Tuesday, July 12, 2011

The Civilest War Ever

My neighbor is 83 years old and just about the sweetest thing alive on this street.

Wait. This blog is misleading already. That's not her, above or anything. Nor I for that matter.

And, Hazel, maybe she's not "sweet". She's a firecracker. A pistol. A real hoot. She travels abroad and has two jobs. Two. She was out shoveling in the thousands of feet of snow this past winter when Matt and I had hired someone to plow. (For the record, if you add up our ages, She's STILL old enough to be our combined mother.)

I love Hazel something fierce.

But this is, after all, my blog... and so... there is this one thing.

She calls my daughter "AnnaLee".

I know what you're thinking. Shame on me. This nice lady who is so kind to us and loves AnnaLee to death... let it be. Not a big deal. And it's not, seriously. I mean - who cares if she thinks my daughter's name is "Pineapple", right?


I mentioned that she's the active sort, yeah? Every day she's at the casino, or working, or packing up an RV with eight others and heading 3000 miles away for a vacation. And she brings with her, photos of my daughter... Adeline.

When she comes home and we visit, she never fails to tell me how she showed all the ladies, or her granddaughters or the whole family, the photos of AnnaLee and told them all about her.

I think there are about 2000 people who believe I named my child AnnaLee. Maybe this would be okay if I liked the name AnnaLee. I don't.

It makes me think of several things, not necessarily in this order:

1) Puff the Magic Dragon. That's right, who frollicked in the autumn mist in a land called hona lee. The land wasn't called anna lee, but apparently my synapses find it close enough.

2) Sara Lee. Okay... tasty.

3) Antebellum south. Fly me a big fat confederate flag flying in the front yard! I named my kid AnnaLee! I might as well get her a job picking cotton.

As you might imagine, if you know me. This discrepancy has lodged a tiny little splinter of dissatisfaction in my brain. I mean, not huge, but... well... if you know me, then you know me. Any time I see a car in Hazel's driveway I try to think of a way to be available to visit with her guest. You know, ever so casually slip in an introduction.

"Oh, and this must be Ann-"
"-Adeline!, Yes, the famous Adeline!"

And in my mind, confederate soldiers shave their mutton chops, and all is well with the world.