Name calling

Happy Valentine's day to all.

We had a nice one.

We started at one grandma's house, then drove south and met another grandma for dinner. And grandpas were there, too.

My mother made a Valentine's day cake from a recipe she said came from my grandmother, my father's mother. Thinking about it, that grandmother probably made that very cake in my very city, just a few miles and several decades away. At the time, she would have been married to this handsome educator, my grandfather.

My grandfather was lucky enough to be descended from proud family from the Alsace-Lorraine area of France and Germany. His brother was named Etienne, a nice solid French name. My grandfather was named Erschel. A good German name. Kind of.

Me, I was lucky enough to be born female. Otherwise, I would have been named Erschel after him. It is true. My just younger brother sports the name Erschel as a middle name. I ended up middle-named Ann. Kind of plain, but nothing the kids at school would poke fun at. Because most of them had the middle name of Ann as well. Or maybe Anne.

I was named after a long line of Anna's and Ann's: my mother, her grandmother, another grandmother, and so on.

I suppose I could have been named after my grandfather, had my parents not been holding out for another boy. For example, my grandmother was named for her father. She was a twin, and they were both named after their parents. Her sister was named Anita -- "little Anna" -- after her mother, Anna. My grandma won the name Alberta, after her father. So that kind of thing happened.

Ershcella anyone?

I am saving that name for my daughter.