Speaking of names, it was Thanksgiving weekend, when the agonizing decision of which film to watch from the thousands available was upon us. We finally chose the one about which enough people had said, "I'll watch that." No great enthusiasm but enough so that no one was threatening to go to bed instead.
And so it was that the credits had just started to roll past Jeremy Irons when Son-In-Law #2 said, "I wish my name were a sentence." His isn't. Nor is mine. But then...
We realized that, thanks to their papa, my daughters' names are: Miranda Stamps, Eliza Stamps.
Is yours? (And of course this is reminding me of Bucky Fuller's I Seem To Be a Verb.)
