What's in a Name, and Syd (and/or Christine)

Thinking about the many  nicknames bestowed upon me (Bubby, Bub, Martha, Diva, Scoots, Scooter, FNP, and others that can't be mentioned in front of small children), I marvel at the creative nature of most of my friends and family. We've enjoyed jousting with movie lines (which will undoubtedly be a future post soon) and jostled for communication positions with accents and dialects (most of the time taking on the persona of a character from pop culture). But the nicknames we give to each other have stood the test of time, and stuck like glue. Or like floating pieces of sticky notes drifting aimlessly through the cosmos of years until it lands squarely on your forehead, like Lane (played by John Cusack) in the classic cult movie Better Off Dead. We look at the sticky note, queerly, not sure it is real, take it off our head to examine it thoroughly; it's heft, it's color, and how the writing curves and dances, or it might be  jagged or angular. We smile, ever so slightly, upon reading our nickname on the sticky note.  We start to like it. For the name is ours, and it's unique, and in some way, it represents us.

But what is in a name? What power does it hold? Or does it? William Shakespeare posed the question, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."  In other words, a rose is a rose is a rose. By naming it we gave a flower meaning, life, a voice to speak with by its aromatic fragrance. You can't really talk (or smell) around that!

I don't know what Billy Shakes meant that when he wrote the above (as I wasn't there or in his head) but I like to think his simple words are echoed in what Katherine Paterson wrote, "A name we give something shapes our attitude to it."  Does it? Would Batman or Spiderman provide the same rush of adrenaline that fear-filled villains experience who dare to cross their paths,  if they were called Blind Survivor Animal Man or Long Legged Crawling Thing Boy? For that matter, would the simple words of Spider or Snake generate anxiety and thoughts of dread in the hearts of many if they were named Floppy and Squiggly? We can't answer these questions because we've always known these animals by their "given" names. But who gave them their names? Why did they choose those sounds in the specific morphological order that they did?

"Food for thought. Chow down." (quote from Chris Stevens, AKA Chris in the morning, played by John Corbett in the cult TV show Northern Exposure from the early 90s. Northern Exposure was affectionally called  NX by my cousins and the late great Bob! Cheers Bob)

I grew up naming my cars (all twelve). To go through all of the cars with their accompanying names would be a trial on  my memory, to say the least. However,  some of my favorites were Waldo Pepper, Elly, Josie, Chris, and Sydney. This behavior  to christen vehicles was inspired by watching the movie "Christine" (book by Stephen King) starring a gorgeous long finned 1958 Plymouth Fury that was alive, and evil, terrorizing a small town. To be completely truthful, I named the first car I bought "Chris" in honor of the great movie/book. The name gave the car personality, a heart, and feelings. It bonded me to the vehicle so it would hopefully protect me. Not unlike Christine...

Chris (Back), Me  (center), Syd (Front)

Story Time (Syd): Her curves caught my eye as soon as my peripheral vision was jolted left. She was sleek, not loud and obnoxious like the others. But, just because she wasn't loud didn't mean she wouldn't demand her presence to be known. That she did naturally. 

I spun my blue Mustang coupe (Chris) around on the four lane  highway in Scotia, NY (where I grew up and will always call home) and circled back around to steal another look. A extend, and to be truthful, craving stare. Her beauty and damn near perfection was already invading my heart.  I'd never seen anything like her before, and lord knew I wouldn't again. 

She had a half black vinyl top  and was candy-apple red from her large molded hood to her cute little boot (I grew up calling this part of a car a "trunk", but I have friends in Canada who use this term and I love it!). I walked up next to her, my eyes gleaming, glued to her side panel that pressed in like the classic Ford Mustangs of the sixties (a  style brought back in the 90s after a long hiatus, thank God!). I opened the long door, and because she was so low to the ground, I fell in, landing on the soft welcoming seat. Her tan interior caught my fall; protecting me already. It was definitely love at first sight... and I felt it through my entire adolescent body.  

Without a second thought, I talked to my parents, they cosigned a loan for $2500 and I bought Sydney (known as Syd with friends and family). Syd was a 1977 Mustang Ghia. We met when I was 17 and she very well might have been my first love. But love is a strange thing, when you are a teenager. It can blind you to so many things...Again, as I write this I think more about the book/movie Christine...strange...

Thanks all! With compassion and kindness (C&K)
BD Scott

The Zephyrs of Preakness, and LOVE

"Live life lovin', and love livin' life"--- Casey Neilson from The Zephyrs of Preakness (2014)

It's alive! It's ALIVE! Today, on my big brother's birthday, The Zephyrs of Preakness took flight into the digital world on Amazon Kindle for 99 cents! It was a long process but it I learned A TON! You can't ask for much more than that, with any experience in life. The story that started out as a screen play in 2004 is now a novel in 2014, and my first published novel! 

