So we’re coming up on March now, and that only means one thing: lots of reminders of my failed marriage. As you (may or may not) remember, Katsu and I got married on St. Patrick’s Day 2007. So, this time of year, reminders are everywhere. Before the wedding my mom stocked the house floor-to-ceiling with Irish Blessings and green ribbon. All my aunts bought me four-leaf-clover kitchenware. Even my own shamrock tattoo, which I got before I even KNEW Katsumi, seems to taunt me now with a hint of derision.

And yet.

I met with a couple this past Saturday who is having an Irish-themed wedding on March 9, and I felt compelled to share my own tale of Gaelic matrimony. Of course, one can’t tell that story without the punchline: “and then we got divorced”. I should be horrified – THEY were probably horrified – but truly, it was the happiest day of my life. Certainly the best St. Patrick’s Day. So why shouldn’t I share? Why should I feel this pall over everything? It happened, it was awesome, and then, like most things, it was no longer. But the echoes, the ripples, have such a large pool.