Sunday Scribblings-Google Magic
Rebecca 1) From the Hebrew name רִבְקָה (Rivqah), possibly meaning "a snare" or "a noose" in Hebrew, or perhaps derived from an Aramaic name. This was the name of the wife of Isaac and the mother of Esau and Jacob in the Old Testament; 2)Rebecca is the English form of a Hebrew name, Rebekah. Until the 17th century, Rebecca was almost exclusively a Jewish name. After the Reformation, however, it became one of many Old Testament names adopted by Protestants. Rebecca was especially popular with the Puritans. It was revived in the late 20th century. In 1900-1910, it was 161st most popular baby name in the US. In 2003, it was the 64th most popular.
I've always been really interested in names. When I hear news of a birth, the first question I'm likely to ask is, "What did they name her (or him)?" After all, your name is the one thing about yourself that probably will never change - unlike your skin, hair color, and certainly height and weight, your name isn't affected by the ravages of time. So, unless you take the time and trouble to change it legally, it's yours intact from birth to death.
When I was a kid back in the 60's I was the only girl named Rebecca in my entire school. I liked that actually. I was never a child who felt compelled to be like everyone else, so I was secretly proud of the fact that I wasn't one of the three of four Kathy's or Debbie's or Linda's that always seemed to be in my classes. I did go through a phase of spelling Becky with an "i" on the end (I know, really stupid), but that didn't last long.
I've also always liked the fact that Rebecca is a Hebrew name, particularly since I discovered that some of my earliest ancestors here in America were actually Jews from Germany, who arrived here in the mid 1700's and settled in the area that is now Pennsylavania. However, I'm not fond of the Hebrew etymology. A "snare," or "noose"? Not a very attractive image to fulfill. Modern baby name books use the word "captivating" as the meaning, which is certainly much more appealing.
I remember asking my mother why she chose this particular name, since it was rather unusual in the mid-1950's when I was born. And she said just what I would expect her to say - that she wanted my name to be special and unique, because that was the kind of person she wanted me to be. (On the rare occasions when I did complain about not having or doing something that "everyone else was doing," my mother always gave me a withering look and asked pointedly, "Do you really want to be like everyone else?" Grudgingly, I had to admit that I really didn't.) So, perhaps it was partly because of my "special and unique" name that I've always been quite comfortable in my own skin, even when I don't blend in with the crowd.
How about you? What's in your name?
Poetry Thursday - In the Voice of Another
In Confidence
First, there was my neighbor, a lovely elderly man who shares his garden produce with everyone and cheerfully keeps watch on our homes when we're away. He stopped by as I was coming in from walking to the dogs and told me all about his wife who is showing increasing signs of dementia -forgetting to pay bills, repeating questions over and over, signs I am certainly all too familiar with. My heart was still aching for him when the phone rang, and it was my friend and colleague, bemoaning the fact that school counselors had pulled another five students from her girls choir because of a schedule conflict with required courses. She admitted to feelings of despair over the music program she had worked so hard to build over the past 18 years, now feeling as if it were now "disintegrating before her eyes," in her last year before retirement.
While I was still in shock at these mournful comments coming from my eternally optimistic friend, a call came from another friend whose 27 year old son died by suicide in January of this year. September 1 marked his birthday, and it was a conversation full of tears from both of us, as we remembered him and mourned his loss all over again.
I admit to being someone who likes to fix things, and when people confide their hurts and problems to me, I just itch to find a way to make it all better. So, after finishing all these conversations, I was wracking my brain trying to think of a way to help these people that I care about. Suddenly, I realized that I probably had helped them, just by listening to them, by lending a sympathetic, non-judgmental ear. Then I had a revelation of my own - I realized that I rarely, if ever, confide my problems to anyone. Not the really deep down, crisis of the soul sort of problems. I carry them with me, tightly knotted in a heavy sack so they can't possibly get out. Occasionally, I feel them come bubbling to the surface, trying to leave my mouth during a conversation with a friend, or even to flow from my pen as I write in my journal. Usually, I stuff them back inside the sack, hidden forever like an evil monster. I'm not sure why I persist in this reticence - fear of boring people? of seeming weak or out of control? or just plain fear of looking head on at the things that pain me the most?
One Deep Breath - Tanka
Hearts ache in sorrow my tears have not yet dried remember the lost stand strong in our unity never forsaking the dream.
With hands outstretched reaching out to each other to combat evil becoming a living bridge spanning the river to peace.


