My soda bread was in the oven as I sat down to write my column this morning. I will bring it to our early St. Patrick’s Day dinner at Diane Wall’s, a tradition of many years. We are meeting early, around 4 o’clock, to accommodate the four children who are now part of our celebrations. Skyler and Syrus Wallcox, and Addy and Reed Rebello, are Diane’s grandchildren. Their mothers, Hilary Wallcox, and Tessa Rebello, were the focus and fun of our dinners together when they were little; now we have their kids to adore.
Dinner will be extravagant, delicious corned beef with heaps of vegetables. We used to have green beer, but that seems not to be as essential to Brian and James as it was to Howard. Hilary, Tessa, and Howard used to pick up their instruments after dinner to perform memorable concerts for us and assorted dollies.
I am grateful for the traditions that have given me a structure to my years. There are memories of the holidays my parents made special for us. Then came the years after they died, when I was able to make my own traditions, mostly solitary by preference until I met Mike. It wasn’t long after that that I met Diane and Howard.
Diane was working at Alley’s back then. She and Howard, and Charlie and Teena Parton, became good friends. They were the faces around our dinner tables, especially shaping the St. Patrick’s Day festivities that we continue to this day.
I put the computer on sleep while Mike and I went off to our dinner. I’m back now, to tell the story of this year’s dinner. Being at Diane’s house is as familiar as being at my own. This year, however, was wonderfully chaotic. Four young children ran and screamed and laughed and told stories of their own.
Skyler met us at the door, an apparition in sparkles, aglow with a pair of shamrock-shaped spectacles with flashing green lights. Syrus immediately invited me to the sofa and coffee table he had turned into a broad waterway where rescues ensued as ambulances were called to save the Playmobile characters whose boat had capsized. Addy kept an eye on kitchen preparations, making sure her grandmother was doing everything properly. Baby Reed smiled from his mother’s arms.
Finally, we were called to the table, beautifully set, laden with the traditional corned beef and vegetables, with shepherd’s pie for those who didn’t like corned beef. The children were settled, and the rest of us filled our plates.
As I looked around the table, I reflected on the addition of Hilary’s and Tessa’s husbands, Brian and James, and Brian’s mother, Susan, all familiar now, and beloved. I look forward to watching the four children as they grow into themselves. And I miss the ones no longer with us. Howard Wall, Fudge and Ben Paul, and Charlie Parton have passed away. Teena Parton lives off-Island now, in Western Massachusetts. Jan, Rich, and Janay Rooney didn’t come this year. Still, it was our St. Patrick’s Day dinner, with delicious and abundant food, shared with dear friends.
We are luckier than many people, who are hungry, don’t know where their next meal will come from, who may live in impoverished countries riven by war, poverty, and fear. I never forget them, and I wish the world was never so.