A Rose By Any Other Name

 

This story is a “killing two birds with one stone” story. It is in response to two StoryWorth questions. The first is; How did your parents pick your name? The second is somewhat related; How did you choose your children’s names?

I have asked my parents why they gave me my name. I think that Dad let Mom do most of the picking.
The name April might be nice for a baby girl born in April but I was born in February. Thankfully, I wasn’t named February as I may have had trouble learning to spell it since that first ‘R” is silent to me! Also, I would have likely gone through life being called Febbie!
Mom tells me that she liked the name April. Nowadays, I see Aprils all over the place but back in 1960, there weren’t that many of us out there. So, I suppose that Mom may have liked that it was a bit unusual.
I think that the main reason she named me April was that so many of her loved ones had been born in April. Mom was born in April. Her mother was born in April. Her sisters Lola and Fanny were born in April. Her brother Billy was born in April. So, Grandma Rachel and her first four children were all born in April. April was a time when wonderful folks were born and when nature was awakening with a show of beauty.

My middle name is Darlene and Mom has told me that she just thought that April Darlene had a nice ring to it. Maybe she foresaw that I would be such a darling and Darlene and darling sounds very similar!
Because his sisters were all born in April, Uncle Olen calls his sisters and me on April 1st to wish us all a happy birthday. Each time, I remind him that I was born in February but he says that isn’t possible because I was named April and who would name a girl April if she was born in February? LOL! I pray that I will be wished a happy birthday every April 1st for all of my life!
I do know that Spring is my very favorite season of the year. It is filled with such surprise, such potential, and is such a time of hope! April is one of the “Springiest” months of spring so I am happy to be named April! Maybe Mom foresaw my love of Spring too!
Now, I want to tell how my children got their names. When I was pregnant with Roxanna, I looked for names that were derived from Persian names. My husband is from Iran and I wanted that part of our children’s heritage to be honored somehow.
I came across the name Roxanna and asked Mohammad what he thought of it. He loved it as his mother’s name was Rokhsareh. He said that Roxanna is a form of Rokhsareh and naturally he loved it. Roxanna has a few syllables so I thought her middle name should be short. I like the name Leigh. I have always liked Edgar Allan Poe’s poem “Annabel Lee” and Roxanna Leigh rolls similarly off of the tongue so Roxanna Leigh Hajjafar was named.

                                                      Rokhsareh and her namesake Roxanna

Now, when I was pregnant with Alexandria, I again looked for a name of Persian derivative. I mentioned the ones that I found to Mohammad and he didn’t really like them. I even mentioned the name Jasmine and he didn’t care for it. So, since I have always loved books and there had been an ancient and great library in Alexandria, Egypt, I thought that Alexandria would be a beautiful name honoring books and knowledge. I then looked for a Persian middle name. I found the name Sheva from the Persian word ‘She-vah-ee” which means well-spoken. Alexandria Sheva is a mouthful but it seems appropriate that a person named after a library full of books would be well-spoken! Alexandria Sheva Hajjafar was named.

 

                                                       The great library at Alexandria

Now, when Alexandria was several months old, Mohammad told me that his friend’s wife had had a baby and they had named her Jasmine . He said that he liked that name and in all seriousness asked if we could change Alexandria’s name! My jaw dropped and I reminded him that when I had suggested Jasmine before Alex was born, he had not liked it. I told him that Alexandria was going to remain Alexandria. The time for naming a baby does not come months after her birth and after months of being called Alexandria.
Mohammad then said that his brother had told him that Alexandria was a name honoring Alexander the Great. Now, Alexander the Great had conquered Persia and naming the daughter of a Persian Alexandria didn’t seem like a good thing to him. I told him that Alexandria was named after an ancient and famous library in Alexandria Egypt and NOT after Alexander the Great! Of course, I suppose that the library had been named to honor Alexander, but Alexandria was named after the library and not Alexander. He should have voiced his concerns before we named her. I still love her name no matter who Alexander the Great conquered!
We went through a similar process when I was pregnant with Cameron. I tried to find a name of Persian derivative that I liked. The Persian name Kamran/Kamuran/Kamron sounded very similar to the name Cameron which I very much liked. In Persian, the name means prosperous and that sounds like a good wish for a child so we chose Cameron.
Now, Mohammad loves old movies and especially old westerns. He loved the movie Shane and asked if we could make Shane Cameron’s middle name. I thought that Cameron Shane was a beautiful name and so our son became Cameron Shane.
 

I have to say that I have always been happy with the names that we gave to our children. I have heard Roxanna mention that she doesn’t like the name Leigh, but otherwise I have heard no serious complaints from them. I suppose that that means that we did okay in choosing their names.
All I know is that we have three beautiful, wonderful, and empathetic children; and I am certain that by any other names, these roses would smell as sweet!

 

                   

                                             My rose garden enjoying books/encyclopedias.

Remembering the Fallen

 

 

Back in 2018, just a couple weeks before Memorial Day, Mom, Dad, and I went to Stones River battlefield. Their property pretty much backs up to the battlefield, but it had been years since we had been there. It was a beautiful mild spring day and a lovely day to take a walk around the now peaceful battlefield.

