Yesterday was Saint Joseph’s
Day, which—if you are not Italian,
Korean or trying to buy or sell a house—you may not have been aware of.
Poor guy is always losing out: in the Nativity, it’s all the Madonna and the kid; in
cursing it’s always Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph; in March it’s always Saint Patrick.
Well, it’s a tough job, but Joe
was not the type to complain.
I’ve always liked Joe for
precisely that reason. If you want flash, you go to your Bernadettes, or
Patricks or Nicholases. If you want the job done, you go to Joseph.
Also, I like Saint Joseph
because the 19th of March is the day the swallows return to
Capistrano (más o menos). It’s a big deal where I come from.
And last week, in the run-up
to Saint Joseph’s Day, I had occasion to just wallow in birds returning to my
life
First there was the snow day
on Tuesday, when a fairly steady stream of all sorts
showed up to eat the seed I tossed out. But then on Thursday, as I was
engaged in a 30-minute conversation with Philip at Comcast technical support, I
looked out the patio door and—even though there was not a fresh supply of Fine
Tunes—there were more robins than I’ve
ever seen at one time in my entire life.
Seriously—more than 15. Just
all hopping around the patio, jostling and milling about, like I’d hung out
some kind of flashing robin-diner sign. It was absolutely amazing. Philip
thought I’d lost my mind, but I did not care. Because robins.
So today I’m grateful for
Saint Joseph—I’ll be needing his patronage of various home improvement projects—and
for the joy that birds showing up around his day brings me.
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