches. The sky is again jawdroppingly beautiful.

My groceries were delivered earlier, but what was delivered was far less than I ordered. The store has no toilet paper, no milk, no Table Talk little pies except cherry which I don’t like, no paper towels, lots of sold out cat food, no bread though it is probably just the one I wanted, and my favorite, no Peeps. Seriously, who runs out of Peeps?

I don’t get cabin fever. My house has plenty of stuff to keep me busy and happy. I have books, most of them on my iPad. I have the pot holder kit, an intro to Legos set, a million movie channels and my uke. How could I ever get bored?

Henry came back inside using the dog door three times yesterday. I was shocked the first time to see his tail high in the air as he walked through the kitchen. This morning, I had him go outside so the grocery delivery woman wouldn’t get scared. Usually he stands outside the back door looking through and whacks the door cover over and over to express his impatience. He didn’t do that this time. He came inside on his own while she was still here.

Massachusetts is closed. Governor Charlie Baker ordered all schools to close for a minimum of three weeks beginning tomorrow and has limited all bars and restaurants to takeout and delivery also as of tomorrow. Public gatherings are limited to 25. This applies to about anywhere you might want to go: all community, civic, public, leisure, faith-based events, as well as sporting events with spectators, concerts, and conventions. It also covers fitness centers, private clubs and theaters. I think that limits me to my kitchen and den.

My local school district will be handing out breakfast and lunch to anybody who lives in the district. You don’t even have to get out of your car. People rise to the occasion, people helping people.

This virus is not a democratic hoax.

I will never tire of beautiful days like today, a day with a cloudless blue sky, still air and a temperature of 42˚, a winter chill.

Stores are open even though the cape has had its first case of the virus, in Sandwich. Schools are closed either one or two weeks as a precaution and for deep cleaning. Events, meetings and most town programs are cancelled. Several libraries are closed. I can survive for two weeks on what is in my freezer, but I need cream, a second loaf of bread just in case, cat food and anything chocolate.

Yesterday I wandered. I took a ride with a couple of stops. The route was a circle from my home in South Dennis down Bass River Road to 6A. From there, my ride was all the way on 6A to Station Ave and South Yarmouth. From four corners in South Yarmouth, finally I turned on to 28 then drove a bit to 134, not so far from home. I did stop twice. The first was at the pasta and cheese shop. I bought frozen four cheese ravioli. I have a great recipe for lasagna using the frozen ravioli. I also bought just made pea soup and some Girl Scout cookies. The pea soup reminded me of my mother. She always made it when she had a ham bone. My father, my sister and I love pea soup. My mother always froze some for me. My other stop was Nancy’s Candies in Dennis. I bought my Easter treats for the Colorado bunch and for my friends, and I bought anise bears and two chocolate covered Oreos for me. When I got home, I changed into my cozies. I had the soup for dinner. It was amazingly delicious. Now I think I need to go back and buy more.

I need more cat food. I got an e-mail from my on-line pet store that the package due today will be as many as four or five days late. I guess I’m stuck. I’ll get dressed and go shopping and grumble all the while.

Today is lovely. We have a deep blue sky with nary a cloud in sight. The sun is brilliant but not so warm. It is only 47˚ but is supposed to get warmer, to the low 50’s. I have barely been outside this whole week so I think I’ll take a jaunt today.

The daffodil buds are ever bigger, and I now have three blooming purple croci in the small garden. I also noticed the first green shoots of the day lilies along the edge of the trees on the front side of the yard. This is so early for all of these.

When I was a kid, my father took my brother and me to the Roy Rogers rodeo at the old Boston Garden. We had front row seats. I remember Roy riding by us, and Pat Grady and Nelly Bell almost close enough to touch.

My brother and I went around the neighborhood collecting for Jerry Lewis’ kids, for the MDA. The telethon went back and forth from Jerry to Channel 5, my local channel. We begged my father to take us to Boston where we could give our money to real life celebrities: Miss Kitty Russell and Doc Adams aka Amanda Blake and Milburn Stone. I gave my money to Miss Kitty.

During the summer of the Watergate hearings, my sister, my cousin and I went to Washington. We were standing in a long line hoping to get in when Dick Cavett went by us. Then Hubert Humphrey walked toward us. I grabbed my book, The Foundation Trilogy, and had him sign it. I still have that book in my upstairs bookcase.