Before visiting the cemetery, we toured the museum. We saw artifacts of the battle. There was a rucksack hanging from a hook. It was the size of a woman’s medium-sized shoulder bag, but the weight of it was unimaginable! I know that it didn’t, but it felt like it contained a few cannonballs. There were rifles, cannon, and bits of info on the logistics of the battle

We watched a short film about the battle. It is difficult to imagine a war less civil than a civil war where neighbors, friends, even family fixed each other in their sights and pulled the trigger. The battle at Stones River was one of the deadliest of the war with about 23,000 casualties. The Union claimed the victory but both sides experienced great loss.

After we toured the museum, we walked across the street to visit the cemetery. The cemetery was a serene place. There was some traffic noise from the street, the occasional train traveling along the nearby tracks, and the sound of someone mowing a yard in the distance; but still, a peaceful serenity seemed to mute that noise. The calls of various birds echoed through the trees and a cooling breeze whispered through the leaves resulting in a lulling rustling sound. The sun shone brightly and provided a warmth that was not overwhelming, just comfortable.

 

The stones in the cemetery were lined up in a pleasing precise way. Some bore the names of the soldier they stood over. Others were smaller and bore only a number, but all were arranged with precision. And in the center of the cemetery, Old Glory proudly streamed in the breeze representing the Union that 13,000 men and boys had died to defend.

 

As we leisurely strolled amongst the stones, I could not help but imagine the contrast between now and then. I tried to imagine the soldiers, more than a few of them barely boys, carrying these heavy rucksacks as well as their rifles through the frigid fog of those late December, early January days of 1862-1863. I could see their breath hanging frozen in the air. I could imagine the chaos of shots fired, the boom of cannons propelling projectiles of destruction toward living, breathing flesh. I could hear the shouts of orders given to soldiers, the anguished cries of the wounded, and the weakening moans of the dying. I imagined the stench of powder, blood, shattered bowels, fear, and death. I could imagine a dying soldier pushing a letter hurriedly into the hands of a brother asking him to please get it to his family. I could imagine the soldier Ed Abbott, lying on this cold battlefield amongst the wounded and dying for nine days remembering the last words of his dying mother to be a good boy and meet her in a better place. And men lie scattered across the battlefield in anything but a precise, pleasing way.

I imagine all of these things and I know that my imagination can never come even close to conjuring the actual horrors of this battle or any other battle. I also know that I will never be able to imagine how people can walk amongst the row upon row of headstones of cemeteries such as this and not try to avoid creating more cemeteries filled with young men who have died in battle. I wish that I could imagine men sitting down to peacefully solve their differences through compromise and diplomacy rather than on battlefields through might.

On this Memorial Day, please, try to imagine what our soldiers have and will go through for us. Try to imagine that and realize that however great your imagination is, what you imagined pales when compared to the actuality. Realize that and try your best to encourage our leaders to lead through diplomacy and compromise rather than through might.

Please remember to thank our veterans and active military personnel. May God bless and protect them and their families. And above all, remember those who have given their very lives for us, folks they did not even know. Remember, “Greater love hath no man than this, a man lay down his life for his friends.”

Supernatural, or Just Unexplained?

 

This is in response to the StoryWorth question: Have you ever had a “supernatural” experience, or an experience you couldn’t explain?

During the early to mid ‘70s, when I was a teenager growing up on a farm in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of Wartrace, Tennessee, I used to love to watch the TV series Kung Fu. According to Google, in the series “a Shaolin monk and martial-arts expert Caine flees China after his master is killed. Now he wanders the Old West of America, defending the helpless and beating down bad guys with his skills, all while trying to find his half-brother and evade Chinese bounty hunters.”
In the series, Caine will often sit in a meditative pose, pull a very simple reed flute from his rucksack, and begin to play simple and haunting notes.
Now, as I said, we lived in the middle of nowhere. Acres of land in front of our house were farmland. Acres behind our home were hay fields and pasture. The neighbors to the left and right were not visible to us, except perhaps at night in the winter when the leaves had fallen from trees and the neighbors had their porch lights on.
Our home did not have central heat and air. Heat was provided by wall and baseboard heaters and “cooling” was provided by open windows and a box fan. Hopefully, the fan would at least circulate the hot air giving a semblance of a cooling breeze.
My bedroom had two windows with the head of my bed positioned in front of one of those windows. So, during the summer, my head would lie just a few inches from the open window with only a flimsy screen between me and whatever should lurk outside.
One summer night as I lay in bed, I heard a sound that just did not fit in with anything that I should hear on a summer’s evening on a farm in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of Wartrace, Tennessee. I heard what sounded exactly like Caine playing his flute, just outside my window!
Now, being the logical person that I am, I knew that it was not Caine. First, Caine was a fictional character on a TV series. Second, I knew that the actor who portrayed him was likely in Hollywood and a farm in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of Wartrace, Tennessee was not even on his radar.
I knew these things BUT, I knew that there were delusional people in the world! I knew that neither Caine nor David Carradine, the actor who portrayed him, was serenading me with a flute; BUT, I was convinced that some madman who thought that he was Caine was outside my bedroom window. I was convinced that he was not sitting calmly in a meditative pose playing his flute. I knew that he was standing outside my window, just a few inches away from me, playing his flute. I knew that this madman was convinced that I was some “bad guy” and he was calming down before he pushed through that flimsy screen and kung fued my butt to oblivion!
Now, I heard this flute for some time. It wasn’t a continuous tune and it wasn’t just a note or two. It was a few notes at a time over a period of several minutes. I didn’t move around so I could look out the window. I didn’t call out, “What crazy person is playing a flute outside my window?” I didn’t get out of bed and run for help. I lay there in my bed, barely breathing, not wanting to move in any noticeable way. Any movement on my part might give away the fact that this madman had been discovered, and he would surely move more quickly to dispatch me.
So I lay there terrified for I don’t know how long. I don’t know if I finally got so sleepy that sleep won out over terror. Maybe Caine just finished his tune and went on his merry way. I don’t know, maybe it had been the Pied Piper and all of the rats and mice followed him? Or perhaps, I passed out from lack of oxygen holding my breath?
All I know is that I survived the night and Caine never came back. I never figured out what had made those strange, out-of-place flute notes and I never heard them again.
I do know that from that night forward, I slept with my head at the foot of my bed. If some madman was outside my window playing Caine’s flute, I dang well wanted to be able to see him…that is if I wasn’t so afraid that he would notice me opening my eyes that I kept them shut!

