Monday, February 1, 2010
Because today is the feast of Saint Brigid (if you want to see her relics, go to Ireland; however if you want to see her skull you will have to trek to Lisbon where they reside in a Jesuit church) I am recalling my sister’s happy youth when her name was universally both misspelled and mispronounced. Some of our family favorites were:
And then she mystified us all by marrying a man with a generally pronounceable and spellable name, and took it as her own. When she could have chosen the very dapper F. Brzcnskeugy or Helffmuth von Pfickelhaube.
I was very pleased to learn that St Birgit is the patron saint of Chicken farmers, among whom we hope to soon count ourselves. (Better Chicken farmers than fugitives, nuns, printing presses and bastards – other patronees of Saint Brigid).