Over the years, my friends and I have taken to creating themes around the simplest things just for the fun of it. No matter who starts the raucous, we all fall in with our contribution to the banter, both written and spoken. Occasionally, nicknames are paired with the madness of the moment; we aspire to tag ourselves and each other with just the right one. I’ve had lots of nicknames since I was a child. My paternal grandfather had one for me that I only came to understand the meaning of when I was in college. My maternal grandparents had pet names for each of their four grandchildren that they called us until the day they each died. I still have the last birthday card my grandmother sent me 15 days before she passed; it was addressed to her Dearest Dee. This same set of grandparents also had many terms of endearment for each other that always sounded so intimate when they uttered them. I now understand that those names were derived from the intricacies of their life together, all the hurts and pleasures neatly tied up into sweet nothings. When my grandma passed, I inherited their cookbook. Amongst the worn pages of faded printed recipes are handwritten ones that they created from ingredients they liked, grocery lists and to my delight pers
onal notes signed with nicknames that I can still hear their voices speak. Each time I open the book, they greet me from in between the sacred space of the exact two pages where they were placed by their hands.
I grow a little nostalgic thinking about my many nicknames. Each was and is distinct and lovingly individualized, nothing like this nonsense that the tabloid news shows cook up when two people form a couple. Those who take the creative license to merge a few letters of one name with a few letters of another then pronounce the new moniker to the viewing audience obviously have a little something to learn about amour. When spoken, there is no romantic or intimate ring to these tags. Ridicupid (ridiculous and insipid)? Now that’s a match made in heaven that more accurately describes the unholy matrimony of names that have no business being joined together. Let’s put them asunder people and try to remember that these folks are individual beings not a combo with names either their momma’s gave them or they selected. Use them.
Flurries were in the forecast this past weekend and the girls, who I affectionately refer to as chicklets, were planning an outing. Snow bunny names appeared quick as a
bunny to replace our real signatures when each responded to the initiator of the zaniness at hand. I racked my brain for something cute, clever and fitting as flashes from the bunny trail, references to hip hop, the bunny hop and the like skipped through my head to use in the emails we would exchange in preparation for the gathering. And then it hit me…just call me snuggle bunny, or snuggle-b and hip, hop, a hippity hop, and don’t stop while you…
keep your peepers open! ®
onal notes signed with nicknames that I can still hear their voices speak. Each time I open the book, they greet me from in between the sacred space of the exact two pages where they were placed by their hands.I grow a little nostalgic thinking about my many nicknames. Each was and is distinct and lovingly individualized, nothing like this nonsense that the tabloid news shows cook up when two people form a couple. Those who take the creative license to merge a few letters of one name with a few letters of another then pronounce the new moniker to the viewing audience obviously have a little something to learn about amour. When spoken, there is no romantic or intimate ring to these tags. Ridicupid (ridiculous and insipid)? Now that’s a match made in heaven that more accurately describes the unholy matrimony of names that have no business being joined together. Let’s put them asunder people and try to remember that these folks are individual beings not a combo with names either their momma’s gave them or they selected. Use them.
Flurries were in the forecast this past weekend and the girls, who I affectionately refer to as chicklets, were planning an outing. Snow bunny names appeared quick as a
bunny to replace our real signatures when each responded to the initiator of the zaniness at hand. I racked my brain for something cute, clever and fitting as flashes from the bunny trail, references to hip hop, the bunny hop and the like skipped through my head to use in the emails we would exchange in preparation for the gathering. And then it hit me…just call me snuggle bunny, or snuggle-b and hip, hop, a hippity hop, and don’t stop while you…keep your peepers open! ®
those books are so special! would love to get a peek!
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