“Hello. My name is [insert your name]”. This is the beginning of a conversation with a someone we are meeting for the first time. Or, when we make a phone call we say, “this is [insert your name]. I am calling to inquired about xyz”. And what do we say when we see a baby for the first time? You’ve got it! “Oh what a sweet little one. What is her/his name?” Our names identify us as unique. They give us a place in society. Some believe that a name defines a person. But I will leave that for another conversation.
My family tends to assign names to inanimate objects, especially those with which we interact often. As with many people, all of my family members assign names to their cars. My grandson’s Mustang is Natasha. My sister’s Lexus is Pearl. My new SUV is Avandra – she is so named as Avandra is the goddess of Freedom, Adventure, and Travel – so the name is fitting, of course. (Avandra and I recently completed her first road trip. We shared 2,997 miles together on this little jaunt.)
The deck on the back of my house is the Urban Oasis. Mary Ann’s backyard is Little Provence. We often text or email each other and mention we spent time in these spaces. The women in my family have an annual get-together early in December. We call ourselves the Tinsel Tribe.
When mom was taking physical therapy after the third hospital stay within a year’s time, she was learning to use her walker. She commented that she was working very hard on her PT as she wanted to walk without the aid of the walker. Her physical therapist told her “I am sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but you are going to be married to that thing for the rest of your life.” We laughed.
I told mom, if she was going to be married to the walker, she had better give him a name. From that point forward, it became George. Then she named her transport wheelchair Rosella. The names became so commonplace that the hospice nurses and aides and the entire family just talked about George and Rosella as if they were additional people. Lily, the aide who bathed mom would say, “Get George. It’s time to take a shower.” My cousin pondered, “where is Rosella? Let’s take your mom out to the Urban Oasis.” And so it went.
To be honest, I have to take a breath occasionally when I realize other people don’t name their inanimate props the way we do. It seems impersonal. On the other hand, I guess we seem a little crazy. But think about it. Isn’t it just as meaningful to say, “have you seen Alex?” as it is to say “I can’t find my phone?”
Silver Sage Sisters 