Happy St. Patrick's Day to a dear friend

My background is French-German on my father’s side, and Russian-English inherited from my mother’s side of the family. Not a drop of Irish blood, and yet I could as soon forget St. Patrick’s Day as I could my own birthday, because I have a dear friend, Katie Dougherty, who is as Irish as Irish can be, and whose friendship means a great deal to me.

The unusual fact about our friendship is that it has endured for more than 20 years, although we have not seen one another in all that time, and our friendship was forged during the only period we have ever been together, which was exactly 10 days in Italy. Since that time, Kay has lived in Iowa and more recently in Minnesota, while I, of course, have remained in Connecticut. Because Val and I moved so often during his working years, I do have some old friends living in far-flung places, but those friendships were formed during a few years when there was a close connection. I have no other friend of such long duration that I knew for such a brief period.

I met Kay during a tour of Italy. A sudden business emergency kept Val at home, but I was unwilling to cancel my first trip to Italy, and was therefore, traveling alone. Kay was with her friend, Angela, with whom she often traveled, when on a bus tour her jovial voice boomed out, “Hey, does anyone know the score for the Iowa game?” Since the University of Iowa is my alma mater, I had to yell back, “I don’t know the score, but are you from Iowa?” As is sometimes the case when you are in unfamiliar surroundings, any connection to home assumes an out-of-proportion importance, and that may be why Angela, and especially Kay, instantly “adopted” me.

We became an inseparable threesome for the remainder of the trip, and fortunately we discovered we had many similar interests. We all delighted so much in the Uffizi Museum in Florence, we very nearly were locked in at closing time. We had found our way into a “restricted” area and were so fascinated with the contents, we almost didn’t hear the closing bells until doors began to clang shut.

Another day in Rome, I introduced them to a restaurant I had read about, and we were all thrilled with the elegant atmosphere and the solicitous waiters, who kept bringing small tidbits of different foods for us to sample. Our delight was short-lived when the bill arrived and we learned those were not samples, but expensive appetizers. We had to pool all our cash to pay the bill, and I can still recall Katie’s barely suppressed fits of laughter as we tried to look nonchalant while digging for every last coin under the now-suspicious eye of the maitre d’.

Kay came to my rescue in Venice, when coming out of a church in the early evening, I was bewitched by my first sight of the Grand Canal at dusk and fell flat on my face on the cobblestones.

Some years later, when my daughter, Marianne, attended the University of Iowa, Kay and Angela traveled to see her and took her to lunch. Angela has since died, but Kay sent me photos of Angela’s daughter and has also kept me informed of her own family’s weddings, births and special events.

Kay rarely travels anymore, and I have never had any desire to visit Minnesota, but we stay in touch with letters and phone calls, and it always gladdens my heart to hear Kay’s lilting Irish voice at the other end of the wire. I shall always be grateful to Kay for extending a warm, welcoming hand to a lone traveler and for remaining close during all the passing years.

For Kay, and for all my readers (Irish or otherwise), a happy St. Patrick’s Day, and for luck, an Irish blessing:

May you always have work for your hands to do.

May your pockets always hold a coin or two.

May the sun shine bright on your windowpane.

May the rainbow be certain to follow each rain.

May the hand of a friend always be near you.

And may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

Contact Jean Cherni, founder of the retirement advisory service, Senior Living Solutions, at jeancherni@sbcglobal.net or 15 The Ponds at Hotchkiss Grove, Branford 06405.

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