There once was a man named Moveable
(I’ve seen his grave — so that’s proveable)
He never settled down
’til he was six feet underground

Ah, Saturday — aka Blatherday — time for my weekly monologue of nothing but blather.

To the best of my knowledge, Moveable Jones does NOT exist.

I recently got back the results of my ancestry DNA and found that I have a distant relative named Experience. That just got me thinking about unusual names.

Can you imagine holding a wee newborn baby in your arms and naming him or her Experience? (For the record, it was a her.) Was the thought going through the new parents’ minds, Whoa! That was an experience! ? Or, was it more of a prayer/blessing — Please, Lord, let this new little person experience life in all the very best ways?

I have a friend who, on giving birth to baby number six or seven, said the midwife announced the sex of the baby and asked if they had a name picked out. She looked at her husband and asked, “Do we?” He replied, “Dewey. Hmm — hadn’t thought about that name.”

This was the same dad who also wanted to give one of his children the middle name “Longtoes” because the child was born with — you can probably guess — long toes. The mom nixed that one, although I think it could have been a great conversation starter.

I read about Experience in my family tree and had a thousand questions. What was she called for short? Experience is quite a mouthful when calling someone in for dinner, or scolding someone when they didn’t do their chores. Also, that’s a long name for a tombstone. Did she like the name? Did she consider naming a child the same thing? Or had she learned from — oh, never mind.

But, Moveable. The stories I could make up. A mom giving birth while part of a wagon train in the mid-1800’s, looking at the newborn and saying, “I’m sure glad you’re moveable.” And it took.

Or, a family living through one of those droughts that wreaked havoc on settlers. The child was born. The mom or dad looked out the window at tumbleweed blowing past, and said to the baby, “May you grow up to live anywhere but this God-forsaken place,” and assigned him the moniker.

Or how about a flood situation — where the family has to get out quickly before, during, or after the birth.

All the stories I can think of involve a family in a tough situation, right?

Some wealthy estate owner would never name a child Moveable. They would give him four or five names to signify the depth of the family roots. John James Michael Henry the third or fourth or fifth. Longtoes would never be suggested.

My children follow the traditional pattern: first name, middle name, last name. The names are mostly run-of-the-mill. No strange spellings or made-up names. No adjective names. Just names that I loved for one reason or another.

One daughter complains about her “old” name. “Everybody has a grandmother or great-aunt with my name,” she has told me. For the record, I had a grandmother with that name.

Two sons go by middle names instead of their first names — and that’s on me. We gave them their names, but chose to call them by their middle name. Don’t ask me why. I think I know, but whatever.

Do you have any good name stories?