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Magdalen's avatar

One thing that comes to mind is the renaming of objects that tends to happen with families: for example, in my family we call clementines and mandarins "tasties" because one day my little brother was struggling to peel one and yelled out "Open up, TASTY!"

Another example of something that has become imbued with meaning for me is something I refer to as "the family pile." My family lives overseas so we tend to see each other for a 3-4 week trip once per year. Throughout the year, there is a shelf in my apartment dedicated to next year's trip. Some of the things it holds are socks left behind from a previous visit, a box from a chocolate shop that gives you a discount for returning them, and souvenirs from various trips. When I left my parents' house this year to visit my maternal grandparents, I also took my mom's pile to my grandparents, and came back to my parents with stacks of magazines, cookies, and more that they had saved for my mom. The family pile is a reminder of a lot of things: that there will always be a next visit, and that we still rely on each other for material help even when living far apart.

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Midge's avatar

Naming one’s car is not unusual. Naming it for its affable ugliness might be.

The most reliable car I’ve owned was named Lonesome George, after the Pinta Island tortoise of the Galapagos. Lonesome was an old Toyota a mechanic we knew had refurbished, so that it ran well, but its defective dark-green paint, which had worn to a dull, pitted desert patina after just a few years in a non-desert climate, had not been refurbished, making Lonesome resemble a tortoise — and making him really inexpensive for his reliability. Sadly, our Lonesome eventually gave up the ghost, about a decade after the real Lonesome George did. But our Lonesome had a good run, and I don’t know if I can get as attached to a nicer-looking car.

I’ve also run across more than one person with EDS (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome) who humorously names problem body parts. Arguably, no treatment for EDS works as well as relentless bodily discipline — but no treatment for EDS, including relentless bodily discipline, works all that well. We all know (or should know) that we can’t control other people, and that even people who really annoy us are still people, with human dignity and so on. But remembering that our own bodies have dignity, as well as limits we can’t reasonably be expected to control, in the midst of bodily dysfunction can be harder.

“I call this knee Karen because she’s always complaining, and that one Jennifer because she’s such a spoiled princess,” doesn’t sound very affectionate — or fair to the Karens and Jennifers of the world — but it’s more affectionate than what we might be thinking about our lemon knees without the nicknames. A name, even one of contemptuous stereotype, confers some independence to a thing, acknowledging it’s not just some cypher for our domination — no matter how much others, however well-meaning, expect us to dominate our bodily problems as if they were cyphers.

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