Being Ann

My parents both had complicated names. My mother's was Avyril Maxine Peterson, and my father's was Robert Steinsland Osterhus. Actually, my mother got the worst of the deals after she and dad got married. This is probably unnecessary to say, but that is how the three of us kids ended up with one syllable first names; Paul, Ann, Jane.

Like most names, people have taken advantage of even 'Ann' as a way to tease, delight or be a bit rude. I don't suppose any name is immune to being twisted and turned into something different.

But the only thing that ever bothered me was when someone was saying "and" and I would hear "Ann." Mostly this happened at school. The teacher would be lecturing and saying something dull and useless, and then he would say "and.........?". Hearing "Ann.....?", I would answer, "Yes?", and everyone would stare at me. Oops, caught day-dreaming again.

Sometimes my siblings would also take advantage of 'Ann' and 'and'. There was always a bit of delight when a Christmas gift tag said "Paul And Jane". Ha. Ha. Ha.

Now I am facing another way the name Ann is giving me something else to dismay me.

Dennis' grunts are becoming more and more easily mixed up with my name.

As Dennis' speech deteriorates, many words are becoming simply vowels. For a long while my name was "Annnnnnnnnnnnn...Annnnnnnnnnnnn...Annnnnnnnnn", but now it is simply "aaaaa..aaaaaaaaa..aaaaaaaaaa." This is not easily distinguished from "Ehhhhh...ehhhh...ehhh" or "Uuuuuuu...uuuu...uuuuu".

So I find myself getting up and checking on him even more often that he actually does call me. Last night I was up twice only to figure out that he was just grunting in his sleep. This afternoon, I checked on a grunt more often than I checked on his "Ann".

And that's what life is like being Ann.

Until later,
Ann and Dennis