What's in a Name?

[Hi folks! My apologies for the lateness of this entry. Apparently the Universe decided to pull an early April Fool's joke on me last night as I was finishing. I thought about pulling my own prank, but decided that I'd leave that up to the rest of the Puck's out there. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled Abusing Seamus tales next week. Hope you enjoy!]

Since I started this blog with Clara, Kristi, & S. Kemp- one of the things that I wanted to do was to write under an assumed name. This decision was made for several reasons: I wanted to have fun with this blog; I had learned a pen name stood out more than my real name, and frankly- pen names are just more fun.

Negative feedback was something I expected from people who didn't quite understand. The people who gripe to me about not using my "real" name are the same people who, to me, are dull, boring, and unimaginative. Even if a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, or a "me" by another name would be as awesome, I can see the logic of their thinking:
"If you ever get anything published, which name will you go by?"
"If you write freelance, how do you expect to get paid?"
"Do you honestly expect people to take you seriously if you use some goofy, made up name?"

Ah, yes. All good points to bring up, and I have a counter to each of them, believe me. However, I'm not here to debate today whether it is better to use your given name or the name you give yourself. I am here to tell you the story about how my name came into being.

It started with not wanting certain people in my life to know I was involved in the blog. If they googled my real name, there was no way they'd find me here. Eventually I decided that I didn't care what they thought, but decided not to change my moniker. The name "Lucy" is fairly commonplace these days. (I tip my hat to Lucille Ball for that!) But around these parts, "Lucy" is an infamous character of a different kind.

Lucy was my great-grandmother. Quite the looker, huh? While I wish I knew more stories about her and her life, the ones that I do know are all compelling, honest, and extraordinary considering the times she lived in. One such story is one my Nana, (Lucy's daughter & only child), is extremely fond of telling.

When it came to staying up all night smoking, drinking, and playing poker, few men could keep up with Lucy. She was feisty but kind. Edgy but loving. A card dealer and a church goer. One Sunday she was practicing her Bridge strategies when the minister Reverend Riley came sauntering down the drive. In a flurry, Lucy went to packing up the table and shuffling the cards behind pillows, under chairs, and in between books before the good Reverend came in. I can imagine Jack, sitting lazily in his chaise lounge, nose in the Sunday paper, watching his wife moving about the room like a whirling dervish.
"Lu, don't you reckon God knows you're playing cards on a Sunday?"
"That's just it, God will forgive me. Rev. Riley won't!"

My Nana and her mother, the original Lucy.

Well there you have it- don't you just love Lucy? ;)