My Name

I don't dislike my name. I actually really like my name and never have considered changing it. I like it solo and like it when matched with my middle name. The fact that it is not an overly common name does not bother me now, in adulthood. As a child, though, it was a source of frustration.

Whereas my sister could always find items personalized with her name; mugs, key-chains, magnets... the kind of memorabilia each child gravitates towards while on vacation, I always needed to settle for generic version of the same. Although exactly the same, the lack of my name on such objects made them feel less mine and more meant for anybody.

Then came the year that we studied New York history in school. I was thrilled, overjoyed really, to find out that the highest point in the state was Mount Marcy; and it was spelled correctly. My name was an important part of New York State history!

Oh the joy I felt when studying the Adirondecks. Any mention of Mount Marcy immediately brought me joy. I am sure that we studied much more than this one place in New York State. I am sure that we studied the history of the state in great specific detail. I am positive that we discussed NY politics and areas of far greater importance than this highly elevated point, such as NY City and our capital, Albany. I am sure we discussed New York's role in the Revolutionary War Era and which historical figures slept where and why. For me, that has all been buried deep beneath the fact that my name has significance in New York.

The only way to reach the summit is to hike. Not being from a personal or familial history of great hikers, it never occurred to me then or now that I may one day reach the summit. I am just happy to know that it is there.

Last summer we were in Santa Fe and imagine my joy when tour guide books and maps mentioned Marcy Street; spelled correctly once again. Marcy Street was a great find. A wonderful Tapas restaurant has residence there and we enjoyed a delightful lunch within its cool interior.

My name has just enough of an uncommon nature to it that I have had people read quickly over my name and call me Nancy or Mary; both significantly more common in our vernacular. I always stop to correct the person in a questioning manner "Did you mean Marcy?". It is frustrating enough to be called the wrong name, but when I have had this happen while in-patient in a hospital; either for the birth of my children or for surgery, I become every medical professionals worst nightmare. I question if the medication that they are trying to give me is really for me or is it for some Mary or Nancy? Is that blood work being done for me or for another patient? I question and make them check and double check and check again.

But for all the non-personalized knick-knacks and confusion by those who read too fast or assume that my name is something else, I really do like my name.

Taking Notes

I have been reading a lot, a love that goes back to my childhood. The increase in my reading in the past 9 months or so is because of the ease of enlarging the font on my Kindle to a readable size and then the addition of no line bifocals to my face. Thank you Amazon and Dr. Wittpenn for bringing my love of reading back to a place of prominence in my life.

I am finding that now that I am back into reading for hours upon hours that I spend a lot more time thinking about what I am reading. I find myself fascinated by descriptions of people and places and feelings. I am in awe of some of the authors that I have read. I also have read some things that make me wonder how the author was able to get past editors and publishers and to the audience of readers anxious to pull up a good read.

So many thoughts go through my mind as I read. Word usage, introduction to places I have never been in mind or body, characters unlike any people I have ever met. I find myself scribbling quotes, concepts and really interesting words on varying writing surfaces (see post on lists for more on that). It suddenly occurred to me that I am taking notes on the texts that I am reading. I was never a great note taker in college. I found that if I took notes during lectures I got distracted by what I am was writing and missed the next words of wisdom that were being spoken by the lecturer. When reading a textbook I would whip out my trusty yellow highlighter; we did not have multi-colored highlighters back then, and focus on those concepts that I felt were important within the realm of class discussions to come, or papers yet to write. No book was immune to my highlighter. When it became time to study for my classes, I pulled out my books and looked for those ever present highlighted areas. The only time I remember really taking notes was when I was writing my thesis. They weren't really notes per se they were concepts or arguments for and against the point I was trying to make. They were all written on index cards, ready to be shuffled around for when I was ready to write my thesis.

Modern day Marcy, meaning 2010 forward, takes notes on books. Every book I read, that are all now choices that I make and are for enjoyment, leads me to grab a pen. Sometimes there is a fabulous quote that I must write down before I forget it. Other times it is a word that I either don't know or have never used. I even find that in my reading I am pulling ideas for future blog posts.

I decided this morning that I need to organize some of what I am writing down. Step one, to be done this morning, is that I have an empty journal and that is going to be where I write down all the words that fascinate me. I am sure in time there will be no room in the now empty journal but for now the blank pages beckon me. A bound book of words will be the outcome but the adventure of finding words to fill it still lies ahead.