That’s the only excuse why I got only four out of ten right on this quiz. No, I’m not Irish–not even black Irish–but my first name is: Deirdre. Depending on where you look it up, it means the troubler, mother of sorrows, and a few other disturbing meanings (thanks, Ma).
Seriously, I’ve always loved my name. Google the name Deirdre and my website will come up sixth on the list.
Here’s the story of the name Deirdre that I grew up with as a kid:
The most beautiful woman in ancient Ireland, Deirdre was bethrothed to the High King Conchobhar Mac Nessa but she fell in love with his nephew Naoise. Deirdre and Naoise eloped to Scotland where they lived a blissful exile for many years. By offering forgiveness, Conchobhar tricked them into returning to Ulster where Naoise was slain by the jealous Conchobhar. Deirdre threw herself from Conchobhar’s chariot rather than live with the man who had caused Naoise’s death. It was said that her grave was near to Naoise’s and that a yew tree grew from each plot. The yew trees grew toward one another till their branches intertwined, joining the two lovers even after death.
Years later, when my sister was buying a house, her Irish real estate agent informed me that the true Deirdre was a nun who got herself beheaded for her trouble. If it’s all the same to everyone else, I’ll keep the version where I get to be the pretty, pretty princess, thank you.
To all those Irish lads and lassies, whether it’s for today or always. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
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