St. Patrick’s Day, 1992 was a rare warm and sunny day in Chicago. Mayor Daley was up for re-election, and the Irish eyes were smiling. I voted and hopped on a plane for my first trip to the Pacific Northwest. I was nostalgic this year because he had walked in his last St. Patrick’s Day parade. It was the end of an era.
Here in the Pacific Northwest, the wearing of the green belongs to Ma Nature. Spring arrives a few days early. The trees are in colorful bloom. So, I decided to take myself on a spontaneous Artist’s Date to capture the day in photos.
I love crocus because they are always the first to bloom.
This year I discovered another early bloomer ~ no idea what this is ~ it comes in a variety of colors.
By the end of my sojourn into Spring, I realized that my last tie to Chicago had been severed. I am happier celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with Ma Nature’s wearing of the green. There will always be a part of me that is Irish at heart, but I am totally in love with our bountiful Spring that rolls out for months.
I discovered on St. Patrick’s Day this year that the guy who has been stalking me since 1992 is reading my blog. So, I think it is time to tell him that I didn’t fall in love with him on St. Patrick’s Day, 1992. I fell in love with the Pacific Northwest lifestyle and in lust with him. However, abuse will take the bloom off romance faster than a hard frost will kill off a tender blossom. It takes more than fabulous dinner parties, pinot wines, a beautiful garden, and great sex for a relationship to endure. It requires treating the woman you profess to care for deeply with dignity and respect. And, it requires having enough self-discipline and self-respect to refuse to engage in self-destructive behavior.
It was creepy to discover that his favorite and only hobbies were stalking every woman who had ever been in his life and drinking himself into a stupor every night.