It’s St. Patrick’s Day again, as if you needed reminding . . . as if all of the parades, people dressed in varying shades of green, paper shamrocks pasted up everywhere, vile-looking green beer being chugged by people who normally hate beer, and children decked out as leprechauns hadn’t already tipped you off.

Have you ever wondered what all the hoopla is about? Who was St. Patrick anyway, and why is he celebrated in such a boisterous manner every year? Well, I have, and I’m about to share my discovery with you. Yay!

Briefly, Saint Patrick (Irish: Padraig) was a fifth-century Romano-British Christian missionary and Bishop in Ireland. Known as the “Apostle of Ireland,” he is the primary patron saint of that country. Although he was never formally canonized — having lived before the current laws of the Catholic Church were established in such matters — he is venerated as a saint in the Catholic Church, the Lutheran Church, the Church of Ireland, and the Eastern Orthodox Church.

Well, that’s all very interesting. But there are a lot of saints out there — patrons and otherwise — who are worshipped, for various reasons, by a lot of people around the world. Why has this one continued to capture everyone’s attention, and in such a jolly way?

First of all, March 17th marks Padraig’s death, not his birth, in the year 461 in Saul, County Down, Ireland. In fact, he wasn’t born in Ireland at all; he was thought to have come from either Wales or Scotland, to spread the word of Christianity. In Ireland, the holiday has been a more religious one, commemorating the life and death of a revered patron saint.

And just as a bit of trivia, it is said that St. Patrick utilized the very plentiful shamrock as a metaphor for the Christian Holy Trinity. Today it is said to symbolize faith, hope and love.

The first St. Patrick’s Day parade actually took place way back in 1737 in the United States, in Boston, Massachusetts (a city with a large Irish population even today) — a tribute dreamed up by early Irish immigrants in their adopted country. The first parade in Ireland wasn’t held until 1903, in the city of Waterford (land of beautiful, expensive crystal).

So the partying aspect of the holiday — which shouldn’t surprise anyone — can be laid firmly at the feet of the fun-loving population of the United States. Although started by the Irish settlers, everyone loves a good party, and it didn’t take long for the rest — French, Italian, Swedish, Chinese, whatever — to jump on the big green bandwagon and join in the frolic.

In other words, St. Patrick’s Day is basically an excuse to PARTA-A-AY!!

And why not? In a world full of grim headlines, we all need a break now and then, and any excuse will do. So put an O’ before your name, don everything you own that’s green, grab your best friends, and appoint a designated driver. It’s all in good fun.

*. *. *

But before you go, may I offer you the following:

Lovely people, the Irish.

Just sayin’ . . .
O’Brendochka
3/17/24

Well, let’s see now: Thursday, March 14th was Pi Day (celebrating 3.14159, and so on, and so on, and so on, ad infinitum); Friday the 15th commemorated the Ides of March (made famous by the assassination of Julius Caesar on that date in 44 B.C.E.); and tomorrow, March 17th, will be St. Patrick’s Day, when everyone can claim to be Irish, eat corned beef and cabbage, drink too much green beer, and spew green vomit all over the bathroom on the 18th. (Which happens to be my birthday, but it is not generally celebrated worldwide, and I plan to stay away from the Roman Forum in case Brutus and his buddies are out in search of another victim. So, not a holiday on the 18th.)

But what about today, stuck between the Ides and the Irish? Except for the fact that it has to be somebody’s birthday somewhere, it’s a nothing kind of day. So let’s see if we can liven things up with a bit of more-or-less interesting trivia from some March 16ths in history.

On March 16, 1802, the U.S. Congress established the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York, on the banks of the scenic Hudson River. But this almost didn’t happen. During the Revolutionary War period, a fort was built at West Point to protect the Hudson River Valley from British attack. In 1780, American Patriot General Benedict Arnold (remember him?) was commander of the fort — a job that apparently didn’t pay very well. Because for the sum of 6,000 British pounds (about U.S. $135,000 today), Arnold had agreed to surrender the fort to the British enemy. Fortunately, the plot was uncovered, and Arnold did a runner to the British side, thus firmly embedding his name in American parlance as a synonym for “traitor.”

