And Gutenberg Lived Here: Enough With The Rabbit Already

Here we are,

one foot into April,

and a lot of us are still hanging back,

hoping against hope

if we stall long enough,

the next holiday will finally appear on the horizon.

The problem however, isn’t really in our hands.

It’s in the hands of whoever decided that:

in January,

in the States, at least,

we have New Years’ Day,

Martin Luther King Day,

and serious things,

like Holocaust Survivor Day.

We also have the ridiculous-

the fruit of the month is dried cranberries.

Here in Gutenberg Land,

it’s Epiphany,

and a whole slew of Saints Days

Sts Guenevere, Libentius, Juventius,

and if that doesn’t sound like a barbershop song, I don’t know what does-

no disrespect meant.

Then in February,

here we get Women’s Carnival, Catholic Carnival, a whole week off for parading,

and Mary Light Measure,

and St. Valentine’s Day,

the US  gets Valentine’s Day, no saint,

Presidents’ Day, (hmmm…ditto?)

and, of course, Ground Hog’s Day.

Which, the way things are going may be our next president-

Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for the President of the US…

Puxtahawny Phil.

So just where am I going with all of this?

Well,

in March we have Ascension Day, both Stateside and here,

and St Patrick’s Day,

a good clean fun celebration of all things green

and orange.

Saints and sinners, Presidents, even an Easter bunny thrown in,

and, of course,

here in Gutenberg land,

Name Day.

Each person,

as I found out when I took a large traditional Catholic choir for a while,

has a patron saint whose day they are born on,

and whose name they are supposed to carry.

So when I, midwest more or less standard protestant,

took over,

the game began.

They wanted to give a party,

which I was invited to,

but was expected to pay for,

to up the morale of the choir,

on  my name day.

For which they had to find my saint-

And decided on Catherine-

which I still don’t really understand,

since it has as good as nothing to do with my name,

but who unfortunately, was drawn and quartered on a burning wheel.

(I actually thought of giving the party with quarter pounders at a roadside cafe,

but didn’t want to insult anyone,

if they didn’t get my wierd sense of humor.)

So, in the end, I turned down Iranaeus,

especially since I couldn’t spell it,

and have absolutely no idea how he started pushing up radishes, but it doesn’t really sound like something I want to do,

and Peter-Paul, since,

if they can’t decide which of the two it is,

I don’t think I really want to try.

Not to mention not being born in the sign of Gemini,

not being a twin,

and not particularly liking the names Paula or Petra.

Even if my father did, at one point want to call me Thomasina.

So…

and here a drumroll is definitely a necessity….

I was named,

in my job description,

ta da….

Helene.

Who is the name-giver to a volcanic  Island,

An airport,

was the mother of Constantine,

and brought back the true cross.

And whose feast day is the eighteenth of August.

A day when, since that first party,

the choir has been in recess.

Thank heavens.

Oh,

and as for April,

the only thing it is known for,

except for April Fools’ Day,

and having to pay taxes, both here and Stateside,

is national peanut butter and jelly day.

I wonder which saint that would be?

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