namarupa

Just shy of two months old, the buka finally (finally!) has a name. The delay was something of a curiosity for the Americans.

Greeks tend to take these things as they come.

Lots of names were considered, but few seriously. At some point, well after the birth, I decided I wanted a daughter named Stone, a girl as strong and solid as her name, a force to be reckoned with. I liked the possibilities: a stone could be rough or polished, even precious, an emerald, a ruby. I made the mistake of asking what people thought. Stone is too hard, they said, too abrupt, too Germanic.

Here in Crete there is no love lost for the Germans.

I wanted to stay within the general category of nature names. There were flowers. Then there were trees.

Then there was a specific tree, whose name in Latin is liquid and hard to say, and whose name in Greek has an element of humor it’s best to avoid. But if you think of that name, you think of another. A classical reference, an opera. A love story. A peasant girl carried off by a pirate.

So instead of a daughter named Stone, I’ve got a daughter named Grass. It’s a vegetable name for sure, “Young Verdure” the more poetic interpretation. The girl is pure poetry, it’s true. And growing like a weed.