The Name Game

Lucy and Blue. When I was a child, growing up in Nashville, Tennessee, my mother used to call me "Lucy." I’m not sure I ever knew why she called me Lucy. My real name is not even close. Perhaps it was some sort of take on "Lucy Goosey," Who knows. I should ask her. It was a heck of a lot better than what we called my brother, which was "Bubba!" For a while, he called me "Sissy," but that was okay. It’s okay for big brothers to call their little sisters "Sissy." But Bubba? Bubba is the guy who’s bigger and taller than all the other kids his age, probably has freckles, wears overalls, and has a crewcut. Not to stereotype or anything. I wouldn’t do that. Now "Blue" I know a little more about. I have very blue eyes. My father is the one who called me Blue. The story is (and I distinctly remember those pajamas) that I had some blue silky pajamas that I absolutely loved. They were in the form of a sleeveless jumpsuit with a wavy frill around the armholes. I did love the color blue. I wore those pajamas every night that I possibly could. My favorite color as a child was blue. The carpet in my bedroom? Blue. The walls? Pale blue. Hence, the name Blue. Sometimes I think my real name actually escaped my father’s memory, he was so used to calling me "Blue." So that is why I’ve named this blog "Love, Lucy Blue." I was never called "Lucy Blue," using the two names together, but I think they sound good together. So you may call me Lucy Blue.