Or St. Stephen's Day as it was known in the Old Country of dear Ol' Papa Freyne. The day after Christmas.
Took this shot at Borders Books on Church Street in downtown Burlap this afternoon. Had a nice chat with Charlotte who was in town from Boston visiting her son who has been working at UVM for a year. Loves it, said she.
Should have taken a picture of her, but I was feeling shy - Charlotte traveled with the aid of her walker. Has a hip-replacement operation scheduled for March, she told me. Spent most of her life in San Diego.
Then veteran Burlington jazz musician/playwright Steve Goldberg appeared. Always remember the image of Steve playing his trumpet on the balcony outside Mayor Bernie Sanders' office to kick off the first Burlington Discover Jazz Festival...in 1984. Perfect timing - Steverino had both of his hips replaced.
I called out to him and he swung over our way. Steve's 68, about her age. He told her how he rides a bike and plays tennis. Boosted Charlotte's spirits.
Took this shot of Snake Mountain yesterday from across Dead Creek. Coming home from the Empire State was I, the official land of my birth.
Hadn't been there - over the Crown Point Bridge - in more than a decade.
They've spruced things up a little.
Yours truly's survived the holiday. In fine health. No big rigamarole. But I could not help but notice the layer of stress many others appeared to be bearing. The annual ritual of family obligations. Stirred the memory of those Irish-Catholic Christmases of my childhood - the early 1950s and 60s in Westchester County. Christmases that usually tore this baby in the family's innards apart in a rather Long Days Journey into Night way, if you know what I mean.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph!
A wee bit damp here at the flat in Burlap, but it's the unexpected that makes life interesting, eh?