*. *. *

On this date in 2008, investment banking giant Bear Stearns took a nosedive and was sold to J.P. Morgan Chase for $2 per share. In typical dominoes fashion, all hell broke loose and we soon found ourselves in the great recession of 2008. Not such a happy memory.

*. *. *

On March 16, 1968, an event occurred in Son Tinh District, South Vietnam, that marked one of the darkest days in the history of the United States Military. In what became known as the My Lai Massacre, between 347 and 504 civilians — men, women, children, and infants — were slaughtered by U.S. Army personnel in what was the largest known massacre of civilians by U.S. forces in the 20th Century. Something we’d all like to forget, but shouldn’t, lest it happen again.

*. *. *

On March 16, 1960, Alfred Hitchcock’s movie Psycho premiered . . . and people throughout the U.S. stopped showering alone for a very long time.

*. *. *

In 1912 on this date, future FLOTUS (First Lady of the United States) Thelma Catherine Ryan was born in Ely, Nevada. Nicknamed “Pat,” she grew up to become the devoted wife of Richard M. Nixon . . . and we all know what happened to him. So, another hopeful beginning on a March 16th in history, with a not-so-happy ending.

*. *. *

In fact, most of what makes the news, and the history books, seems to be the bad stuff. As I have remarked numerous times in the past . . . if it ain’t bad, it ain’t news.

So here’s looking forward to a festive St. Paddy’s day tomorrow, and all the green beer you can handle.

TTFN,
Brendochka
3/16/24

If only Julius Caesar had listened to the Soothsayer in Act I . . . But then there would have been no slaying in the Forum, and Marc Antony would never have delivered that famous speech at Caesar’s funeral. And there would be one less play by Shakespeare with which to torture all of today’s high school students.

*. *. *

But what have the Ides of March meant to us in the 20th and 21st Centuries? Well, in the United States, it used to be income tax filing day, until 1954, when it was moved to April 15th.

To some, preparing and filing those tax returns is nearly as unpleasant as the prospect of being stabbed to death by a group of people you thought were your colleagues and friends. So you might see how remembrance of the Ides of March could be an issue.

But today, there are far better ways to pay homage to this oddly-remembered day. It is, for example, the birthday of a number of more-or-less-famous individuals: actors Eva Longoria (49 this year) and Judd Hirsch (89); Bret Michaels (61); Fabio (65 – remember him?); Lindsay Lohan (38); President Andrew Jackson (born March 15, 1767, too old to calculate); and the sorely-missed Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who would have celebrated her 91st birthday this week. So, happy birthday to this varied group of celebrants.

*. *. *

And for the rest of us, there is a surprisingly large number of holidays assigned to March 15th. So get out the cake and ice cream, blow up a few balloons, and let’s party, because it’s . . .

. . . Red Nose Day, just for the fun of it. Well, not “just,” but also for charity. It’s celebrated in the UK as well as the USA, and supported by many comedians and other celebrities for the benefit of various charities worldwide. So feel free to be a clown for a day, and do some good while you’re at it.

*. *. *

. . . World Sleep Day. Believe it or not, this internationally-recognized day is celebrated on the Friday before the Vernal Equinox each year to focus on sleep-related problems. It is suggested that one might choose to celebrate the day by taking a nap. Oh, yeah . . . this is my kind of holiday! Zzzzz-z-z-z . . .

*. *. *

. . . True Confessions Day. I’ll pass on this one; it just sounds like trouble in the making, doesn’t it?

*. *. *

. . . Look On the Bright Side Day. This sounds great, but after reading through the day’s news reports, looking on the bright side can be really difficult. So you go ahead without me; I’ll try to catch up after my nap.

*. *. *

And one that was clearly not designed for me, but is perfect for a lot of people I know who only think they’re smarter than I am:

. . . It’s called EverythingYouThinkIsWrongDay. At first glance, I was hoping this would be a day when I could tell the world everything I think is wrong with it and with the people in it. It would have been a long laundry list. But as it turns out — sadly and yet appropriately — I was wrong.

