The other Irish saint
Raise a pint and air out your linens—St. Brigid is coming.
Early in our marriage my husband, Stephen, an Irish immigrant to the United States, was having trouble sleeping. He was happy enough with his new life in Chicago, but a combination of culture shock concerning all things American and simply missing the familiar ways of his homeland left him vaguely restless and disoriented, a state that appeared to manifest itself most powerfully at night, once the lights went out and the noise of the day died away.