A Sense Of Self

You'll see that I've been tinkering around a little bit with the graphics, while I'm in here reading others' more fascinating blogs, I might as well make myself busy... Well, it saves me from attempting to tidy the house!

I was looking for something to highlight the title, an image, and I understand that a new film of Oscar Wilde's A Woman Of No Importance is being made in 2009. I found this image of Scarlett Johansson under that title, but it turns out that she's not in the film at all...pity. Still, I think she 'pretties' things up a little around here, don't you? And the power of pretty can never be underestimated... I shall return to this theme later in time, no doubt for it is a subject close to my heart!

Yesterday, I tried to give you an insight into my coterie, the family - a close nuclear bunch really. The only character I missed out is The Cat - officially Jet, unofficially Zebedee, Zebou, Zeeb, Blackus Cattus, Le Chat Noir, and so on - It changes on a daily basis. Can you guess his colour?

It's just that en famille, we make names up at random, and no-one gets his/her/its proper name - Ever! My son since an early age has called me by the nickname my husband, GJ, calls me - I dare not repeat it here, for it is very childish, even animalistic, (but I have spent much of my adult and mum-life not ever being called 'Mum'... and having passers-by stare at me in the street, when my son as a toddler called out for me).

Hence GJ for my OH, Griz for my son, and over the years he has also responded to the following: Seamus, BatEars, (my mum made us stop calling him that and said he'd get a complex!), Horace, Hortensky (at one stage we did trick my parents into believing that if he were a girl, he would be called Hortense!), Piglit, Pumpkin, The Boy (my proud parents named him thus), and Grizwald!

So when Stinking Billy asked me whether my nom de plume, Fhina, is my real name, I had to be honest, and reply:

"Well Fhina, pronounced as with Ribena (with 'ee'), is a bit of a nom de plume.

I feel akin with the lives of our Celtic and Pagan forebears, and Fhina is a bit of a forgotten name from that time. I picked this info up somewhere:

In Goidelic (Gaelic, but could also stand for Celtic) mythology, Lasair ("flame") was the eldest of three sisters (along with Inghean Bhuidhe and Latiaran, daughters of Douglas and Scathach) associated with the harvest.

She represented the summer and was the goddess of growing crops. She had long black hair and wore a silver crown, jewelry and armbands. Her home was called Red Castle. A god named Flann brought her the Rose of Sweetness (a flower that never dies), the Comb of Magnificence and the Girdle of Truth.

After Christianization, she was turned into a saint. Her feast day was May 1.

Alternative: Lassar, Fhína ("flaming wine"), Lasairíona ("flaming wine"), Crobh Dearg ("red claws")

Flaming Wine sounded pretty exotic to me, and I am fond of Gluehwein, and the fruit of the grape more generally, so Fhina has stuck - Hope you like it!"



Doesn't it seem that there so much of our heritage that we have lost, forgotten, or perhaps have chosen to let go as we moved on, "progressed", grew up - Names and history are lost in time, not
always passed down through oral history or storytelling, and therefore lying somehow out of time and out of mind, beyond our grasp... I'd like us to retain something of our past, to learn from it and not lose its lessons...

And still our sense of self is very important to us - Our youth 'tag' walls with graffiti, some of us want to see our name in lights (or print), we tattoo our names on others to mark them, we try to replicate ourselves, in some respects in our dear children..., we wear jewellery with our names or the initial letters, we even choose to blog to mark our position in time and in life...

When John Keats died, his request was that his grave marker should read, ""Here lies One Whose Name was writ in Water." He wanted no other adornment, he did not believe he would be remembered, or sought after. He did not realise that others would read, nay devour, his poesie, follow in his footsteps - as the girl in this photo has done, to experience something of his life, his loves.

So, in conclusion, I must leave you with the immortal words of the bard, "This above all

Have a fabulous weekend, friends...