A Chain of Mothers

Since the beginning of mankind, the chain of mothers that have led to me is myriad. The very fact that I am here is testimony to so many perfectly timed events. What if 20XG grandma had dallied in her wonderings among the hillsides and had not happened across the path of 20XG grandpa? What if 10XG grandma’s family had moved to a different area before 10XG grandpa’s family had moved into the area they were leaving? What if 7XG grandpa had died on the voyage to America and never got to know 7XG grandma? What if Grandpa had been away working at the mines at the time that Grandma Rachel could become pregnant with my mother?


                                     



Some folks might think my existence a case of pure happenstance. I happen to think that the fact that I am here, that anyone is here, is part of a Divine plan.

All of those past mothers lived in various places, at different times, and experienced varying life situations and experiences. In spite of all of those differences, mothers have much in common. I believe that the heart of a mother shares many similar emotions.

This is my take on the blessing of motherhood and I believe that all of those mothers who have led to me must have had similar feelings.

Motherhood

When you haven't been to bed yet by three AM because of a crying baby, you might be tempted to tell that baby to "go back to your womb". But then that crying baby wraps that tiny hand around your finger and thus ensures that you are forever wrapped around his or her finger. You feel that velvety soft cheek resting against your own, and you thank God for this opportunity, and pray to God that you don't screw it up. You will make mistakes, but they are made out of love and not indifference. Those mistakes become lessons to teach how to become a better mother.

And you begin the journey of motherhood, a journey where it seems that you must be like a coin, two-sided. You must try to teach, while at the same time trying to learn. You love and hold a child close, in preparation for letting that child go. You do your best to ensure that your child becomes a responsible adult, but if you live to be a hundred and that child lives to be eighty, he or she will still be your baby!

Here are just a few of the mothers in the chain that I am a part of. We share more than DNA, we share in the experience that is motherhood. I am so thankful for each and every one of them.




                                                      
                                                       My daughter and granddaughter (10)






                                                             
                                                                                    Me (20)






                                                         
                                                                                Mom (30)






                                                        
                                            Paternal grandmother Nancy Middleton Smith (40)





                                                       

        Maternal grandmother Rachel Allen Nolen (50) and "grandmother"/aunt Alta Allen Cantrell




                                                               

                                       Paternal great-grandmother Jane Thomas Smith King (60)





                                                          
                                            Paternal great-grandmother Rhoda King Middleton (70)




                                                       
                                     Maternal great-grandmother Nancy Ann Chandler Nolen (80)


   

                       Maternal great-grandmother Amanda "Mandy" "Granny" Moore Allen (90)

  

                                 Paternal 2XG-grandmother Susan Elizabeth Turner Smith (100)

                                                             

                                Paternal 2XG-grandmother Lucinda Tren Lifer Thomas (110)




                                                    

                                        Paternal 2XG-grandmother Sarah "Sallie" Blevins (120)




                                                       

                               Paternal 2XG-grandmother Elizabeth "Bettie" Harris (130)




                                                        

                         Maternal 2XG grandmother Sarah Elizabeth "Bettie" Nolen (140)




                                                         

                                Maternal 2XG-grandmother Matilda Davidson Chandler Stewart (150)




                                                        

                                 Maternal 2XG-grandmother Nancy Jane Baker Allen (160)





                                                            

                        Maternal 2XG-grandmother Nancy Jane Moore Moore Arnold (170)




                                                       

                                     Paternal 3XG-grandmother Mary Morgan Smith (180)