kafj: headshot of KAFJ looking over right shoulder (Default)
I spent Thursday with my friends Karen and Nicholas and their two young sons. Peter, the elder, is about two and a half, and beginning to talk. He hasn't yet got the hang of linking words, and is not overly keen on consonants, or, indeed, extraneous vowels, and on Thursday he addressed me consistently as -

E

I may not have spelt it correctly. It may be Ee or, indeed Í; it was a very pure sound, and I'm not even sure that I could pronounce it. Either way, I love it. I am charmed and delighted. It's impossible to say without smiling, and, indeed, I smile every time I think about it. In Tony's and my private marriage dialect, 'eee' expresses a state of extreme contentment with the current state of affairs, and that connection is pleasing enough in itself.

And there is something more than that: a curious sense of privilege. I have always liked the idea that everyone has a true name that they never find out in this lifetime. For me, however, E feels very close to that. It is as if Peter has, unwittingly, shown me the essence of my name and of who I am. It is as if that one doubled letter was the most important one of my name, and I never knew it. I am E, and the rest is filler.

How to use this name? I don't know. Certainly I can see that future birthday presents will be labelled with love from E and Tony. I am Leena to some people, and K or Kit to others (particularly myself); usually I insist on the whole eight letters of Kathleen; but E seems to include all of those as well.

Call me E, if you like. It looks like this: :-D

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kafj: headshot of KAFJ looking over right shoulder (Default)
Kathleen Jowitt

April 2015

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