The Patron Saint of the Mentally Ill

St. Dymphna's on St. Patrick's:  11:00 am and relatively calm

Every St. Patrick's Day--for over a decade--I try to get to St. Dymphna's, an Irish pub in my neighborhood.  (I don't think I made it last year, though.) When St. Patrick's falls on a Saturday, this can be difficult.  Today the entire city today was teaming with revelers (they're still out there, of course) looking for a spot at an Irish bar (or a bar riding the Irish bandwagon for the day) or an Irish table.  Most of these revelers were reveling  in green tees and "wacky" socks and/or jeans (although I did see a few pairs of green tights), and annoyingly (as I'm a bit of an aesthetic fascist), headbands sprouting shamrock antenna.

As you know, I love holidays, but I hate the whole tacky Americanization of this holiday, and so try to stick close to the rusticity of St. Dymphna's, which was teeming with Guinness-swilling revelers and more than one NYC firefighter fresh from the 5th Avenue parade in their dress uniform.

By the way, do you know about St. Dymphna?  Her story is so tragic!  According to her story, she was the quintessential girl in a tight place.  And so I honor her this very trying month.

At the bottom, I've embedded a video from fellow neighborhood parent and Irish recording artist Susan McKeown singing with her daughter.  Another good song for my March.

(Don't forget to click on the twitpics below to see them bigger and better!)

I photographed this group for nearly an hour.

   

On the outside looking in.  Vinegar on the tables!

Irish breakfast, veg version.  No blood sausage here!  Note the pot of Irish breakfast tea and the basket that came filled with soda bread.

   

St. Dymphna's at 4:00 pm.  

   

Webster Hall at 11:15 am was teaming with white generic millenials.

 

Mary O's on Ave A.  Mary O is a lovely Irish national who is always friendly.  Note how basic Irish cuisine is.  Folks making do with what they had:  potatoes, cabbage and more potatoes.