Don’t Call Me Pat

My turn! Just a little about me, known here at Idiosyncrazies as Fannie, but in real life:

Were You Named After Someone?

My given name, Patricia Ann, as aristocratic as it may sound, came about in the most unassuming of ways. My dear mother thought that the name “Patti Plaice” sounded so “cute.” She just loved the name Patti. My grandmother, however, being one who was bound by propriety and tradition, insisted that Patti could be my “nickname” but that Patricia is what I should be named if my mother wanted to call me Patti. And, my middle name? Well that comes from the very same grandmother (Phoebe Ann). As a nod to her and to honor my grandfather’s request, my middle name would be Ann. BUT the story around my name doesn’t really stop there…

I have never liked to be called “Pat.” My profound apologies to anyone who may be reading this whose name is Pat, but I always thought it sounded like someone was spitting when they said, “Pat.” Not a problem. No one called me Pat. Until…

For some reason, way back in the 70’s, when I was an aspiring student at the most prestigious of California Universities (California State University, Chico; look it up, specifically in terms of “the 70’s”) I often found myself being addressed by “casual” acquaintances as “Pat.” You know what I mean about “casual”; the ones who just want to prove how many people they know as they stroll across campus, their backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses on top of their heads, shouting over one shoulder and then the other, “Hi Margo, Hi Candace, Hi Cindy, Hi ‘Pat’!” WHAT???? PAT??? And my roommates would always laugh and say something along the lines of, “We can always tell when someone really doesn’t know you as well as they think they do, because if they did, they’d never call you “Pat.” True that.

Ah, but there’s a P.S. to that, isn’t there? Aren’t I known in some circles as MaPat? So, how did THAT come about? That would be compliments of my dear daughter. When my children were snarky little teenagers, if they wanted to “get my goat” they would call me, “Pat.” But then, when my daughter was pregnant with my first born grandchild, she would fondly talk to her unborn child about me and she would call me Pat. Well, it just kind of started to stick and, with the tiniest of nods to my grandmother about propriety and the fact that it wouldn’t be “proper” for a grandchild to call his/her grandmother by her somewhat first name, MaPat was coined. And there you have it. A very long answer to my first question.

When Was The Last Time You Cried?

That’s easy…happens every single time. Reagan International Airport, Washington DC, February 19, 2013 at approximately 5:53 a.m. After a wonderful six days together, it was time to say good-bye to our precious daughter, her husband and their precious babies. And really, try as I might, it does happen EACH and EVERY stinkin’ time! You’d think I’d get used to it, they’re a military family for cryin’ out loud (ha ha pun FULLY intended). At least I have summoned the slightest bit of decorum over the past couple of years. The FIRST time I had to say good-bye to my four week old grandson after spending the first four weeks of his life with them, my daughter and I sat there, in the terminal discussing how I really did need to get on the plane. We even talked about how I really couldn’t play it out like Tom Hanks did in “The Terminal”; and, well, just stay in the terminal.

I didn’t want to get on the plane.  But, looking around at the accommodations at the Lawton, Oklahoma airport, I realized I really couldn’t live there indefinitely. We sat there, literally, in the terminal together until the very last minute. I think, as I tore myself away from my daughter, who, by the way, was equally blubbery (don’t let her tell you otherwise) she said something like, “Get it together mom, you don’t want to be THAT person on the airplane.” Well, I WAS that person on the airplane. I was flying from Oklahoma to Oregon and I think I was somewhere over Redding, California before the waterworks finally stopped. I was composed enough not to be too loud about it. Nowadays, I usually can pull it back together as the landing gear is coming up (after the first layover, that is).

Do You Like Your Handwriting?

Not so much. I played around with it a lot as a young person and never quite got the look just right; should I slant to the left? To the right? Big fluffy letters with loops or tall, slender and sophisticated (much like my stature…HA).

For the most part I believe it is passable and legible. Apparently, my husband would beg to differ. Just yesterday, I jotted a quick list for him as he was heading out to do some shopping. He had a heck of a time trying to find the “Cocomat Flour” at Safeway…looked and looked and looked…finally tracked down a courtesy clerk who led him up one aisle and down the other, scratching his head and finally saying, in the Asian Food section, “I don’t think I know what that is and I’m pretty sure we don’t have any.” ‘Nuff said.

What Is Your Favorite Lunch Meat?

Mmmmm…nothing like Bacon, like on a BLT with the crispest of crisp lettuce and a nice, red, juicy, preferably “home grown” tomato on toasted homemade sourdough bread, lathered with a nice “schmear” of mayonaise. Oh, pardon me while I go make one of those right now! And it’s not limited to the BLT; one of my fondest memories of my nanny (Phoebe Ann, referred to above) was when she would fix us Bacon Sandwiches for breakfast; nothing but crisp bacon between two pieces of perfectly toasted and buttered bread. Yep. Bacon.

Wipe that drool off of the corner of your mouth, would ya?

Do You Have Kids?

Are you kidding? Have you not seen my Facebook posts? Not heard me talk ad nauseum about my offspring? Why, yes, I do have children, let me tell you about them.

Here they are, my two plus my two grandbabies…oh, wait, let me get a better picture of my granddaughter…

She’s a beauty, isn’t she?

Our first born is our son, who is now 31. He is amazing in his love of life, his spirit, his wit, his intelligence and his commitment to friends and family. Not to say that said, “love of life, spirit and wit” didn’t get him in some hot water with his mother in his younger days; I appreciate those characteristics so much more now compared to when he was fifteen, ten inches taller than me and challenging me with his “spirit.” In terms of a vocation, as he says, “Banking is what I do, a coach is what I am.” Since middle school, his passion has been to coach sports, preferably high school football. And now, for the past five plus years, that is what he has done; juggling his “day job” with his passion. We’re so proud of how he takes his own life lessons, both the easy and the “not-so-easy”, to help mentor the young men he comes in contact with.

Our second born is our dear daughter and mother of our grandchildren. She is closing in on 30. She also has a quick wit; she had to, in order to survive her brother who was only a year ahead of her in school and cutting a pretty large swath through which she had to follow. She is married to an officer in the Army and, as such, has embraced the life of a military spouse with dedication and bravery. She has taught us all so much about military life; we never would have understood nor appreciated it without her experiences. She is the most amazing mommy to Parker and Riley and I miss her like crazy. Ok, there goes the tears. Do I have to change my answer to #2, above?

And there you have it…just a glimpse into the life of the girl behind the computer screen.