On Newbury Street Barry Manilow with a burly man on each side of him, his protection, walked by me. I said to my friend, That’s Barry Manilow.” Neither one of us was impressed. All I remember are those burly men and how short Barry Manilow is.

My last serendipitous celebrity sighting was Big Brother Bob Emery. I know I’ve mentioned this before but I still can’t get rid of the image tucked inside my memory drawer. We were all standing in the bandstand at Wakefield Lower Common. Big Brother Bob was in the middle of us. I was right behind him. All I remember is there was a bug walking across his neck. I watched.

The morning is dreadful. The sky is grey, the wind is blowing, and it has just started raining. The one saving grace is it’s warm, or at least warmer than I expected.

I am elated. My front garden has eight daffodil buds. They seemed to have popped up in the last couple of days. My kitchen Christmas cactus isn’t a Christmas cactus. It is an Easter cactus flowering right now. It has ten red flowers. Beautiful flowers. Spring is so very close.

When I was a kid, rainy days were my least favorite. Whether a deluge or a spitting rain, I walked to and from school. We didn’t have recess. That meant the second half of the school day lasted forever. No one paid attention to the lessons. We watched the rain hit the windows, and we watched the hands of the big clock barely inch toward the end of the day.

Jack and Henry are having their morning naps. Henry is on the couch and Jack is stretched across the table. He was asleep on my paper when I came back from the kitchen. I pulled it out from under him. He meowed at me. It was a sort how dare you meow, a reminder of how cats always feel entitled.

Some days only certain foods will do. Last week, I wanted Chinese food. Before that, it was Thai. I wanted pizza this week. I ordered it with hamburger and onions. The hamburger was more for Jack and Henry than for me. I like the food delivered. It isn’t all that cheap, but it is just so convenient. The only weird thing is there are no Mexican restaurants offering the service. That’s makes me want fajitas and enchiladas.

The food I most crave is jollof rice. On my last trip to Ghana, I think I ate it every day in Bolga. The rice was piled high on the plate and took up most of the room. Usually chicken was my meat of choice with Guinea fowl close behind, but they were B-movie actors compared to the rice. I never left any rice on my plate. I ate every grain, careful not to bite down on a rock.

Lá fhéile Pádraig sona dhuit!

The day is sunny but chilly. The sky is peppered with a few clouds. ‘Tis a lovely day. I’ll be making corned beef and cabbage this afternoon. I have a flow chart, I always do for big dinners. In a bit, I’ll decorate the table. That’s first on the flow chart.

I have had a long connection with St Patrick. My name is totally Irish. Many of my forebears on both sides, maternal and paternal, were Irish. As you know I attended St. Patrick’s Grammar School for eight years. I was a member of St. Patrick’s Shamrocks, a competitive drill team, for seven years. I have been to Ireland twice. One time I went by boat from England to Ireland and rode all over the country by train. I saw more sheep than I had even seen in my entire life. I stayed at B&B’s. Every morning I ate an Irish breakfast except for the beans. When we were in Dingle, we walked and got a couple of rides to Slea Head. The view was spectacular, which doesn’t quite go far enough to describe the beauty. I remember seeing something in the distance. It turned out to be a sheet of rain. There were no hiding places so we got soaked. Luckily a French couple took pity and drove us back to Dingle. My second trip was only for a week with my parents, two aunts and my grandfather who was one generation removed from Ireland. He was in his eighties but was amazing.

One of my favorite Dad stories is when my mother cooked a boiled dinner for him. She delivered it, but he came back to the kitchen looking for potatoes. There were none. They had disintegrated, and she had to give him the bad news. He didn’t take it well.

My parents hosted many St. Patrick’s Day parties. The best part was when everyone starting singing. We were all crammed in the kitchen. The room was hot and smoky so the back door was open. The sounds of Irish songs filled the room. Everybody sang. I knew most of the songs thanks to my parents. They threw the best parties.

Today is lovely, warm and sunny. A bit of a chill is in the air, a spring morning chill. I’m glad I have errands today to get me out of the house. It is dump day. I miss my copilot Gracie who loved going to the dump. Henry is skeptical of anything which hints of the car. He hides when I get dressed which gives me a chuckle. He knows I’m going out. This morning he jumped on and off the bed then burrowed and found my face and arm to lick. I gave in and got up. What did I find on the floor? Insides from my new quilt. Henry had chewed the corner. I even found some downstairs so I know Henry roams at night.

