So, it turns out that Tarragona, Spain holds an enormous festival in honor of Saint Tecla, who you may recall, gave her name to a small, but noticeable group of European women, a genus of butterfly found in India, and the peasant class in Steven Brust’s Taltos series of books, which I have not read. You may also recall that my middle name is Teckla, which comes to me from my Swedish great-grandmother Theckla (who dropped the ‘h’ in solidarity with me; thanks Grandma!), and it must be a fairly popular name for Swedish women of a certain age, because Swedish women of a certain age, when they learn that’s my middle name, immediately recognize me as Swedish, even though most of my ancestors came from Germany*.
Anyway, back to Tarragona, it seems that this festival goes on for days and there’s dancing and music and giant puppets and fireworks and arms.
Yes, arms. For Tarragona is the home to the relic which is the arm of St. Tecla, which, if wikipedia is to be believed, is given a parade every year and processed through the streets!
You may wonder, is Tarragona really a city capable of appropriately honoring the woman I’m indirectly named after?
Perhaps the easiest way to judge is to look at the other big festival Terragona is known for. After all, if they have one festival for St. Tecla and the other called, say, “National Day of Moroseness,” maybe they don’t quite have the right attitude towards festivities. But, no, the other big festival in Terragona is the big Dixieland Jazz Festival they hold each year.
Tarragona, though I have never visited you, I secretly love you.
And, in Spain, in general, according to wikipedia Tecla “is sometimes facetiously referred to as the patron saint of computers (teclado means ‘keyboard’).”
Well, shoot. I say that if she can facetiously be the patron saint of computers, she sure as hell can be the facetious patron saint of bloggers.
But you can see why it’s probably necessary for me to go to Spain, specifically Terragona, and raise support for extending her duties to include overseeing blogging.
*Bless my German ancestors’ hearts. If there’s one this we can discern from looking back at both sides of my family, my German ancestors were invariably farting around being grouchy and headstrong when some brash, opinionated, but utterly witty and funny woman would waltz into their lives and charm their pants off.