Instead, my research tells me that this is “a day where decision-making should be avoided, as your thoughts are (according to the founder of this holiday) wrong.” Or, at the very least, not always right. And this is how we are encouraged to observe the day:

“While you might think it would be ok to point out how wrong others’ thoughts are, you’d still be wrong. You’d still be wrong for thinking that. However, it would be a good day to scroll on by all those Twitter comments that annoy you. Of course, if you’re wrong on this holiday, take solace in the thought that so is the person to the right and left of you. Then again, you’d still be wrong, according to the name of the day. Share your thoughts and let us know just how wrong you think you are using #EverythingYouThinkIsWrongDay to post on social media.”

I’m definitely not going to do that. But I might recommend it to a few presidential front-runners in the U.S., Russia, and a couple of other countries, who seem to get it wrong all the time . . . every . . . freakin’ . . . day.

*. *. *

So choose your holiday, celebrate in your own way, and if you’re bummed by the fact that you’re wrong about everything, remember that it’s only for today. You’ll be all right again tomorrow.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/15/24

. . . Now they — the Russian hit squad — have gone outside their borders to attack one of Navalny’s team, Leonid Volkov, in front of his home in Vilnius, Lithuania, where he has been living in exile for several years. Like others of Alexei Navalny’s team, he faces multiple politically-based charges in Russia and cannot return to his homeland.

On Tuesday evening, March 12th, Volkov had just arrived at his home in Vilnius when someone shattered a window of his car and viciously attacked him. According to reports of the incident, Volkov said that the attack took place “in silence.” Kira Yarmysh, spokesperson for Navalny’s Anti-Corruption Foundation (FBK), issued the following statement on social media:

“Leonid Volkov has just been attacked outside his house. Someone broke a car window and sprayed tear gas in his eyes, after which the attacker started hitting Leonid with a hammer.” Ivan Zhdanov, director of the FBK, added that “they hit his legs with a hammer and hit his arms.” Volkov was taken to a hospital, where he was treated for his injuries. [Darya Tarasova and Tara John, CNN, March 13, 2024.]

Volkov’s wife, Anna Biryukova — also part of the Navalny team — said that her husband returned home from the hospital the following day with a broken arm and unable to walk because of the hammer blows to his leg. With absolute certainty that the attack was the work of Vladimir Putin’s hit squad, she said, “We will all work even more. And with even greater anger.” [Sarah Rainsford, BBC Europe, March 13, 2024.]

Lithuanian intelligence has said the attack was “Russian-organised and implemented.” Volkov has concurred, stating that it was “an obvious, typical, gangster greeting from Putin, from bandits St. Petersburg.” [Id.]

Lithuanian President Gitanas Nauseda said the attack on Volkov was clearly pre-planned, and that it was tied to other provocations against Lithuania, a country that is a member of both NATO and the European Union. He sent the following additional message: “I can only say one thing to Putin – nobody is afraid of you here.” [Andrius Sytas, Reuters, March 13, 2024.] And Foreign Minister Gabrielius Landsbergis added that “the perpetrators will have to answer for their crime.” [BBC Europe, March 13, 2024.]

*. *. *

There is little doubt that the attack, coming just three days before the start of the Russian presidential election, was intended to reinforce Putin’s ongoing threats against those who dare to challenge his absolute authority, and to remind those living in the relative safety of countries outside Russia — even member nations of NATO and the EU — that there is no escape from the long reach of his thugs and killers. Despite the obvious outcome of the election, he will broach no opposition.

And this is the man who will rule Russia with an iron hand for six — and perhaps twelve — more years, in accordance with his own amendments to the Russian Constitution. A man without conscience or concern for human life. The same man who has declared war against Ukraine in order to reclaim it as Russian territory; threatened the use of nuclear weapons if — in his words — Russia’s sovereign territory is threatened; and simply killed off those who have been most vocal in opposing him.

For 30 years, the future looked promising for the people of Russia. They enjoyed freedoms and opportunities unknown to previous generations. But now, that same future can only be described as bleak. It makes me sick, and afraid — not only for the Russian people, but for the countries that are next on Putin’s bucket list of conquests. It cannot be permitted to continue . . . but how to stop it?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/14/24

While Vladimir Putin declares Russia’s so-called democracy to be the best in the world, and social media are blasted with festive promos of the beauty of his country and its supposedly happy people, the state of its true condition has been further revealed this week by way of warnings from the U.S. and other Western embassies to stay away from Russia . . . or if you’re already there, to get the hell out. Like . . . NOW!

