The Dog Days Of August

Today is the first day of August, one month away from the opening of the 4th Annual Kansas City Irish Fest.

Today I say goodbye to my wife.

And I'm not alone. Over the last few months, you've met several members of the Irish Fest staff here in Tir na Blog. There are dozens more. For some of us, Irish Fest is a year-round job. After the Fest closes for the year and a wrap-up meeting or two, we take maybe 5 weeks off before starting on the next year's event. For some of our staff, work for '06 began in earnest a month or two ago. For others, things have picked up in the last few weeks. For a rare few, there's not a lot to do until we open. But for most, these last 30 days are when the aoileach hits the fan, so to speak.

Most of us at Irish Fest happened to be married or similarly involved with significant others. And for those "others", August can be a lonely month. KCIF meetings that had been monthly become weekly. For the directors and officers, twice weekly. And they're longer. Evenings are spent counting inventory, laying out signs, juggling volunteer schedules, doing paperwork. Weekends are taken up with that great idea you had after last year to solve that problem that you noticed in the reunion area, the beverage tents, or the kids' area. Even when you're not working directly on Irish Fest projects, it's never far away. We're all friends here and we socialize together. A lot. One guess as to what the number one topic of conversation over pints at the pub is this month.

Now imagine that you're the long-suffering spouse of one of us lunatics. Sure, you're supportive of Cami when she's on the computer for days at a time. Yes, you understand that Shawn loves Irish Fest beyond all reason. Of course, you get it that it's something Stevan feels passionate about. Absolutely, you can see why Shannon gets so involved every year. Fair play to them. But who gets left taking Junior to soccer practice? Who's changing the baby because "I just need to finish this, honey"? Who tends to the mundane details of American life while we plan an Irish hooley for 70,000 of our closest friends?

There's name for them. Irish Fest Widows and Widowers.

And there's a phrase for them. Thank you.

Thank you from the bottom of our Boulevard sodden, green white and gold hearts. Thank you for the patience, thank you for the boundless understanding in the face of what must seem to you at times as massive, unending silliness. Thank you for picking up the kids, picking up the slack, picking up the pieces, picking up the messes around the house. We love you all madly and we remember every day how incredibly lucky we are to have found someone who'd put up with this crap every year.

We know that you long ago stopped being impressed that we get you free tickets to Irish Fest, and that your closet can't hold any more Irish Fest T-shirts. So we promise we'll be really nice. We'll do all those chores. We'll fix that leak. We'll mow that lawn. We'll take you out to dinner and not talk about Irish Fest and we'll let you sleep in. We'll be so good to you, you'll see.

In 34 days.