It’s St. Patrick’s Day and we pulled into none-more-Irish-than-Tampa-Florida around noon local time. Due to the enthusiasm North America shows for daylight savings, we’re now four hours behind the UK and Ireland; Elaine and the kids are visiting Downpatrick, and so is my mum. I shall repeat, for juxtapositional effect: I’m in Tampa. I haven’t had a drink since February 20 and I would kill all of you for an Aspall cyder (or Magner’s pear) but I shall remain on a self-imposed wagon until I get home at the very end of April. By then instead of a beer belly I will have a cookie belly.
I won’t lie, and I’m not afraid to report, there’s not much other than writing fiction for me today. It’s a travel/off day, but we’ll be back to work tomorrow in the David A. Straz Jr. Center.
For a particular couple in our midst, it’s an anniversary: happy 365 days of marryage to Dan and Charley. Charley will be ecstatic to know that Dan is closing in on me; the zombie tally stands at:
Only 144 walking, running, and crawling dead separate the titans.
In the meantime, I’d like to share with you a photo of what I’ll be mostly doing today. I call it ‘Fleur d’Magnifik’; that’s Swazi-French for Triumphant Butterfly of the night lilies in June specifically when it rains softly in the shadow of the dumpsters behind Dairy Queen.