First came a report from Russia’s Federal Security Service (FSB) that it had foiled a planned attack on a Moscow synagogue by “a cell of the militant Sunni Muslim group Islamic State.” [Guy Faulconbridge, Reuters, March 8, 2024.]

Just hours later, the U.S. Embassy in Moscow released a warning that “extremists” had imminent plans for an attack in Moscow. No further details were given, but the notice did specify that people should avoid concerts and crowds of all types: “The Embassy is monitoring reports that extremists have imminent plans to target large gatherings in Moscow, to include concerts, and U.S. citizens should be advised to avoid large gatherings over the next 48 hours.” [Id.] The warning was repeated by the U.K., Canada, South Korea and Latvia, with advice to their citizens not to travel to Russia. It was not clear whether this warning referred to the same planned, and allegedly foiled, attack on a synagogue. In any event, there has not yet been a report of any sort of terrorist attack, in Moscow or elsewhere in the country.

*. *. *

It’s no secret — although the Kremlin continues to cloak the situation in lies and artifice — that life in Russia today is receding, almost on a daily basis, into the darkness of the Stalinist era. Strangely and frighteningly, those who appear not to be opposed to this “back to the future” scenario are the very people — the older generation — who remember having lived through those days. But perhaps not so strangely, as they tend to recall those times as the days of stability and a form of security, when the misery of Soviet life was spread evenly among the masses.

The younger people today have had a different life experience — one of choices, opportunities, freedoms unimagined by their parents and grandparents. And they revel in it. They are the Russian citizens who brave the possibility of arrest and imprisonment in order to oppose Vladimir Putin’s despotic rule. But are they succeeding? It appears, not yet. Alexei Navalny has been killed, and there is no immediate successor to his charismatic, proselytizing style of leadership. Boris Nadezhdin, who had built a sizable base in his attempt to run against Putin in the upcoming presidential election, has — unsurprisingly — been stricken from the ballot on specious grounds. Others have been imprisoned, or have fled the country in fear for their lives.

It didn’t take a threat by an Islamist terror group to send Russia into a downward spiral of fear and paranoia; that was just the icing on the cake. It was, however, enough to keep the crowds away from Red Square and other popular gathering places for a few days, and to bring out the security forces in ever-larger numbers.

*. *. *

I miss being able to visit “my” Russia of the 1990s. Would I go back today, given the opportunity? Hell, no! I am neither stupid nor suicidal. I am, however, profoundly saddened for the good people of Russia — for the friends I left behind there, and those I’ll never know — who have once again, as has so often happened throughout their history, had the proverbial rug pulled out from under their feet. Dark days, indeed.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/13/24

Nothing serious: just the second shingles vaccine in the left arm, updated Covid in the right. I’m a big believer in the efficacy of vaccines, especially for people at high risk for whatever reason. In my case, it’s age (how I’ve gotten to hate that word!) and a couple of medical conditions that don’t bother me from day to day but I’m told could be a problem if I were to catch certain viruses. So I dutifully show up for a flu shot every September, and make sure everything else is up-to-date as needed.

Luckily, I’m one of those people who don’t react badly to any of the regular vaccines . . . or at least I haven’t so far. But that Covid stuff is different: it drags me down and knocks me out for a couple of days.

I guess what I’m trying to tell you, after all of this drug-induced rambling, is that I’m too tired to write today, or even to think clearly. The shots, on top of the Daylight Savings nonsense, are stronger than I am. So . . .

Good night, dear readers . . . I’m off in search of that hour I lost Saturday night, and hopefully a little more. See you when I wake.

Brendochka
3/12/24

While Vladimir Putin’s HOSTAGES continue to languish in the hell of Russia’s modern-day GULAG, arrests are still being made of citizens who have done nothing more than express their sorrow and outrage at the death of Alexei Navalny. Those citizens were identified by CCTV facial recognition cameras outside the church and the cemetery on the day of his funeral, or while laying flowers at makeshift memorials to a man who dared to be a thorn in Putin’s side.

