On March 17, 1987, I experienced my first American St. Patrick's Day, my first offshore glimpse of my own country, broadcast in psychedelic green. I was a waitress in an Irish-American pub in upstate New York. The night before, I telephoned my parents back home to explain that the pub would be too loud and crowded to call on the day itself.
"Why?" My mother asked. "What's all the fuss about?"
The "fuss" began the next morning with an 11 a.m. queue outside the pub door. It ended at 5 a.m. the ...
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A friend recently wrote to tell me that her 18-year-old daughter is down to two final college choices, and that the decision must be made and the deposit paid within a week.
I’ve known this kid since she was born. Her mother and I have been close friends for over 32 years and I’ve watched this girl mature into a smart, funny and responsible young woman.
So I wrote back to assure my friend that whatever school her daughter choos...