by BridgetChumbley on March 19, 2010
Recently a few of us on Twitter were discussing the warmer temps and sunshine that so many are longing for this time of year. I mentioned that I couldn’t wait for a pedicure… and flip-flop weather.
This prompted a comment from my friend Billy, saying he was excited and ready for better weather, but wouldn’t be having anyone mess with his toes.
This reminded me of a story I had to share. Of course the names have been changed to protect the innocent (and save them from ridicule).
Several years ago friends of ours were getting ready to go on a cruise. While preparing for their trip… Gidget convinced her hubby, Dave, that he really needed to go with her and get a pedicure before they left. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but her arguments were legit, and to try and shut her up please her, he reluctantly agreed.
What Gidget hadn’t thought through, was that Dave didn’t do well with sharp objects. He had a huge needle phobia (even though he went through chemo and received tons of shots in his life), and the sight of blood wasn’t something he handled well either.
Once when Dave and Gidget were newly married, they had to have some tests done so they could be approved for life insurance. The nurse came to the house for the exams, and drew blood while they stood at the kitchen counter.
This was a terrible idea (the standing up part) and Dave was on his way to the ground when the nurse caught him and helped him to the nearest chair.
When the day arrived, Gidget drug Dave along to the nail salon… he appeared less than thrilled or amused. He took his seat and they started soaking his feet in the relaxing hot water. Dave began to settle down, and Gidget happily focused on her own mani/pedi as he was being worked on.
After a few minutes, the girl that was working on Dave came over and said something to the gal that was helping Gidget. She couldn’t understand what they said, but Gidget could see she was upset. She quickly turned her head around to see Dave with his head leaning back on the chair looking extremely pale.
She gave him a concerned look, and he responded with a look like he was either going to strangle his wife… or throw up! Gidget wasn’t sure what had happened, but she was on the border of worry and embarrassment. This was where she’d come for years to get her nails done… and planned to continue.
The technician looked up at Gidget and told her that Dave had become light-headed when an object the other girl was using on him cut into his toe, causing a few drops of blood. They were going to get him some water and see if it helped.
Gidget looked back at Dave and saw he was still a bit green. She felt helpless… and torn between guilt and humiliation!
Once he had a few sips of water, Dave began to regain his composure. He sucked it up and got through the rest of the poking and scraping… only to find that the foot massage part was pretty amazing.
Dave will never go back for a pedicure, and Gidget was sworn to secrecy. She did pretty good in keeping her word, and only told a few of their closest friends (one of which was me). Everyone was extremely sympathetic and kind (NOT) when they heard what happened to poor Dave… he does get points for trying to please Gidget… she’s pretty demanding from what I’ve heard! 
by BridgetChumbley on March 17, 2010
I’m ashamed to admit that I’m terrible about remembering the origin of many holidays. My kids will ask me why we celebrate Valentine’s Day or Halloween… and I never have a good answer.
I decided to do a little research to refresh my memory about St. Patrick, and I found out that he and the Saint I share a name with have close ties.
It seems that my parents couldn’t agree on a name if they were to have a girl. My dad had his heart set on a son, and the only possibility they had when they arrived at the hospital was Angela (I so can’t picture me as an ‘Angel’).
On the way to the delivery room, my dad told my mom if it was a girl, he wanted the name Bridget Anne. This was a name she actually liked (bonus-there was a Saint with that name she admired) so she agreed.
My dad didn’t get a son, but he did get a Bridget. I was 3 lbs. 8 oz. and looked like a monkey – but that’s what happens when you’re more than two months premature.
As I read about St. Patrick, I found the following information…
Brigid was the daughter of a pagan chieftain and a Christian slave who worked for him (her mother was said to have been baptized by Saint Patrick). Brigid was named after the goddess of healing, inspiration, craftsmanship and poetry.
Her mother was eventually freed from slavery… and one legend says Brigid returned to her father, who soon after arranged for her to be married.
Brigid refused the arrangement, and so she could maintain her virginity, went to Bishop Mel (a pupil of St. Patrick’s) where she took her first vows. St. Patrick later heard her final vows, and prophesied that she was destined for great things.
St. Brigid’s first convent started with seven nuns. At the invitation of Bishops,she’s said to have started convents all over Ireland.
For those who aren’t aware of St. Patrick’s origin, he was kidnapped and sold into slavery in Ireland when he was 16. For six years he tended flocks and experienced a spiritual awakening as well as divinely inspired visions. These visions and dreams are what led him to escape.
Eventually Patrick became a Priest… and later, a Bishop. During his lifetime he founded churches and schools, at least one college, and basically organized the Church of Ireland.
St. Patrick died around 492, and March 17th is the day chosen to celebrate his death. Where he died is uncertain, although his body was thought to have been buried under the Abbey of Downpatrick, in a shroud made for him by St. Brigid (who is also buried under the Abbey).
Christ beside me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ within me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me. ~ Saint Patrick
I didn’t know that Patrick and Brigid’s lives were intertwined, and since I’m Irish… I think it was about time I learned more about this holiday and its history.
Another thing I wasn’t aware of (shame on me) is how the shamrock ties in with St. Patrick’s Day. This is what I found:
In trying to teach his converts about the Trinity, St. Patrick held up a shamrock explaining that the three leaves represented the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, while the stem was the Godhead itself from which they proceeded. This is said to be the origin of the use of the Shamrock which is customarily worn on St. Patrick’s Day.
I hope there was something in this post you weren’t aware of… or maybe I’m the only one who is clueless about this stuff… ?
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.
~Irish Blessing
