Our House needs a name.
We have been debating this since we moved in to the new house. We can’t keep calling it the new house indefinitely. Eventually, it is bound to not be so new. I would rather not call it something like, “The Money Pit,” because that’s rather depressing, but “The House on Willard Street” is so bland, and “The Blue House,” is okay, but…we already lived in “The Little Blue House,” many years ago. We have sort of waffled between “the Blue House,” “The House on Willard Street,” and “The Homestead,” which sort of made sense when I had a thriving garden, and was canning, making jams and jellies, and baking all of the time, but now I am not doing as much of that, and it feels a little bit like a slap in the face, sometimes. Maybe I just need to get over that. Or get my butt in gear, and get back to doing some of that stuff.
In the past, we have named our homes. I like that. We like to add the tagline to invitations, greeting cards, videos, etc. So videos might be “A Little Blue House production,” or “coming to you live from Little House in the Big Yard!” and parties might be held at “The Homestead.” We have toyed with calling the new house something silly like “The Loud House,” because “We’re not yelling ~ we’re Italian!”* But then, that show, “The Loud House” came out, and it kind of made me wonder if someone overheard one of our conversations in public about the whole “we’re not yelling” thing. Also, of course, sometimes, we are yelling, which I guess everyone does, so then it seems like a lousy name for a house altogether ~ but we would mean it in the jovial way, of course. We figured we should translate in to Italian, for maximum effect. Or perhaps German, just because…I don’t know. Why not? At that point, you know, the kids once learned, from a craft kit they received as a gift, how to say the phrase “sparkling unicorn” in German, and ran around barking it at people, just because they liked the sound of it, and how it startled people when you yelled it at them. So…we could go with “Sparkling Unicorn House,” in German. But I don’t think we will.
I remember, when I was a little girl, as we were driving to Grandma and Grandpa’s house in McSherrystown, Pennsylvania, we would pass a house along the way that was called “Gittings Ha-Ha.” I always wondered what it meant. Did someone get the last laugh? Was their house a big joke? Maybe it wasn’t really a big, fancy house, and it just looked like one from the street. Perhaps, the joke was on us, all the time. I guess I may never know.
Hopefully, however, we will be able to decide what to call our own home. We could call it “Frank.” It’s a good name. I mean, it was my Papa’s name, and two of my Uncle’s, as well. No?
We’ll keep working on it, I guess.
For now, I will just sit here, watching the rain fall.
Inside the house.
I guess we won’t be calling it, “Impenetrable.”
*EDIT: It occurs to me, now, we were probably also yelling because I’m hard of hearing, and now I have a hearing aid, so I’m not sure how this changes things, in this regard: “Of course we’re yelling ~ our mom’s hard of hearing!” LOL This ~ and the fact that I am sitting here with a foot that still doesn’t want to work, watching rain fall inside my house, as well as a number of other things that I won’t mention, because, frankly, they don’t bear mentioning ~ brings to mind one of all-time favourite Carrie Fisher quotes:“If my life wasn’t funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.” Indeed. And so, we laugh. Perhaps, Gittings Ha-Ha is beginning to make sense, after all.