What's in a Name (Part 3)

My husband has a really long name in the Spanish tradition. There is a first name; usually a middle name, a father’s last name and they append the mom’s maiden name. So while 4 names isn’t a lot, it can be hard to get them straight when different names are used in different scenarios.

During his youth, he went by one name – a name that his family and childhood friends use and by which they refer to him. In most of these situations it was a derivation on his middle name.  When he came to the States for his associate’s degree and later for college, he referred to himself by his first name.

When I met my husband, he said his name was his middle name -  His full middle name, no diminutives or nicknames – just his middle name in Spanish.  We then got to know each other via emails. He signed all his emails with ‘Memo’. The first few times I scratched my head wondering why the word ‘memo’ was at the bottom of his notes. Was there a memorandum attached that wasn’t inadvertently forgotten? After a few instances of this, I asked him why he signed off in that manner. He explained that Memo was the diminutive of his middle name. It was what his family and friends called him. I guessed at that point, he felt comfortable enough to allow me to call him that or it was the name he was used to most.

Over time my husband found out my middle name. He used this name to introduce me to his family and friends. Now, my middle name was chosen at confirmation time as mostly a way for me to finally get another name from the one with which I was born. I only had one first name, no middle names and a surname at birth. Confirmation was a cool and legitimate way for me to put an additional twist on my identity.  Absolutely NO ONE called me by that name up to the point of my picking it out and my getting called that by my in-laws and my husband’s friends. It was used so infrequently, as a matter of fact, that even my mom later in life didn’t realize it was my middle name.

At one point my two worlds converged, my in-laws calling me Monica and everyone else calling me by my usual name. One of my friends then asked my husband ‘Who is Monica?’ He, then, had to explain the two name usage. Of course, she said ‘I didn’t even know that was her middle name!’  The reason she didn’t know this is because I NEVER USED THAT NAME BEFORE. In his way, my husband was branding me in the Spanish way, perhaps. I don’t fully know why he decided on this appellation. It’s now the custom with his family. That, my friends, is how you gain a new name. And everyone knows that customs are hard to break.  

Coming on Strong

Many of us have had this experience. I can almost guarantee that women have encountered it. Even if you have not been impacted directly by this incident, you are aware of it. It is the unapologetic spray at the perfume counter of a department store. You weren’t asking for it or expecting it. Yet it happens. And in so many ways, it is quite disturbing because it is an assault on your body not by hands but by stench.

This is how I have felt over the last few months because of someone relatively new to my team. Almost every time she opens her mouth, I feel like it is an assault to my utter being. Every time I send an email or set up a meeting based on said emails, I get a request for an agenda or am pummeled with reply all’s on what is the point of the meeting. Oddly, I almost always set up meetings after a barrage of back and forth emails on a topic. Last I checked, I add an agenda to those meeting invites based on the emails trails. I often scratch my head once I read these responses from her. I feel at times like I live in the twilight zone. Or has anyone heard the term gaslight?

So, it’s not by stench but it might as well be mace in the eyes or a little pepper spray into the throat. I am always one to take feedback/input/suggestions but I am confused because I have agendas in all my invitations. And usually I drag and drop my emails into meeting invites to give context and then write my agendas around those documents. Here I was thinking I was pretty efficient and that my meetings were self-explanatory. But, I guess not.

This is not constructive criticism on her part. It is the utter need to take me down in front of others. After all, she questions me on emails where others are addressed as well.  When she comes over and makes a compliment on my outfit, I have to scratch my head and wonder what is behind her niceness. Does she know she’s on my naughty list and is trying to make amends? Does she not realize I think her actions are suspicious? Whatever her motives, I’m not falling for them.

What is troublesome is that in a work environment you have to often play nice with people you would never want to be near! Family and work colleagues aren’t too different – you often have to be diplomatic around those you would never choose as friends. Of course, sometime you do find some good friends from the colleague pool. But I certainly don’t want to be friends with someone who plays the ‘frenemy’. 

The Cheerleader

When I hadn’t even completely registered the death of my mom, I had to face another loss. My mentor passed away almost 2 months after my mom. She, too, was battling cancer. It seemed like she was ready to beat it until something odd happened. I still don’t know how it transpired. I suppose the how is not that important. It’s the emptiness that is still there that matters. I was informed of her passing by a mutual friend. I had spoken to my mentor just a few days earlier! I had sent flowers to her a week earlier to brighten her recovery. It was not meant to be. She was so ready to fight the cancer – stare it down. But it was futile.

I first met Anne Marie when I was a young and spunky Client Service Representative. She could probably already tell I didn’t belong in the ‘business’ when she met me.  She ran a monthly department newsletter and was looking for new ‘blood’ to write some pieces. I signed up immediately as I was looking for a way to be creative at work. We connected in a breath.

I created a column of my own that became popular as I investigated issues/mysteries/questions that came up. She and I bonded over books and how illogical the world was. She was a mom at work. She encouraged me always to challenge myself (and she challenged me) and saw me doing more with my life than doing the work I was doing.

When I decided to go back to school and finish my Master’s degree, without asking she offered to write a recommendation. As my friends and I worked on a monthly zine, she read it religiously and would comment about my pieces in secret language while she walked by my aisle. When I changed jobs and stayed within the same company, we often used the interoffice mail to send each other books we recommended. We kept in touch with the company instant messaging application. When she was forced into early retirement, we emailed on a fixed basis – weekly would be my best guess although I am not certain.

While she encouraged me to do more, be more, she often downplayed her strengths. She was a nurturing individual with a soft heart for good people. She hated stupid people and those who were sycophants. Where we worked, this behavior was common and they often went hand-in-hand.

These days it seems weird to not send her an email – checking in on her or seeing what she’s reading. I find myself often texting or emailing people for the heck of it just to fill the void. It’s not the same though. Most people don’t even respond to my notes. If they do, it’s usually days later. Anne Marie almost immediately responded. If she didn’t, then something was wrong. That’s exactly how I found out she was sick.  I hadn’t gotten a response in her usual super timely manner.

It is sad to know that she isn’t reading this entry because she was a devoted follower of my blog. All I can hope for is that she’s in a good place, in peace reading a good book and checking in on me every so often in her special quiet way.