Onomastico/ Saint's day

Today is my onomastico, or Saint's day (literally "name's day"). The Saint's Day, is very popular in Italy. Every day, has the name of a saint, associated with it. Some of these days are more well-known than others. Everybody knows when St Joseph' day is, S. Giuseppe, it is also Italian Father's Day, on the 19th of March, San Mario is on 19th January.
S. Michele, S. Gabriele, S. Raffaele,the three Archangels are on the 29th September, S. Carlo on the 4th November (which is also the day the final battle if the First World War on the Italian front is commemorated), and S. Francesco, the Patron Saint of Italy, is on the 4th October, Santa Laura is on 19th October.
I never took much interest in my onomastico, but I have now got some lovely relatives who set great score, by these events. One of them has got a book, with all the Saint's Days, and the origin of them.

This morning, I got lots of nice wishes for my onomastico from them. I thought I ought to find out a bit about her. Well, the story started off alright. Angela Merici was born at Desanzano on Lake Garda - a lovely place - in 1474. Then, things seem to go horribly wrong and her life is full of tragedy. She rose above all this terrible tale of loss and pain, and dedicated her time to teaching young girls in her home, which she converted into a school. She founded the Order of Ursulines in 1535.

St. Angela is the Patron Saint of handicapped people and of the loss of parents.
I now feel very proud to have the same name as her.

My parents told me how I got my name. My Mum wanted to call me "Jacqueline", after her beloved bicycle! My Dad wasn't having any of it, so while we were still in the nursing home, he shot off to the Registry Office, and called me Angela, after an old flame of his. To appease my Mum, he then gave me two more names. One is her own mother's name, and the other, an anagram of her brother's name, who had died in the war.
So I ended up with a long name, that was very useful in the playground game, "Letters in your name". The idea was, that one person was chosen to call out letters at random, facing away from the other players. The one that arrived first, won. It was often me ...

By the way, the only people who ever called me "Angie", were my Mum and Dad. Friends in Britain tend to call me "Ange". My youngest son called me "Latchela", when he was a toddler, probably because he heard my Mother-in-Law refer to me as l'Angela, with the article, as they often do in Italy for feminine names. I really liked that.

Burns Night

Robert Burns was born on 25th January 1759, the eldest of seven children born to William and Agnes Burnes. The poet changed the spelling to Burns. His father was determined that he should have as good an education as possible and Robert Burns started writing poetry from a young age. The family were not very successful farmers, and had a hard life. Robert Burns decided to emigrate to Jamaica to work on a plantation. He wrote some poems, and had them published, to raise money for his journey. They were so popular, that he changed his mind and went to Edinburgh instead. While there, he wrote the words to many traditional Scottish songs, known today. The most famous is undoubtedly Auld lang syne, sung all over the world on New Year's Eve. He eventually moved to Dumfries.

Burns Night is celebrated with great ceremony every year on 25th January. I have never been to a proper Burns night celebration, but have heard a lot about them. There is usually a piper, who plays the bagpipes, to pipe in the haggis, which is the central dish of the evening. There will be recitals of Robert Burns' poetry, speeches and dancing. There is often a final speech to the lassies. The whole evening is conducted with spirit and humour. It probably reflects the spirit of his poetry, which  shows his compassionate and generous nature. Two of his most famous poems are (O my Luve's like) A red, red rose and Tam O' Shanter. There is a bust of him in Westminster Abbey, in Poets' Corner.

My Uncle Les liked saying this extract from Tam O' Shanter:

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white-then melts for ever;

Happy Burns Night.

PS. I said above that I have never celebrated Burns Night, but that's not quite true. I have never been to a proper one with a Piper, haggis, and dancing. However, over thirty-five years ago, when I first came to Italy, I made friends with a Welsh girl, called Eiralys, this means "Snowdrop", in Welsh.
It was largely due to her that I got a job, in the town where my boyfriend's parents lived. We warmed to each other, from the start, and on Burns Night, we organised a party. She made a cake with candles and we invited some Italian friends. So there we were, an English woman, a Welsh woman, not a Scot in sight, just feeling patriotic and a bit closer to home. Our Italian was limited at the time. She was already married to her Italian husband, she had met him on a train, and it was love at first sight.
We had a lovely evening and drunk to Robbie Burns. The next day, she told me they had all rang up to ask whose birthday it was.
Eiralys went back to Britain not long after, but every Burns Night I especially think of her.