As I listen to David Lanz's song Christofori's Dream on Pandora, I'm in awe of the number of people in my life that I love. They make my dreams possible, they make my life possible, they are why I'm still here, still alive. To them I dedicate this book. To them I owe my life…

STORY TIME (LOVE): The outside was dark, and the distant east was doing it's best to grip at the black that had kept the world cool the entire night. The wind pushed my blue 2006 Honda Element, the a toaster on wheels, easily side to side while it broke through invisible cracks in the doors with low whistles.

As I drove down Copley road (in Medina, OH), the same road I drive five days a week, I began to tear up for no reason. No reason, I thought. It turns out a flood of thoughts overwhelmed me at once. Thoughts that came without asking, notice, or warning. They just appeared like the puffs of clouds in front of my mouth on a frigid winter's day in update NY (where I grew up). 

The first thought was of the image of my father, in his full dress army uniform. He was an Airborne Ranger, the elite, and I saw him riding shotgun next to me. He smiled and nodded, the soft sort of smile and nod that only a parent can do when they don't have the words to say what they feel, but they feel it anyway. 

The second thought was, "I wasn't supposed to be here, and yet I am." This story will come in a later blog post, but let's just say if it wasn't for a good friend, a speech pathologist from Burnt Hills, New York, a psychologist at SU (Syracuse University), and the countless of people who have supported and loved me, I wouldn't physically be writing this post, or made it past my 19th birthday. 

Now, with tears in my eyes (and Por Ti Volare playing on Pandora, reminding me of the Step Brother's movie, all to easily), I find that love is a powerful that can keep a person alive and happy. Just love. Simple really. 

With compassion and kindness (C&K), B.D. Scott

Wearing of the GREEN and FIRSTS!!!!

Welcome! Welcome! The first time we do anything CAN create all kinds of thoughts and emotions. Our first time riding a bike or  driving a car (both) hosts overwhelming trepidation based on trusting our gross and fine motor skills and how they connect with our visual perception and balance. It can drive us crazy (pun intended)!  The fear filled thoughts of crashing into large objects, or even mailboxes a plenty, can turn knuckles white and get the heart jumping (especially for the moms and dads in the passenger seat using the invisible break).

The first sexual experience may share some characteristics with riding a bike, in a different sense of musculature clumsiness, and sometimes is connected with cars. Although it is usually not the front seat, but the back. However, it also brings a new set of worries and fears of being exposed; emotionally and physically. This vulnerability is scary and yet in some way we push through (yes, pun intended) the feared story lines of embarrassment to experience something new!

STORY TIME (FIRSTS): The world grew warm. NO!  It was freakin' hellish hot! I tried to breathe, tried to do all of the relaxation exercised that I learned for just this occasion, tried to visualize success and force my muscles to relax. That was a joke! Getting my muscles to relax was like squeezing a rock and thinking it will melt in the palm of your hand like a handful of M&Ms (which are great, by the way).  The move I tried to chill, the more the my heart told me  to "Get a life kid. If I have to run faster than a F-18 Hornet (Blue Angel) flying at mock 3, then your going to have to do some work and it ain't gonna be easy." 

I go to move my arm, but it tingles with pins and needles. It seems the paralysis of fear is growing. My forearms are burning as the muscles on contracting, without any break. The arm rises again, cutting the dense and thick air. There is no rain, or humidity in the room, but my body is drenched and my shoulders slump as if I wearing a led vest.

In the air, my hand is now just above my head. I don't know what to do with it up there. Should I wave? Should it stay still? Should dance or caress? God I'm new at this. New? I'm a virgin at this! I really want to just wiggle my dead fingers, to give them life. 

There is no looking back now, I must stay where I am. Stay the course, as they say (whoever "they" were have issues and didn't realize that staying the course is pain in the ass!).  I have no choice. I'm committed, I'm determined and I'm scared out of my freakin' gourd.  But of course I am! I'm about to ask my first question in a classroom setting, ever! I'm 32 and I've never answered or asked a question in class...Stuttering may have been my crutch for not talking in class in the past, however, today I will step into a new arena of speaking and leave the fear of this situation behind. For after I do it for the first time, there will never be a first for "talking in class."--- BD Scott

In closing (before the writing prompt below), thank you for reading. Thank you for feeling. And, thank you for letting me sharing the world with you!
With compassion and Kindness (C&K)
BD Scott

#Writing Prompt

Below is a writing prompt for those who want to write a poem or story to honor the wearing of the green, leprechauns, and shamrock shakes (oh yeah, I went there, even though I haven't had one in the better part of ten years...I think... I can still taste the thick-sugary vanilla shake with its over powering mint syrup that burns my tongue and throat after half is drained. The brain freezes are addicting (sick, but true), cheering me on to finish the WHOLE THING...I'm glad I only got a small. A medium probably would have killed me!

#WritingPrompt (2014)-St.Pats Day: describe (a poem or story) finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow in as much detail as possible! Cheers! C&K BD @bubpub