Call me Bubble

I've just returned from Nashville, which was marvelous. There was actually a flake or two of snow while I was there, which is funny because the last time I was there, 20 years ago, it snowed! That time it was ankle deep. I stayed at the Opryland, which is massive but nice and I'm sorry to say, reminded me of Disneyland. I wish I could say it reminded me of some wonderful southern location, but I don't have that knowledge, so Disneyland it is. The architecture was similar to "New Orleans Square" at the Mouse House. I think I need to venture further than the nearest theme park. I like Nashville and at one time I was very close to moving there. The funniest thing that happened on this trip was meeting someone who reads my blog! It isn't difficult to type away at home in my jammies. But to have the acknowledgement that real people are reading this stuff was a bit unsettling! But, on I go.

You can't pick your nicknames. Once in college this guy tried to get everyone to call him "Biff" ( am I dating myself?) but we thought that was goofy and refused to do it. Nicknames come from inside jokes, name derivatives and baby talk. There are cousins in my family who call their Grandpa both "Bumpa" and "Papa". Same guy, two different nicknames that came from the toddler perspective. My great- grandmother, for whom I was given the name, "Mable" (and you thought I was making that up! Oh no!) was known as "Bubble" to all of her grand and great grandkids. Come to think of it, there wasn't a "Grandma" in the bunch, they all had nicknames. Not that I'm in ANY hurry for the distinction, but I would love to be known as "Bubble" to my grandkiddos. Of course, if I try to press the name, it will be rejected for whatever they come up with. Just don't call me "Grandma". Ever.