It’s Thursday. You know what that means. Please check out my weekly blog group, comprised of a fantastic group of ladies who will dazzle you with insight on various topics. After reading my post, check out their blogs as well, listed under my Blogroll section. Just click on:
Froggie (Tracey): One frog’s distinct voice on the world around her.
Merry Land Girl (Melissa): Tales of a suburban mom who likes to talk about pop culture, books, Judaism, family, friendship and anything else that comes to mind.
Mom Of Many (Susanna): One Mom’s perspective on life, raising kids, knitting and other unrelated topics.
I wanted to simmer down this week and have some fun, following rather serious topics the last few Thursdays.
We’ve all heard of creating your own “stripper name” based on this equation: your first pet= first name. Street you grew up on= last name. What is your stripper name? And, tell us about that first pet and the street you grew up on that inspired your name.
My stripper name is: GINGER CUNNINGHAM
Ginger was my grandparent’s toy poodle who acted nothing like a toy poodle. First of all, she wasn’t skinny, or dainty. She was a chubby dog, fed well on ground beef and rice with the occasional chopped veggies sprinkled in. That was lunch and dinner. Yes, she had three square meals a day; dog food was her breakfast of champions.
She was a lover, and not at all snooty. I remember holding her like a baby many times, and she would never squirm or complain. I’d also hold her in the palms of my hand and straight out in front of me, with her lying on her back. She had no fear, and trusted me implicitly.
Yet, for all her love, she could be vicious. When she’d see someone in uniform, it would set her off. She bit the mailman and the UPS man, so we’d have to keep an eye out and make sure she didn’t have free reign of the front yard when they happened by.
I considered Ginger my dog, even though technically my grandparent’s owned her. I lived with them off an on since they had adopted her as a tiny pup. I was 11 at the time, and I was in my early 20’s when I was given the bad news of her failing health. She had to be put to sleep, and I felt horrible about it. To this day, I can still remember her excitement when she’d see the postman’s truck pull up to drop mail off. I’d yell, “Mule train! Mule train!” (something my grandpa would say and the name stuck) and I’d let her out while I ran alongside the fence. She’d chase me the whole way to the mailbox and back. What a great dog.
As for Cunningham, for many years I lived on Cunningham Lane, in an apartment community tucked back behind the old Roth’s I.G.A. in Salem, Oregon. I have a lot of good memories (and some bad ones, too) while spending my early years there. I remember living right next door to my best friend, our duplexes connected. We could both open our bedroom windows and lean out, talking to each other. Lots of sleepovers and late nights. My sister and I would roam the community for hours, entertaining ourselves in the playground there, and playing with the others kids.
My mom gave me free reign to pretty much do whatever I wanted, so I’d hop on my bike and go everywhere. One of the places I’d frequent was a cemetery of all places. I’d take Cunningham until it looped up to meet Kurth St, and then I took that to Browning Ave. Belcrest Memorial Park was there, with a fantastic pond on site. I’d catch newts and frogs and keep them as pets.
I know, it sounds a little creepy, but I never thought of this as a scary place to spend time.
So, there you have it. My stripper name broken down until it doesn’t sound very stripper-like anymore. Takes on a whole new meaning when you have the back story, doesn’t it?