According to Dictionary.com, a name is a word or a combination of words by which a person, place, or thing, a body or class, or any object of thought is designated, called, or known.

I have been known by many names in my life, and not a one of them, save Sabre, has been of my own choosing.

When I was born, I was given a name by my parents in the same manner we are all given our names, a tiny squalling baby and a simple question asked, “What is this child’s name?”  There was some dispute over the spelling of my first name, and in the end, I came out with a more common spelling than the one my mother wanted.  I was not aware of this until I was a pre-teen and my dying mother told me about the dispute.  I was going through the first of many changes to my name, changing my last name to the name of my new step-dad, forever dropping the dreaded last name I had been given at birth by a man who was barely a memory.  Moving from the back of the lunch line to the front.

My mother, attempting to remove any lingering memory of my biological father, even went so far as to have my birth certificate changed.  Why, I inquired, had she not changed the spelling of my first name at the same time?  She had no answer, and I never could understand why.

After her death, I dropped one little letter in my first name.  Little did I know how that one small action would follow me through my life.

Although the letter was gone in my mind, according to various legal channels, it was still there.  Ever the bane of my existence, I wasn’t able to have it legally removed because of my age.  Attempting to explain to my step-dad the reasoning, I was met with resistance.  The pittance required to complete a simple form was forever out of reach.  Time and again I would stare at my birth certificate and wonder why it had not been done when my last name was changed.

After I married, I applied for a new social security card with my new last name.  Again, not a name of my choosing, a name given to me by another person.  On the application, I dropped the one letter in my first name and waited to see.  When my new card arrived, I was delighted to see that they had complied with my request and I thought my dilemma over my name was finally over.

Florida is one of those states that will go with the name you identify with through usage.  My driver’s license reflected the change, my bank accounts now reflected the change, and even the ensuing divorce decree reflected the change.  Everything was, as far as I could tell, exactly as it needed to be.

When I relocated to Maryland several years later, there was some disagreement with the MVA as to the spelling of my name.  I produced my divorce documents and everything was settled.  Maryland accepted the correct spelling.

Virginia?  Not so much.  Once again I found myself staring at my driver’s license with annoyance.  One letter, one simple letter, yet it drove me mad.

Virginia informed me that if I wanted that one little letter removed, I would need to file paperwork and get a judge’s approval.  A judge?  To approve my name?  Offensive.  I put that on the list of things I needed to get done and got on with the business of life.

The more I looked, the more that one letter annoyed me.  And the more I looked, the more my last name annoyed me.  Three different last names in my lifetime, and not one of them was wanted by me.  I had kept my married name after my divorce because it was easier than reverting to my maiden name, given to me by my step-dad.  Easier than reverting to my birth name, given to me by my biological father.  It is simply easier when you have young children and everyone has a common name.

The kids are not so little anymore.  The common name was not as needed as it once was.  Less than two weeks ago, I filled out forms, went to the courthouse, paid the pittance and waited.

Today I received in the mail confirmation of my new name.  The one letter?  Gone.  The last name?  Changed.  To a name that is of my own choosing, borrowed from my great great grandmother.  To a name that fits me, suits me, and belongs to me.

What’s in a name?  Everything and nothing at all.  It simply depends on what view you choose to take.  For me, it’s an identity, a link to the past and a step towards my future.  And it’s mine.

I think I can live with that.

I am often surprised by the courtesy of others, as it seems to be such a strange thing these days. Most people are rushing around, oblivious to the world around them, rude and discourteous in ways that no longer really surprise me. Piss me off? Hell yes. Surprise me? Not so much. Courtesy? Now that surprises me!

This morning as I was coming into the office, desperately clutching my coat around me in a vain attempt to keep warm, I looked up and noticed someone standing at the door holding it open. I’m the only other person entering the building, it’s very obvious that he’s holding it open for me.

It should be understood that there really is no reason for him to hold the door open. Our doors, having been modified for wheel chairs, hold themselves open for a bit before slamming shut. But there he stood all the same, with a bright smile on his face and a cheerful, “Good morning!” I am not a morning person, not by a long shot, but who can grouse at that? I smiled brightly, wished him the same, and thanked him for holding the door.

The incident reminded me of something that happened Saturday, something so incredibly unexpected that it actually gave me a moment’s pause. I was stopping by the store before heading off to my hair appointment and spied the best spot in the lot, just waiting, open for me. As I begin to turn into the lane, a very large, slightly beat up pick-up truck heads for the exact same spot. Refusing to be miffed, I simply waited for him to finish parking so I could get around him and take another spot a couple of cars away. One gets used to the nab and grab aspects in the grocery store parking lot, and one can either get pissy, or just move along.

So I’m waiting and the truck just sort of stops in the middle of turning into the spot. Okay, now I’m becoming a little testy. First you steal my spot, but then you are going to hog up the entire lane before parking?

*hmph*

But then the oddest thing happens. The truck backs up, waves me in, and takes the less than ideal spot a few cars away. I pulled in and just sat there for a minute, wondering what had happened. That is simply not something you see these days. As I get out of the car, he and a little girl are getting out of his truck. I say thank you in my brightest voice, which, believe it or not can be very bright and chipper when I try. He responds with, “Hey, no problem, have a great day!”

The nerve of people, being polite when I expect rudeness! How is one to keep up?

So I come into work this morning and there’s no internet access. Now, normally, this isn’t such a big deal, right? Keeps a body focused on their work. Problem is, my work is internet related. No net, no worky.

Yeah, I was heartbroken, too.

Verizon apparently had a nice fat outage for most of the morning. So I decided perhaps I will just head on home and get some work done there. No sooner do I make up my mind to do so that I hear magic beeping from my computer. Alas, our net access is back. Just as I had my heart set on cruising home with the top down and enjoying the afternoon.

Bastids. Ruining a girl’s good time.

Anyhoo, I’m still at the office, thinking about getting some work done. But you know, so much of the day is shot, maybe I’ll just surf the web instead.

*blows kisses*