What a storm we had last night. It was terrific. First it poured then came the thunder and lightning. I loved it. One bolt of lightning flashed in the sky by my den window and lit up the room. The thunder cracked over head. This was Henry’s first thunder storm. He barked thinking he could scare the thunder away. He stayed beside me for a bit then he fell asleep. He’s okay with thunder and lightning.

I think I have have caught the spring cleaning bug. In the last two days I have cleaned two cabinets. I threw away spices best used by 2015 and earlier. I tossed out some jellies and some cans of green chilies. I found a few things including a couple of bottles of vanilla extract and three mint extracts. I found the anise oil. That may propel me to make anise cookies, one of my favorites. My uncle used to make them and said not to use extract but rather use anise oil.

When I was a kid a day like today meant roaming the town. I was rich as I always got my 50¢ allowance on Fridays. Sometimes I’d buy Hostess cupcakes or snowballs and eat them as I walked, sustenance for the trek. Other times I’d buy a nickel candy bar. I had favorite walks like on the railroad tracks or to the dairy to watch the cows. I even went to the zoo a few times. I walked all over town. Only hunger drove me home.

Saturday has always been my favorite day.

The wind is blowing and the sky is dark so you can imagine my surprise when I went to get the papers. It is a warm day. The high will be in the 50’s, but it is supposed to rain.

My computer has been returned to me. A long while back, I logged on before I knew some letters didn’t work so it was the wrong password. I tried again. The same thing happened. On the next try, the computer went dark. That was when I had trouble starting it. When I finally did, I had to log on as guest user. That meant no access to my files. I also couldn’t get to a few sites, stopped by parental control. Yesterday, I Googled again how to get on not knowing my password. I found a video which was simplistic enough for me. I am no longer guest user. Can I get a hallelujah?

When I was a kid, I went to St. Patrick’s Grammar School. Just about everyone I knew went to St. Patrick’s. My first grade was in the old brick building. Across the street was the convent, next to the school was the rectory and beside that was the church. It was like an enclave. There were so many of us that some classes had 45 or more students, but discipline was no problem. I don’t even remember anyone daring to whisper. A look from a nun was all we needed to cause us to sit still and say nothing and keep our hands folded together on the desk top as if we were praying. The nuns were mysterious, and they were scary. Their black and white habits kept them apart from mortal beings. I never thought of nuns as people let alone women. They were a breed unto themselves.

I have to be out and about today. I’m going to Hyannis, to the big city. It’s been a while.

When I woke up around nine, it was cloudy. It was still night-time cold. I was glad for my sweatshirt. Some snow still sits on the lawns and the sides of the road. I want it gone.

While I was reading the papers, the clouds disappeared, and the sun reappeared. It’s a bright, shiny day. It is still chilly but warmer than it was. The air hints of spring. The birds are morning noisy. They are announcing the change in seasons.

When I was a kid, I didn’t notice we lived in a duplex in a project of eleven other duplexes. We seldom went away for vacations, too expensive, but we did take day trips. I remember the museums, not so much for the paintings but for the exhibits, like the rooms filled with American Indian or Egyptian artifacts. We went to the drive-in on Saturday nights. On summer weekends, we went to the beach. We lived near the woods with a swamp and wild blueberry bushes. The field to the woods was filled with grasshoppers. At the end of the field near the swamp was a rotten tree. One giant limb was on the ground. It was sometimes a horse and other times a rocket shop. My life was rich and filled with adventures.

The adventures never disappeared even as I grew older. My friends and I were rovers. I remember when we were in high school we used to wander through Harvard Square and around the streets of Boston. We’d go to the airport to watch the planes and ride the subway to get there. Life was fun and mostly interesting.

When I was in college, I took my first plane ride and my second and my third. The first was the best. It was from Boston to Hyannis. The view was spectacular. I saw the ocean and could even see the cresting waves. I loved that ride.

Ghana was the next big adventure. No day was ever commonplace. Even a trip to the market was amazing. Life was filled new sights, smells and tastes. I loved Ghana, still do.

Almost fifteen years ago I retired. I still travel to salve the wanderlust which has always been part of me. My adventures continue. I take rides hoping to find something new. I usually do. I love everyday.