So, yesterday was St. Andrew’s Day, the feast day of the brother of the Apostle Peter and the man who introduced Peter to Jesus*. I don’t know why Scotland chose him as their patron saint, but they did that in their declaration of independence, also called the Declaration of Arbroath, just over seven hundred years ago. (How time flies.)
I have begun thinking we should celebrate the day here in the States to the same extent we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day because the Scots contributed at least as much to American culture as the Irish did, if not more. Or if we’d prefer a holiday with less religious baggage, maybe celebrate Burns Night instead. Will we ever? I really don’t know.
But I do know a pedestrian bridge in Dublin, Ohio was lit up blue yesterday. Hanukkah (which main colors are blue and white) doesn’t start until the 18th, and Dublin likes to hearken back to Scottish placenames and references almost as much as it does Irish, so I’ll choose to believe they were celebrating St. Andrew until proven otherwise.
Okay. So you longtimers are already aware there are several interesting coincidences around Rory McCann.
His surname: Strictly translates as “son of wolf cub,” may be interpreted as “son of hound” given there is a branch of the McCann family that ended up in Italy, and there’s an Italian word that sounds a lot like Cann which means “dog.”
His birthplace: Glasgow was founded by St. Mungo, so go the stories, and Mungo’s birth name was Kentigern. Variously the name has been translated as “hound lord,” “hound prince,” or “hound king.”
One of his favorite natural hangouts: The name of Glen Coe, where Rory used to camp sometimes during his lean years, translates as “dog valley.”
With me so far? You remember all these, right? Okay. I just heard about a new one today.
I don’t know what the fuck I did with the photos but I saw them first on Facebook, shared by their owner. I may have simply shared them to the BMC Facebook page and then lost track of their owner. But apparently, during his time living in Iceland, Rory participated in a local choir. This guy had photos of him. It was definitely him.
I found out today that the Icelandic name of that choir translates as… are you ready for this…
…I’mma go sit down now.
Wait. I’m already sitting down.
Fuck. Never mind. Whatever.
*I am not religious, but that was not always the case, and I was not only a believer but also actively interested in the ins and outs of Christianity — which was how I ended up losing my belief, so that should tell you something. “Oh, a bunch of men voted on what books went into the Bible? Tell me more.” I don’t care who believes in what as long as they don’t force it on me, though. I’m agnostic, not anti-religion per se.