While their punishments appear to have been mild, they are clearly meant to intimidate the entire population of the country, and to remind them that fascism has indeed returned to today’s Russia. The man in the Kremlin, who has ruled for nearly 24 years and is about to be reelected for yet another six-year term, is a man without scruples, without conscience, and without concern as to the opinions of the rest of the world. The killing of Alexei Navalny, occurring despite the ongoing international outcry against his imprisonment, was a clear signal that no one is safe from the wrath of Vladimir Putin.

So I once more urge you not to forget or forsake those men and women being held HOSTAGE by the Russian government, who have done no more than speak out against the dictatorial, fascist regime of Vladimir Putin. While they have been forced into silence, we have not.

We must continue to use our voices for them.

Please . . . bring them home!

Brendochka
3/11/24

It’s Saturday evening, March 9th, as I write this. I have spent my usual amount of time browsing through the day’s news, and have come to the conclusion that there is just too much of it . . . and it’s all dreadful. Apparently, if it’s not bad, it’s just not news.

And I’m weary. Weary of reading — and writing — about wars, and assassinations, and mass shootings, and natural disasters, and hatred, and stupidity, and greed, and people hell-bent on destroying the world. The only world we’ve got. So I’m not going to do it today, and I’m not sure about tomorrow yet. I’ll let you know.

If we’re still here tomorrow.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/10/24

. . . Or any other doctor who will actually remember you without having to look for your name on your chart; sit and talk to you for more than three minutes to find out what’s really going on with you; and actually call you on the phone in a day or two to report your lab findings, tell you what (if anything) you need to do, and answer any questions you may have. Today, other than what passes for the office visit, your principal communication with your physician is through something called a “portal.”

I always thought a portal was an opening to the spirit world, but what do I know? I’m old, exhausted, and at the moment, really frustrated.

I had my regular six-month checkup last week. My PCP (principal care physician, formerly known as a GP, or general practitioner) is a young woman, very pleasant, and apparently quite knowledgeable. Her nurse (or nurse practitioner, or physician’s assistant — I have no idea which) saw me first, took my blood pressure, checked my oxygen level with that finger thingy, and asked me a few questions. She entered that data into a computer so that the doctor had it all in front of her before she made her appearance. The doc then listened to my heart and lungs, poked my abdomen, and declared me to be among the living. I already knew that, but that’s what she gets paid for.

I’m sure you’ve noticed that you don’t even have to take your clothes off for these exams anymore! Where’s the thrill, the anticipation, the embarrassment of the old days? Along with the comfort of knowing you’ve really been checked over, they’re gone. You could have a bunch of little lumps in scary places, and no one would ever know until . . . well, never mind.

I told her my one complaint recently is that I’ve been feeling really, really exhausted. No matter how much sleep I get, it’s not enough. And my body just doesn’t want to move. I reminded her that I tend to be somewhat anemic (yes, I had to remind her), so she said she’d order the appropriate blood workup and typed something into her little computer, which apparently went directly to the office phlebotomist (an expensive-sounding name for the local vampire). And that was it . . . “See you in six months, unless you have a problem, in which case you be sure to give us a call, okay?”

*. *. *

The very next day, I received an email from a place called LabCorp. These are the folks who received my lifeblood for testing. They’re really quick! So I looked up my password, logged into their . . . yup, portal . . . and began trying to decipher the dozen or so sets of initials that, I assumed, identified the specific tests: RBC, WBC, MCV, MCH, FU (no, I made that one up to see if you’re still awake), platelets, etc. Then I Googled each one to find out what they were and what they indicated. Most were normal, but some were high or low, so I had to find a reliable medical site to figure out whether I was going to die tomorrow or possibly live a while longer. And when I was done, I came to the startling conclusion that I was . . . drumroll, please . . . ANEMIC.

Yup, I had been right all along. I should have gone to med school.

