Tag: names

Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

The markers of familiarity intrigue me. I like to walk and friends and strangers comment on seeing me walking around town. People often mention they know me by my hat and its flair. My flair reveals my interests in writing, coffee, beer, the Steelers, and being retired military and living in Oregon.

On my end, I know several dogs who come into the coffee shop by name but I don’t know their owners’s names. People socialize differently with animals. The baristas and other customers often talk to the dogs by name. But even when people talk to the owners, names are rarely used, a facet of behavior which intrigues me.

Things are changing, though. This week, I learned that sweet Lenny’s owner is a retired sociology professor. Happy and social Sugar’s people are Thomas and Alice. Bear — who lives up to his name with his size but is a friendly, relaxed pup — belongs to Norm and Sarah. In this way, gaps are closing, and we’re all becoming friendlier and more open.

Today, Jessica didn’t know my name or regular coffee order. She did remember my Co-op number and knew that I was Brenda on that account. She and I enjoyed a good laugh about it.

Little interactions like all of these help enliven the coffee shop writing life for me.

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Satyrdaz Wandering Thoughts

“My name is Brenda,” I said, with a touch of happy humor.

My current coffee haunt is RoCo. The local Food Co-Op owns RoCo. Members of the co-op, we get a dividend back from the co-op at the year’s end. And guess what? All you need to do is give the RoCo barista your name and number. That’s what I was doing.

“Is Brenda your wife, Michael?” Kat asked.

“Yes.” I released a small scoff. “The funny thing is, she doesn’t go by Brenda. She uses a name that she made up a long time ago, so it always makes us laugh when we reveal our account name.”

Kat grinned through the entire tale. “I like that.”

It’s the small things which give us spirit, innit?

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Another Book Dream

I was sitting somewhere, familiar to me in the dream, but unfamiliar to me in real life. Several acquaintances came up and chatted with me. On a white wall to my left were six pieces of art. One woman asked, “What are those.”

I explained that they were books in progress with a smile, that needed to be finished. She selected one, took it down, and started flipping through it. Suddenly she started. “That character has my name.”

Yes, I acknowledged. “You were in mind when I named the character.”

She continued through the pages. “I like this. You should finish it.”

I nodded. “That’s the plan.”

She passed the piece to another person who asked for it. The second person went through it and said, “I like this, too.”

She handed it to me. I flipped it open and began going through it, then stopped. “I know how this ends. It just came to me.”

Both stared at me. “It just came to you?” one asked. “Just like that?”

“Yes. I’m going to finish this now.”

I spent the rest of the dream writing and rewriting that book. It took some weird turns. At one point, I stopped to watch golfers. Green, brown, and orange golf balls were in use, and they were playing on a mountain, hitting the balls down toward greens in valleys far below. After one teed off, the watching gallery emitted a long and low moan of appreciation and then began hitting golf balls down into the valley.

“What are they doing?” a woman seated with me asked.

I smiled. “They’re hitting golf balls down. I think they’re supposed to help locate the original ball.”

“How?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

I went back to work on the book. Sometimes as I worked on it, the print on the page was purple. Other times, the pages flared in bright purple. Yes, purple prose came to me in the dream, to giggles.

By the dream’s end, the novel was finished. I awoke very satisfied.

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The 11/22 Dream

Young, I was outside at a gathering surrounded by friends and many other festive souls. I was waiting to begin a trip, but I didn’t know any details. Seated at a small white table with matching chairs, people would come by and say hello or they’d pass and I’d call out greetings. It was all very carefree and relaxed. At one point, I decided to make some of my hair light blue. Then, tiring of it, I’d wiped the blue hair almost completely out, leaving just a streak of light blue.

On the white table were three tall glasses with ice. I knew that these had been Long Island Ice Teas, and I’d consumed them. A fourth glass was 3/4 full with another Long Island Ice Tea, but I’d decided not to drink it. Besides those was a flat white napkin thick with light blue; that had been my hair before I wiped it off.

I’d met a new person, a young man named Robert. We chatted and got along. I started calling him Rob or Robby. Then I heard someone called him Bobby. I asked him about it and he said, “Yes, I prefer Bobby.” I said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bobby was going away, to the same place where I was going. But Bobby had all of his details about when he was going and how, and he was leaving the next morning. People asked me, “Why does Bobby know but you don’t know. That doesn’t make sense.” I shrugged it off but it began to bother me.

