Since I was a child I've always loved St Patrick's day. Partially for that bit of Irish blood I carry, but more because it has always been *my* holiday because it was the day before my half-birthday. Now, of course, that has changed forever. It will now always be the half anniversary of Edwin's death.

I've been feeling that all week. Feeling it grow and gather energy, somehow. Something, not irony, feels almost the fitness of it: How he loved the Irish. How many hours we talked about living there. As artists, we were both eligible for "special" visas. When he was in Dublin, he was looking around for areas, neighborhoods, and getting a sense of what it would cost. It was a lovely dream.

♣