Today was Imbolc, a great pagan feast in pre-Christian Ireland, "one of the four quarter days of the pagan year, which marked the beginning of spring, lambing, and lactation in cattle." Commandeered, of course, by the early Christians who created the feast of St. Brigid in lieu.
My mother's middle name as it turns out - she was born on St. Brigid's Eve, and the eldest daughter. Bridie, Breed, Brie, Brigette, Gette, and my favourite "Bridgeen", are all variants of the name.
Daughter gave a talk last night on the story telling tradition of the women in our family. I had hoped it would be filmed but alas and alack it was not to be, but she summarized it for me today via speaker phone as she made her way home from doing familial representation for my friend David's wake. I would have loved to have been in her audience.
I was out driving last night in rather nasty conditions - fog and a high wind. I know that mix sounds crazy. But this weather is. Probably for you too. The fog was thick and nasty on the high hills and very distracting as it whirled and danced to the tune of the headlights. To add to my stress level I had a midnight deadline to meet for an "Expression of Interest" in a theatrical venture. Don't you love these terminologies? Like putting your toe in the water when you want to dive full throttle off the pier.
Anyway, I reached home in one piece and the phone was ringing. And it was a friend. Wanting to make sure I was OK after the drive. I was so touched. This check in is not a norm for me at all. Having a solitary existence 'n all. Sometimes these tiny touches of kindness are immense. This was. I knew I had to pass it on. And I did today.
Happy Imbolc to all.
