My favorite St. Patrick’s Day was spent in Chicago.
The river was green. There were people everywhere. I was with my best friend and several other friends.
I remember seeing the river. I remember seeing some of the parade. I remember being cold (I hadn’t worn enough layers and the wind found its way through might light jacket). I remember making our way to the Wrigley Field area. I remember a couple bars. I remember green beer for everyone else (and probably red “Dirty Shirleys” for me). I remember laughing. And laughing, and laughing.
I don’t remember much else though. That is probably the sign of a good St. Paddy’s Day, right!?!
I would love to repeat that day (minus some of the drinking and forgetting). I would love to repeat it because I miss my best friend who lives at least twelve hours from me. Back then we were only three or four hours apart, so a weekend together wasn’t out of the question. But now, eleven years later, we’re so far apart that it takes planning to get together. We schedule our phone calls so we can actually catch up. We only see each other once a year if we’re lucky.
So my favorite March 17th really has very little to do with St. Patrick’s Day and much more to do with spending that day with my best friend, Mo.