The Second Highest Holy Day

"Every time that I see you, you're with that Dog," said my friend Jack as he stopped his truck beside us on the marsh road.

"She is the Lady of the House now," I deadpan.

Reaching his arm down from his window, he scratches Goddess on top of her head.

"She sure is a pretty dog."

"Well, she is of divine lineage," I explain.

Jack nods his head as if he completely understands. I love Tybee. Religion is so easy here. The sun rises everyday out of the water pretty much like its described in the book of Genesis and there you go! Everything else follows automatically. Or it follows randomly.

It is St. Patrick's Day in Savannah which is just behind Christmas in the ranking of importance of religious holidays here. New Year's would be third with Easter coming in forth.

Easter might have ranked higher but the Baptist Church on the island refuses to cooperate with the Catholics, Methodist, and Episcopal Churches in conducting a sunrise service on the pier. That loses it some major points.

Savannah's St. Patrick's Day celebration is the stuff of legend. The parade last five hours and the party, which began several days ago, will end several days from now.

But I am on a quiet walk with the Lady of the House. It is our second walk of the morning. We make our way to Shirley's dock and I sit down to view the colors of the marsh and the back river. Goddess sits beside me and my arm is draped around her. Holiness abounds.

At Union Mission, the homeless guys are renting out all of our parking spaces to people who are going to the parade. Last year they made over $700!

Those who are not helping with the parking have all gotten jobs selling green beads, T-shirts, beer, sunglasses and hats. In Savannah, everyone is employed on St. Patrick's Day. Everyone is accepted. There is no homelessness, poverty, AIDS, sickness, racism, isolation or political division. There are just the Irish. And the drunks.

I'm pretty certain that St. Patrick would be horrified if he were invited to march in the parade. Girls would rush up to kiss his cheek as he made his way, leaving it smeared with red. He would have started drinking at breakfast this morning and would not end until midnight when the Hibernian Society concludes its dinner.

Whenever I do go to the parade, it seems like I have to talk about work. People ask me this or that about the troubles in their families. Or the homeless people selling beads try to cut me deals and are happy to see out like them.

Don't get me wrong, I've had some good times there, but it's lost it's luster. Hell, I'm not even wearing green today. I have on a blue shirt and ratty khaki shorts. I'll go to the Bored Meeting instead.

So I do not have much use for this. I'd rather stare at the marsh from Shirley's sad little dock, which I think is one of the holiest places in the universe. Goddess seems pretty content too. The water is calm and the wind is dead, unlike waving mass of humanity downtown.

So on one of the holiest of high Holy days, I wish everyone a Happy St. Patrick's Day. Erin Go Braugh!

But mostly, I would like to sit here with Goddess, on Shirley's holy dock, with God kissing the water and brushing the marsh and letting me know that Bob Marley really was a modern day prophet. Everything's gonna be alright.