That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. (Shakespeare, der.)
I’ve been musing on names the last two days. I finally learned the name of a woman I’ve been seeing around the office, and it just doesn’t suit her. But of course when kids are born, their parents don’t know what they’re going to grow up to be like, and they thus pick names they like, or family names, or names they hope the kids will grow up to be like, or whatever. So this woman’s parents had no idea that the name they so lovingly chose for their daughter would be a little odd, just based on what she looks like, how she carries herself, how she speaks, etc. Now granted that I don’t know her at all, so perhaps I’m wrong and her name suits her beautifully.
Plus, her name is a song from the 60’s, so I’ve had that silly song going around in my head for two days, and I only know a couple of lines of it, so it’s very annoying. The ear worm, I mean, not her name. And no, it’s not Windy, and that’s all I’m going to say. Okay, it’s also not Saffron. There. Besides, I know more of both of those songs than I do of my current ear worm.
And then I had a brief net meeting after lunch today, and as we were waiting for the database to open, I commented that I was glad my mother hadn’t named me Patience, because I have none. Boy, that would have really sucked! I don’t particularly like it when parents name their children (usually girls) after traits they hope their children will possess. Just think–my mother could have named me Patience Grace, and I’d have had to listen to all those not-funny jokes every time I get annoyed because things are happening too slowly or not at all, and oy, the comments I’d hear when I fell or bumped into something or fell up the stairs or slipped on nothing and landed on my butt. Of course, my co-worker stated that I named myself Faith, and that I have plenty, but that’s different. I named myself.
Now you’ll probably be asking yourself, “Isn’t this the woman who said she wanted to have 4 sons so she could name them John, Paul, George, and Ringo?” And you’d be right. And Ringo’d probably think I didn’t love him as much as the others, but he’d be wrong, because Ringo! Or I could have chosen their last names, and named my non-existent 4 sons Lennon, McCartney, Harrison, and Starr, and that might have been better for John, Paul, and George, but poor Ringo would be even more miserable.
And yes, I still want a pet Peeve, even though my husband is thoroughly opposed to it. I guess I’ll have to get a fish. Or a pet rock. It can be my Peeve.
I think that the names parents give their children should be temporary. Like placeholders, I suppose, that when the children become adults at the age of 18 (or 17, in the wizarding world), they can choose to keep or add to or get rid of altogether. I didn’t get rid of any of my names, even though I still don’t feel like a Virginia; I just plopped Faith down in front. And overall, I’m happy with Faith. Are there days where I wonder what I’d be like if I had chosen Claire? Because that was one of the options I was considering. Not really, because Faith is so perfect for me. And my sister, the incomparable Izzybella, not infrequently refers to me as “Oh ye of little” and I think that’s funny.
So now every time I see this particular woman at work, I’m going to be thinking about what I would name her if it were my decision, and if she knew what I was thinking, she’d probably be extremely glad she doesn’t know who I am. I don’t blame her.
Names are such funny things. I mean, all due respect to Shakespeare, and all, but a rose might smell just as sweet no matter what you called it (although if it were named Pungent Pit Sweat, I’d probably take its sweetness for granted and keep my nose far away from it), but the word rose is only beautiful because of what it stands for.
Did any of this make sense? If not, please pardon me. Lay the blame for this nonsensical posting on the fact that I’m mentally singing the two or three lines of a very annoying 60’s song.