The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

To Name a Few

"Invalid Entry" 

It's a tricky business, coming up with a name. I have had some fairly excrutiating moments trying to name kittens and puppies, not to mention the almost war M. and I had when trying to name our then unborn child. You never think about this growing up, that all the fantasies you have about naming your babies will mean nothing when there's another opinion to be considered. He was adamant about some of my suggestions, telling me that Tristan was not allowed because in France, people would call the child 'sad', or how he hated the Irish spelling of some of my favourite names because no one would ever be able to pronounce them. I found these arguments ridiculous, but then, it was his child, too. That we arrived at Katriona Amélie without much of a struggle was a bit of amazement for me. Kat, for Kathleen, my grandmother, mixed with Fiona (I liked it, he hated it, I snuck it in) and Amélie for one of our favourite films, and my great grandmother. I wanted a bit o'Irish, and he wanted a little French. We made it work.

I know people who have chosen names upon hearing they're pregnant, only to decide the baby doesn't look the name they have chosen, prompting them to abandon the name and keep the baby as a Jane or John Doe until they could figure out what they looked like. I have never understood this. How does a baby look like a name? Don't they all look like senior citizens in a swaddling cloth?

But, if I think about it, this has some merit. I worked with a girl a few years ago whom I constantly referred to as 'Jill'. Since her name was Erin, and had never been anything different, this made very little sense, but I realized that my subconcious saw her as a Jill, and she was usually gracious about it whenever I called out to her by the name. If I visualize her face now, I still see Jill.

***

"I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage."--Anne Shirley, Anne of Green Gables.

***

It's almost always a mistake to let your children name the family pet. My parents gave me the honour of doing so when I was eleven and as a result, my cat ended with the moniker E.T. Yes, after the alien in the movie. He was my best friend for nearly seventeen years, the only soul who dried my tears with the gentle nudge of his nose, the tickle of a whisker. I hated having to tell people his name as we both grew older, because it stopped making sense once I hit my late teens. It wasn't cute to most people, not in the way it was when I first got him. Instead, it became something of an albatross, that name, and I took to calling him Teeber. Some of my friends later on in his life never knew him by any other name. If I think about him now, ten years after his death, I still want to crumple in a heap of tears and mascara. He was the best friend I ever had, really, the one I could depend upon. That I sound like a delusional cat lady to some doesn't bother me much. If you don't understand it, then you've never really loved, I say.

***

To my left, atop the old steamer trunk, is a small stack of papers. Old receipts, discarded bills, résumés, that sort of thing, and on the very top is a list of names written on hastily ripped paper, the back of an insurance form: Hadley, Finley, Alyce, Grace, Lorelai, Maeve, Eila, Hennessy, Flannery, Adara, Kiara, Nolan, Madden, Riordan, Lennon, Grady, Malachy...The handwriting is mine, printing actually, large, blocky printing in upper case letters. I had comprised the list for my sister who was pregnant at the time after she asked if I could possibly suggest something for the child in her womb, sex unknown. I wrote it out, choosing as many names as I could that I thought would appeal to her, and I copied them into an email and sent it off. She responded that night saying she really liked Eila, that she was secretly wishing for a girl, and that her husband liked it too. I was happy because it had been my favourite all along, and I too hoped she'd have a girl.

A few days later, she lost the baby.

I know she wants to try again, and I think it will happen when it should, but I also think I need to get rid of this list. It's tainted, somehow. I cannot conceive of forwarding a list of names which were already considered for a baby that never was. Eila died, in a way. Should there be a new baby, it will deserve a name which has not been smudged with loss and sadness.

***

My porn name would be Suzie Bonny. It doesn't really work. Suzie was a bassett hound who ultimately destroyed my parent's couch by consuming half of it, or so the story goes. My guess is she ripped the stuffing out, as I cannot imagine a dog eat springs and the like. Suzie had issues, though. They got rid of her right after the couch incident.

***

I was supposed to be named Crystal, and am very grateful my father usurped my mother's power and gave me a good, Irish name. Tara, meaning rocky crag or hill, or the hill where the kings met. I prefer it to Crystal, no matter the hardness associated with it. I see Crystal as the sort of name belonging to a cheerleader, or a girl in plastic heels swinging around a pole. This may not be fair, but it's what I see when I picture the name. No, I'm definitely more rocky craglike. If you knew me, I guarantee you'd agree. I do not own a pair of plastic heels. I would hurt myself on a pole. Interpret that as you will.

***

A porn name using your middle name and former street name. Well, that'd make me Grace Clappison.

Sounds like a venereal disease, doesn't it now?

***

My never born son, had I been given free reign to name him what I wished, might have been Pierce or Riordan,one of the names I gave my sister (which, ultimately, she did not need). Middle name might have been Philippe, after M's dad, just to appease my man and to honour his long-dead father. Another girl? I don't know, maybe something like Orla, which M. would hate with intensity, and a middle name like Sandrine or Angeline, not really fussy on which. Keeping the theme, I suppose. I've never been much for names like Madison or Rachel. I don't like trendy or plain often preferring the pretty and the uncommon. Classic is good, too. Never known a Mary I didn't like. I've never liked a Lisa, though. I wonder what that's all about.

***

There's a red squirrel who rules the backyard and we've taken to calling him Zippy. He looks like a Zippy.