Philosophical Equanimity

I don’t want to be premature and jinx the situation, but I’m reaching a state of philosophical equanimity where the things that don’t matter really don’t matter. Last week I fielded a call from someone high on the corporate totem pole. He resented being kept out of the loop on a trivial personnel issue not involving someone in his organization. His expletive-laden diatribe indicated that the poor guy needs help; he’s been under a lot of stress this past year. I spoke soothingly, and he calmed down. By the way, he’s Irish. (Stereotyping is frowned upon, unless we’re talking about white males.)

On Saint Patrick’s Day, as she always does, Eileen baked her Irish soda bread. Eileen has learned to make it moister and sweeter than in past years, so it went quickly. Maybe it was the salt she uses, but on this particular morning neither coffee nor tea could slake my thirst. I joined Clement for a beer at noon.

We waited but couldn’t get into Harrington’s. Trying to get a table at Harrington’s on Saint Patrick’s Day is like trying to score a ticket to the Giants home opener, especially if Barry Bonds is playing.

St. Patrick's Day 2006 outside Harrington's before the block party.

We ambled to Schroeder’s across the street. Just for today, Schroeder’s suspended its usual menu of sauerbraten and German sausages in favor of corned beef. Fortunately, its extensive collection of libations was available. Clement and I had a long liquid lunch, filled with plans for the future and solutions for the problems of the present. Something about these pubs seems to spark my creativity, so I resolved to frequent them more often. © 2006 Stephen Yuen


Erin go bragh!

Clement hoists the only weight he would lift today.