So, needing a name for this humble little blog of mine, I went out for a run (running and spontaneous remarkable ideas are frequent bedfellows). And hey presto it happened. My very own Eureka! moment.
Eureka! moments can happen anywhere. In the bath is the traditional spot - it’s where (according to legend) they all began. But the kitchen, the car, or with your head between your legs in a yoga class are all just as valid places for a half-decent Eureka! moment. Mine hit me on the beautiful beachside walkway that meanders along the Pacific coast between Manly & Fairlight. The sun was just popping up over the sea to my left. The scene was set.
& then the best bloomin’ blog title ever popped into my head. Just like that. Pop! It was pure genius. Inspired. It would be the envy of bloggers everywhere. Perez Hilton eat your heart out.
Names are important things. They identify and define. They give meaning. I know this because I recently changed mine, and when I did it caused a right old stir. I used to be David Tipler, but I left him behind and became David Pich. The new me. My mates were horrified. Actually, it was mainly my male mates who were horrified. They questioned my identity. My sanity. My masculinity. Why in the name of God...of Allah....of Buddha...of all 'the big ones'....would I take my wife’s name? For the record, they all stressed that there was nothing at all wrong with my wife...or her name. But why change! I was a man. The man. Wasn’t I?
So here it is. Confession time. It’s a simple confession. It’s not philosophical. Or deep. And it’s not remotely about my identity. It’s purely about period pain. And yes, I am a man.
We have a daughter. Pearl Matisse. She’s up top in the photo, staring at the camera just like I asked her to. At 16-months kids always do what they’re told. We both loved the name Pearl from the day dot. Then we heard the name Matisse, and we loved that too. We had the name well before the actual Pearl Matisse dropped onto our laps on Sunday 4th July 2010.
When you have a real-life Pearl Matisse and you’re a David Tipler you have much more than you bargained for. You have a problem. A potentially painful problem. There was no way on earth that Pearl Matisse could be Pearl Matisse Tipler. No way. Never. Not whilst I was her papa. It would take little Jonny Rotten (age 10) about as long as it takes him to log-on to Facebook to spot her initials. P.M.T. And that would be Pearl Matisse Tipler’s innocent childhood lost. Gone. Gone in 60 seconds. Less.
So, purely to spare Pearl the pain of P.M.T., when I married Eileen Pich (aka ‘Picky’), I opted to join the two of them on planet Pich.
What’s in a name? Potentially a whole heap of pain, if you’re not careful.
Back to my blog name and my Eureka! moment on that beautiful beachside path. I got home and told Picky. She loved it too. She adored it. We googled it. Together. Team Pich in action. DISASTER. Worse than disaster. CALAMITY. (Is a calamity any worse than a disaster?).
I couldn’t think of anything else after ‘the great naming Calamity’. So I called it this. & then there was this blog. I know. It’s not perfect. But amidst my shattered dreams, my broken heart, and the end of my visions of blog superstardom, it was all I had. I was out of ideas. I tried my best, but there’s only so much navel-contemplating a man can do before he has an overwhelming desire just to get on with it. The time came to publish and be damned.
Thanks for dropping by.
(Ah...sorry. The original name of my blog? Before the revelation please ensure that pets, mothers-in-law and minors (miners, even) are nowhere near the computer. Be alone and be prepared. You have been warned. Here you go.
The original name of my blog; the name to launch a thousand words, to set me on my way to the blogosphere and beyond ... Truly Madly dp. Google it. Not at work. Enough said.)
pip pip
(photo from www.tiptoptens.com)