Now, you need to know that I moved out of state about three years ago, so I no longer have my long-time doctors from the Washington, D.C. Metropolitan Area. No, I’m in small-town Georgia now, and I’ve learned that everything is different here. Really different. So I should not have been surprised when I didn’t receive a phone call from my doctor to discuss the lab results; after four days, I received instead an email saying I had a message from her . . . in the freakin’ portal. With about as much enthusiasm as I might muster for an upcoming colonoscopy, I opened the message and found out that . . .

I’M ANEMIC!!!

And my doctor’s recommendation? I should “start an iron and vitamin D supplement daily” and “let’s see if that helps your fatigue.”

Okay, fine. But . . . well, I’ve got some questions here. Those pills come in different dosages. Which ones should I take? And how about food? Is there anything specific I should be eating? How soon would you want to run my labs again? Hello? How do I ask you all these questions?

Oh, right . . . the g**damned portal. So I type in my questions, hit “Submit,” and get a reply message thanking me and saying I should allow up to 48 hours for a response. 48 hours?!! I’m really glad we’re not dealing with congestive heart failure here. Of course, then it would be a trip to the emergency room, which is a whole other nightmare.

So while I’m waiting for my electronic response on the mother-lovin’ portal (you’ll notice that in Georgia it’s de rigueur to drop the final “g” from words ending in “ing”), I’ve drawn up my own treatment plan: lots of fatty fish and Vitamin D-enriched dairy, etc.; the prescribed supplements, when I know what kind to buy; and — since I’m pretty much housebound most of the time — one of those UV lamps that are supposed to substitute for real sunshine, like the ones they used to use for kids in the far northern Soviet Union where the winter days are so short.

And then — if the lamp doesn’t peel off my top layer of skin or kill me outright — I’ll look forward to that sudden burst of energy that comes with no longer being anemic.

Or not.

Brendochka
3/9/24

Paul Whelan is one of the Americans still in a Russian prison — and the one who has been there the longest — waiting for the negotiations between the U.S. and Russian governments to bear fruit. And now he lives with a new fear.

Alexei Navalny is dead . . . assassinated while incarcerated in a penal colony much like the one Whelan currently inhabits. Navalny’s death, according to the death certificate provided by the prison authorities, was officially due to “natural causes.” But Whelan knows — as does the whole world — that the man once thought to be invincible was beaten, starved, frozen, tortured to death . . . all because he would not keep silent.

Whelan’s alleged crime is more serious than Navalny’s: he was arrested in December of 2018, convicted of espionage in 2020 — a charge he has consistently denied — and sentenced to 16 years in prison. Earlier this week, he told CNN that he found Navalny’s death “extremely worrying” — obviously a gross understatement. He explained:

“I can’t say too much for obvious reasons, but one thing I will say is that if they can get to him, they can get to me. It’s extremely troubling that someone like Navalny would die under suspicious circumstances, but it’s also extremely worrying for me that this is the sort of thing that goes on. If they are willing to face the repercussions from the world for doing in somebody like Navalny, they’re not going to think twice about doing in someone like me, and then blaming the United States for not bothering to get me back in five years. So when I’ve said in the past that my death warrant’s been signed, this is the sort of thing that I refer to.” [Jennifer Hansler, CNN, March 5, 2024.]

Following a conversation last month with U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken — at least the third time the two men have spoken — Whelan was reassured by the Secretary’s statement that “Our intensive efforts to bring Paul home continue every single day. And they will until he and (Wall Street Journal reporter) Evan Gershkovich and every other American wrongfully detained is back with their loved ones.” [Id.]

Whelan said that he “left the call with a good feeling that the Secretary and other members of the National Security Council are engaged and they are trying to get this resolved.” Despite this, he has requested several times to be allowed to speak with President Joe Biden, to “remind the President and the National Security Council that I’m still here, being held hostage by the Russian government, and the Biden administration has got to take decisive action to secure my release. If they don’t do anything, I’m stuck here. And if I’m stuck here, I die here.”

*. *. *

Alexei Navalny’s death is a stark reminder of the fear with which Paul Whelan — and every other falsely-charged hostage sitting in a putrid Russian prison — lives every moment of every day. And it is a legitimate fear, based on the reality of Vladimir Putin’s methods of dealing with those who dare to oppose him.

They must not be forgotten; they will not be forgotten.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/8/24