What's in a Name?

Two friends, four names.
Norman is Leo and Teddy is Buber. 

If Norman makes a reservation at a restaurant, he always puts it under the name of Leo. His friends call him Leo, Buck and all sorts of other names I wouldn't know or care to repeat. He was Dean Levine at school and Stormin' Norman at camp. My husband has many handles, as do his many friends, Buber, Whitey, Shakes, Doodles, ponytail Richie and Chuckles.

His parents gave him the name of Norman. No middle name or anything, just Norman. I think he actually likes his name. He has a collection of Norm's Beer and Wine coasters, Norm's Body Shop T-shirts and other cool Norm finds. He is pleased to be included in the Norm clubs of the world.

So why does everyone call him Leo? I think it stands for Let's Eat Out, from the days before he met me. My husband does enjoy a good clementine. Perhaps his nickname actually stands for Let's Eat Oranges. All I know is that if some random person calls out, "Leo," Norman will answer.

Choosing just the right name for a child, or even a dog, could be quite an ordeal. We rescued Murray when he was a stray pup in need of a home. He did not come with a name and I would call him Barney for no good reason. I call all dogs Barney. For his official name, we thought of athletes from Norman's favorite teams and even had a dog tag printed with the name of Mookie.

Our little rescue dog enjoys running after a tennis ball so we eventually settled on the name of Murray, in honor of Andy Murray and Norm's good friend Murray Shabat who loves tennis. We did not realize at the time that the real Murray was not a dog lover. My dog is now named after a man who hates dogs. Oh well, I rarely call him that anyway. To me, he is still Barney or Barnes 'n Nobles or Barney Rubble (Fred's friend), and sometimes when I am really mad at him, he is Mr. Murray. My confused furball will answer to anything if there is a cookie in my hand.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
-Juliet

Good old Billy Shakespeare had the right idea. A name does not define us. Murray would still be the greatest pet in the world, even if he wore his Mookie necklace. And my husband would still be the best dad in the world, even if his mom decided to call him Mookie Levine. I don't know if I would have married a Mookie. Our camp friend Barry married a Cookie. Now that's a different story.

I listened to the Goop podcast yesterday on my walk with Murray. Gwenyth Paltrow was interviewing Stella McCartney. It was an interesting conversation between two very good friends. They have both lived a life of privilege and they admit that easily. Is that why Gwenyth felt empowered enough to name her daughter, Apple and her son, Moses? Apple's godmother is Stella McCartney and grandmother is Blythe Danner. I am sure there are scores of other privileged people with better sense who could have advised Gwenyth on a name. Yet her teenager goes by the name of a fruit and the mention of the girl in her mom's podcast just made me hungry.

My mother decided to call me Barbara Hope after her dear departed Uncle Barney and Uncle Henry. Somewhere in the archives of birth certificates, there is another form filled out for me under the alias of Suzanne Helene. I guess it was more important for her to honor Uncle Barney than it was Uncle Sam, so my name was changed. At home, Yiddish words sprinkled into our conversations and my grandmother was fluent in the language. So I was also known by my Yiddish name, Basha Hannah.

My brother used to call his annoying little sister, The Human Dud, but to this day, he still affectionately refers to me as Bashie. Like my dog, I will answer to anyone with a vegan/gluten free cookie in their hand.

People can opt out of their given names. My dad was born as Reuben and officially modernized it to Robert at some point in his life. My grandmother was born as Rebecca and changed it to Reda to sound more American once she came off the boat. I like the more traditional names. At least my relatives did not become a fruit or a vegetable.

Framed and signed as BLevine '18

I just signed my latest dog painting. I always sign my work as BLevine. It is not because I don't want to include my first name, or I am hiding the fact that I am female, as artists and writers did in the past. I like my name and I am proud to be a woman. You might call me Barb or 'Hey You,' but I am not a Bobbie or a Babs like Ms. Streisand. I am also not a Barbie as in Ken's girlfriend or like a Playboy bunny. I sign my name B because it has fewer letters to paint and over the years it has simply become my signature.

Our friend Buber (aka Theodore, Ted, or Teddy) calls me B. That works too. If you are looking for a pet portrait I will accept a new commission by any name you like. Call me.