The Orange and The Green

A bunch of years ago, when I was on an extended job in the UK, I was asked to accompany a young woman that I worked with to a girls' prep school to talk about atypical careers for women, or some such. It happened to be St Patrick's Day, which is not a 'major holiday' in the States, unless you happen to be Irish or live in Boston or Chicago or something like that.  Mostly, it's an opportunity for many of the States to drunk too much (green beer or Irish Whiskey), sing bawdy songs, and eat corned beef and cabbage and belch.  (Apologies to any  for whom this is a major/serious/meaningful holiday.)

In any case, I was pretty clueless about the importance of the day and the importance of wearing the green, etc.  I had only the wardrobe I brought with me for this month-long stay, so I rummaged through my suitcase, and found my least-wrinkled, most-reputable outfit, and put it on.  It happened to be a silk-linen pantsuit that was orange-sherbet-colored. 

I felt like my reception at the girls' school was a little stiff and stilted, but just assumed it was because I was a 'yank' and obviously not of their social standing or class, and thought nothing much of it.  It wasn't until we were headed back to the office that the young woman who asked me to accompany her asked me if I had worn orange on purpose on St Patrick's Day.  My naive reply was, "no, why?" She then informed me of a little bit of the history (as she had understood it) of the holiday, and the long-standing dissention between the Northern Irish Catholics and the Northern Irish Protestants. 

In reading a little of the history of Ireland, it seems that Patrick went to Ireland well before there were Catholics or Protestants.  He went to Ireland to convert the pagan Irish to Christianity.  And that's another story all together. 

There's so much that we don't know, even when we think we do, and so many ways we are unconsciously unaware.  It's not a bad thing.  It just is.  

The Dog and The Trash Can

Yesterday a dog tipped over the trash can at the office.  When I went outside to see what the noise was, he was totally nonplussed.  He didn't even move away when I walked up to him, nor did he respond at all to any of my 'chasing away' sounds, or movements.  He had a collar and a tag, and he was healthy enough looking, I imagine he belonged to someone at the city park that is just down the street.  Since I heard no one yelling for him, I assume it is normal for them to let their dog run the neighborhood.

Of course, he wasn't satisfied to tip over the cans.  He wasn't a hooligan with the objective of destruction.  He pulled most of the bags out of the can and ripped them open looking for something edible.  The humor of it for me was the primary thing in the trash was leftover Valentine's Day candy.  There was no chocolate, I don't waste chocolate, and only buy the kind I like, but there was probably five pounds of hard, and not too hard, red bits of compressed sugar, some flavored and some not.  I just imagine when he returned to his humans, with his mouth, teeth and tongue brilliant red, they wondered what on earth he had gotten in to.  Then, if they smelled his breath, it was likely to reek of cinnamon, red licorice or fireballs. It wouldn't surprise me if he had some physical reactions to eating that much sugar.  I certainly would have, which is why I dumped it all in the trash. Hyper dog, anyone? 

While I was finding my gardening gloves this morning, I was fantasizing that the owners would go looking for the source of the red coloring and would come upon his mess and clean it up.  But no, it was still strewn across the side yard in all its glory this morning.  I left most of the sugar on the ground and picked up the remainder.  It didn't take long, and it wasn't too distasteful, since it wasn't gooey trash.  

So what's the moral of this story? Heck if I know.  Maybe it's that cause and effect is seldom a simple linear thing.  It's more like Russian nesting dolls, or interlocking Venn diagrams.  If the owners had kept their dog on a leash.... If the owners had trained their dog that it wasn't OK to forage for scraps in trash cans... If I had disposed of poison, antifreeze or paint in the trashcan, which I know is illegal, and I imagine that people sometimes do.  If the dog had been aggressive to me, I suspect I would have called Animal Control.  If the javelinas, coyotes or bobcats had decided the spread-out trash was a potentially interesting food source for them, the mess would have been greater.  (Apparently they know better.)  If, if, if, if...

So, I guess I'm back to the Stoic view, which dovetails nicely with the one espoused by Don Miguel Ruiz in The Four Agreements.  Take nothing personally.  (The Stoic version of that: Manage your own self and don't worry about what other people/beings do.  That's none of your business.)  It is enough.