As long as I can remember, I have been in the habit of talking to many of the inanimate objects that share my space. An example might be, “Hey, you runaway blueberry, get back here! You know you’re going to get eaten anyway.” Or “Oh, you poor chair! You are completely smothered in cat hair! Don’t worry, I’m going to vacuum you tomorrow.” These kinds of conversations have been a part of my daily life for more years than I can count. But I only began naming things about ten years ago, when I bought my most recent car.
Only a few of my things display enough personality to require a name. Often they will tell me, in their own way, that they want a name, even guiding me through the process to make certain that I select one that fits them.
You don’t believe me, you say? Try leaving your logical, factual world behind, and step into my imaginary world, if only for a few moments, so I can tell you about a few of the things with names that grace my life. I should warn you, though, that once I name a thing I begin to carry on conversations with it, and once I do that, it opens up to me and reveals a rich and unique personality.
Rudy: Rudy was the first of my inanimate objects to receive a name. He is a Prius C, the smallest of Toyota’s three Prius versions. Even the largest of the Priuses is a fairly small car. Rudy makes up for his diminutive stature with his larger than life attitude. Rudy is bright red in color. You can’t miss him in a crowd. People at the Rochester community center, 125 LIVE, often tell me, “I always know when you are here, Linda, because I see your car in the parking lot.” Now, the 125 LIVE parking lot is usually packed, but Rudy stands out. Rudy is very proud of his job, and works diligently to do it well. He is a rule follower, and is sure to cry if I break any of his rules.
“Bing, bing, bing.” he cries.
“What is it, Rudy? Everything looks okay to me.”
“Bing, bing bing.” He insists.
“Why are you crying, Rudy? I don’t see anything.”
“Bing, bing, bing!!”
“Oh, I left the moonroof open. Thanks Rudy, sometimes you’re smarter than me.” Once in a while, though, Rudy’s insistence on enforcing the rules can be a little annoying.
“Bing bing bing bing!”
“Yes, Rudy,” I tell him in a soothing voice, “ I know I don’t have my seatbelt on. I’m just backing you out of the garage.”
Or perhaps, “Bing bing bing!” (he does have a limited vocabulary.) “It’s okay, Rudy,” I might say, a little annoyed, “I’ll be right back inside in a couple of seconds. I’m just putting the groceries on the porch.” But he is inconsolable until my keys and I are both back inside the car where we belong. After I have run him through the car wash, though, you should see him strut, showing off his beautiful red coat of paint. He’s more than a little vain. Rudy kind of reminds me of Don Knotts, Barney on the Andy Griffith show.
Mabel: Rudy’s competition is Mabel, my bike. Mabel is the “Plain Jane” of my named things. She is a lovely but quiet dark green in color. She has no bells or whistles, a one speed bike with pedal brakes. Old fashioned sums her up pretty well. But like many women of a bygone era, Mabel takes pride in honest work, always giving her very best effort. She is reliable and never complains, even as we struggle together to get up a particularly difficult hill. Mabel is so quiet and soft spoken that I had her for many years before I realized she needed a name. She never told me. But she did seem pleased when I finally chose a name for her.
Henry: Now, what can I say about Henry? Henry is the most scatterbrained of my named things. “Ditzy” might even be a good word to describe him. Henry is my roomba, and he usually manages to do a pretty good job, although he is so easily distracted that he wanders aimlessly in all directions. Sometimes he will spend way too much time vacuuming the same small area over and over again, until I pick him up and point him toward a different room. When I do so, he often gets so excited that he will turn around and come right back to the same area I took him away from. Henry occasionally talks to me through my iPhone. This is usually when he has gotten into some kind of minor trouble, which he exaggerates enormously. “Help!” he cries in terror. “Your roomba is stuck on the edge of a cliff!” Upon investigation, I will find him hung up on one of the chair legs under my rocker, a cliff of perhaps one inch over a carpeted floor. When he is ready to be done, he continues to zig-zag about erratically, muttering “Gotta go home, gotta go home.” He wanders around, lost, until his battery runs down, at which time he sends out a panicky distress call, “Your Roomba’s battery is low!” But typical of Henry’s inability to plan ahead, he doesn’t send out the call until his battery is completely dead. From that point on, he cannot move or even beep to tell me his location. I must go look for him. He might be in the middle of a room or behind a door. Worse, he might be under the dresser or way back under the bed. Then I will have to get down onto my belly and perform a rescue mission, pulling him out to safety and carrying him to his charging station. Once back on his charging station, he sends a hopeful plea over the iPhone, “Did your Roomba do a good job? Huh? Huh? Did I do a good job?” Most of the time, he has actually managed to do a pretty good job. But not always.
Wanda: The most recent thing I have named is Wanda. Wanda is an Apple watch I bought this past winter. I originally named her Adam, for Adam’s Apple. Right from the start, the name just didn’t fit. After a while, I became attuned enough to hear her quiet, but firm, voice telling me “I’m female.” So I tried “Wanda Watch,” and she seemed to like that name. The longer I interact with a thing, the more I learn about their personality, and Wanda’s personality is still revealing itself to me, so I don’t yet know too much about her. I do know she very much wants me to live a healthy life. She can even be a little bossy about what she thinks I ought to be doing. She will tell me things like, “Just a little more work and you can reach your exercise goal!” (It’s actually her goal for me, not mine.) We are still learning how to communicate with each other. A few times, when she was new, she awakened me in the middle of the night, thumping me on the wrist to inform me that I’d been sitting still for too long and it was time for me to stand and move around a bit. “Thanks, Wanda, but no thanks. I was quite happy lying still at four o’clock in the morning.” I have a feeling Wanda and I will get along well together. As bossy as she is, Wanda does really seem to want to please me.
So now you know. I name things and I talk to them. Maybe you do too. If you don’t, maybe you should try it sometime. You might just get to know some strange characters.
Copyright © 2024 by Linda Hanson