Do our names influence who we are? What we do in our lives?
Dubbed “Bleau” in teenaged years, I looked it up for the fun of it. Certain there are more name meaning sites out there than this one I stumbled over, this was my first and I thought I’d share my findings as below from this site: http://www.kabalarians.com/
Your name of Bleau has many sterling qualities but does not give you an overall stability. (True, I am a creative mind that tires quickly once learned)
You do everything with an intensity to the point of fervour, and either you feel tremendous elation or you are in the depths of despair.(Accurate beyond question, frightening almost)
People often disappoint you because you are idealistic and are apt to place those whom you admire on a pedestal. (Also the result of my own authenticity and loyalty and expectation of same)
Then you become disillusioned when they fall short of your expectations. (Yes but less so as I age and expect nothing, that way I’m not disappointed, lol)
You are quick mentally and like to see things moving at an accelerated pace. (Absolutely! Always cited for this ability and score high academically with little sweat usually)
Patience is not one of your virtues; you want to move when the impulse strikes you.(Don’t all creative souls out there? lol)
While such spontaneity is fine at times, you must take account of conditions and employ careful analysis so as to avoid disastrous results such as accidents due to hasty actions. (Ugh. So accident prone I hate to admit it in case I have an accident while typing this, lol)
Most things you do, you do well, but as soon as the task, hobby, or job becomes familiar or routine, you are bored and crave a change. (Kind of agreed with this already above)
Travel and new horizons ever intrigue you, but your hunger for greener fields is insatiable, and so you do not experience contentment and peace of mind. (Older now, I actually do have much more peace and contentment. Shedding toxic presences in my life has helped enormously, lol)
There is such a driving power within you that, you cannot find an outlet or if your actions are thwarted in some way, you feel the reaction through extreme tension in the region of your solar plexus. (Aha – chills down my spine – are they looking at me right now, lol)
The intensity and consequent outbursts leave hurt feelings in their wake, usually involving those closest to you. (Oh yes. Have become very good at explaining what I really meant)
Any weakness in your health would result from your sensitive and high-strung nature in stomach disorders such as nervous indigestion or ulcers. (Seeing the gastro specialist frequently for massive intestinal issues due to IBS and other matters not yet diagnosed though they assure me no cancer so I am very lucky)
Anyway, that’s all I have tonight. Try your name and see if anything rings bells for you. Or a nick name as I did, at least I know who I really am now, lol. Goodnight, dear reader.
For years after they gave me those electric shock treatments up at the mental hospital ashes came out both of my ears.
That never happened, I told Aunt Marguerite who was only eight years my senior, half giggling to myself that her stories were the same as when she was in her twenties before she met Wanda.
After that my aunt’s chaotic life changed. She finally belonged somewhere and meeting Wanda was undeniably the single best thing that ever happened to her since Chunky Marlow left her at the altar. Actually he never even made it to the altar. Aunt Marguerite immediately began suffering nervous breakdowns that escalated in both frequency and duration until Wanda.
Known as the Larsen Ladies, they lived over forty years together in a benign neighborhood of charming bungalows originally built as army homes. Everyone outside of relations assumed them sisters until Wanda died of a heart attack and Aunt Marguerite came right unglued at the funeral. Nobody would even care about it today but back then, it was as good as having an unwed pregnancy. All I know for sure and will attest to is their love for me, giving me safe haven from the havoc of drunken parents arguing yet again or handing me a birthday gift when no one else appeared to even remember my birth. Looking out for my beloved remaining auntie was the least I could do out of respect for both of them.
How would you know? You weren’t even born yet when I was poisoned by all those rotten smells in that drafty old boarding house.
Marguerite’s words peeled me back from the layers of memories to her room where dust motes danced in the air, brought to life by her expressive hands to play in the sun for a few seconds more. Her eyes were focused on me so sharply I remembered her telling me once “I am the hawk, I see everything.” Her hands rested on the book she was reading when I entered. I read the spine as it lay on her lap “The Last of the Crazy People – Timothy Findley.” I smiled and looked at my aunt’s outfit, her heather grey skirt her favorite garment in winter months.
Aunt Marguerite wore dresses all her life, always looked nicely put together even if she was only going to fetch some turnip for one of her aromatic soups and stews. Even now where no one but myself and the nurses would see her, her hair was bobby-pinned tidily back above each ear, her earrings matched her bright red sweater and her knee-high stockings bared their tops below the hem of her wool skirt.
You were the only one affected by those bad smells, remember? I said, pouring some water in glass and taking a long cool swallow. Water is the only thing people can’t fool with, I thought, it always tastes so good. I held a glass out to my aunt who shook her head no at me.
The rest were a hardened bunch, that’s why it didn’t affect anybody else in that boarding house, she said, her eyes daring me again.
Listen to the planes overhead, they go all the time now, she continued, calmer, I can hear them crashing right through the sound barrier.
I thought of all the things I could say. It wouldn’t matter what I said really. Wanda was gone. My Aunt would never be the same again. Death changes you. It leaves you double bound. You don’t want to go on without those you love. And yet you know you must. Somehow.
I can hear the planes too, I said softly, though her care home was a good two-hour drive from any airport. When she smiled up at me her eyes went from being small and fearful to become huge orbs of violet love just for me.
Aunt Marguerite, I’ll see you next week, okay?
I said this while kissing the top of her soft white hair, the fragrance of roses wafting up to me.
Don’t let me detain you, she said, her nose already back in her book.