Several things I did know was that I was leaving on 11/22, and that was a week away, and I was flying, and someone else was making my arrangements. I decided to try to find out more. I brought out my laptop and then inserted my hard drive, which I’d removed for safety. But then, I lost interest in knowing, thinking, they will tell me and there’s no hurry.

Dream end.

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He Who’s Like God

My name is Michael. It’s supposed to mean ‘he who’s like God’ in Hebrew. I don’t know how I got the name. Mom blamed Dad; Dad blamed Mom.

I’m mixed about it as a name. Overall, it’s a good name but there’s just so many of us out there.

I’ve used different names at different times for different reasons. Just the other day, I used a different name when I was talking to my wife. I was on a DIY project to fix the oven. As a dedicated Budgeteer, I’m not a noted handyman. But man, I sure do try. So, as my wife was going out the door, I told her, “I vow that this oven will be fixed upon your return, or my name’s not Patrick J. Carpenter.” My name is not Patrick J. Carpenter, of course. That’s the humor of it. I hope.

As a stumbling novelist, I often consider adopting a different name. There are many writers out there known as Michael Seidel. Many are successful and popular. Some are German. There’s also a weather man named Mike Seidel. I think he might be retired. Either way, all those other Michael Seidels cast a shadow over this Michael Seidel. I since speculated, maybe I’ll seek publication as Taylor Sands. Except I looked up Taylor Sands, and that’s a porn star.

Back in the think tank, I changed Sands to Rush. Taylor Rush is a successful doctor. Other options were chased, like Taylor Chase, and rejected after research. For instance, there are 90+ profiles for Taylor Chase in LinkedIn. I finally came up with Taylor Booking.

Taylor Booking, novelist. That might work.

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Frida’s Wandering Thoughts

We share our house with two floofs. Both are cats, strays that decided to call our place home. One is Papi, the ginger blade, also referred to as Meep and Butter Butt. The alpha cat is Tucker (pronounced Tuck-ah), a black and white mixed fur cat with shades of Maine Coon. He’s older by several years.

Tucker has recently taken to not responding to me. Not responding, that is, until I mention Papi’s name. I can and do say, “What’s up, Tucker, are you hungry, what do you want,” etc., and get nothing. But if I say, “What is it, Papi?” Whoa, Tucker turns and marches over.

In my mind, I attribute this whole thing to Tucker trying to trick me into thinking he’s Papi. When I call Tucker by Papi’s name, Tucker is thinking, “I did it! He thinks I’m the other cat.”

As anyone who lives with an animal knows, this is basic flooflighting.

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Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

The new barista’s name is Cherish.

The Neurons played the 1966 Association song in my mental music stream as soon as I saw the name. I wanted to know if she was really named Cherish or was it what she put on her name tag? Did her parents name her Cherish at birth? It could be that she didn’t like her birth name and decided she was Cherish.

None of it is my business. I’m just curious. I believe, though, that she is the first individual named Cherish I’ve ever personally met.

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

Calvin is a local barista. He* dyed his hair pink last week. For the past several days, his name tag has Charlotte on it.

My brain reacted, “Charlotte? Really?”

Then it said, “Charlotte. Okay.”

His name is Charlotte, and my name is Michael. It’s that simple.

*While some people specify their pronouns on their name tags, I’ve not seen anything on Charlotte’s name tag.

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Floofnomen

Floofnomen – The name by which an animal or animals refer to people. Origins: Roman empire.

In Use: “Many people mistakenly believe that cats reduce people to their roles, i.e. can-opener or spare human one, but almost all floofs give human specific floofnomen, although the floofnomen can often translate to things like ‘primary food giver’ and ‘the door man’.”

In Use: “Michael didn’t know it but his floofnomen among his cats was Mrupew, which was like an amusing sound to him, but which translates to ‘warm body person’ in Floofish.”

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Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

I have trouble with names. For example, Calvin, a coffee barista who I’ve known for over two years. I call him Tyler. He’s a Tyler to me, not a Calvin. Tyler fits him better.

At least in my head.

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