What’s In A Name?

            April Fouille was no fool, however she was April Fouille, according to her birth certificate, April Jean Fouille. Spelt F-o-u-i-l-l-e. Pronounced ‘fool’. If she could have lived in Quebec, perhaps it would have been pronounced ‘Fou-ille’ with heavy pronunciation on the ‘ille’. But, born and raised on the prairies, there was no way Westerners were going to attach any kind of French pronunciation to her name, so over the years it became simply ‘fool’.

            April was still mad at her parents, even now that she was a woman. Surely they could have known the traumatic events that would unfold between dawn and noon each year on April 1^st - April Fool’s Day. And it truly was April Fouille’s day, because this young lady was so named because it just so happens she was also born on April Fool’s Day. April Jean Fouille – birth date, April 1, 1984, at 11:59 am.

            Both parents had decided being that April was such a lovely month, and a wonderful name, that this is what their new cute bundle of joy shall be called. Besides that her Dad had winked, she’s an April Fool’s baby. What a joke. Surely April was the only one in the world with these birth circumstances and two totally weird parents.

            Trepidation set in as April pulled the covers over her swollen belly on this eve of April Fool’s Day and settled down for another rough nights sleep. She was nine months, 5 days, and as she had calculated, some 5 hours overdue. This she knew for sure because it was the last time she’d had sex, and the rotten no good for nothing father had skipped town. No matter, April thought, I wouldn’t have married him anyway. What - with a last name like Showers.

The doctor said the baby could come any time. She couldn’t wait. But the timing... well she thought disgustedly, no matter what she would NOT have the baby tomorrow. But, if she did, April knew definitely that if she had a girl, the baby would not be named after her.

Doziness finally set in, her eyelids becoming heavy, April drifted into a dream-like sleep where she traveled to the time of her childhood, reliving the events of those April Fool’s days with agony.

There were the usual tricks such as saran wrap on the toilet seat (perhaps that one was meant more for her Dad). The phone call that school was cancelled, lucky enough April’s mother never fell for that one and she was one of the few kids who showed up that morning.

Then there was the year old Mrs. Melrose (bless her heart) claimed there would be no joke playing, and anyone caught doing so would go to detention. Not one student play a joke that morning, and afterward, Mrs. Melrose said a simple “April Fool”.

The worst one, which still brought tears to April’s eyes, was in high school. She was madly in love with the captain of the volleyball team and they had been an item since the beginning of grade eleven. The boys had a game on March 31, but April couldn’t make it because she had had a really bad flu. The next morning she had dragged herself to school just to see Josh and find out how the game had gone and if the team were on their way to the finals?

She was so sick, she forgot her books at home, but worst of all, she’d forgotten what day it was. Everyone in her class rushed up to her and said, “Didn’t you hear?” Turns out Josh had tangled with a teammate and had gone down in the second period, his knee had extensive cartilage damage, he was in surgery and it was unknown if he would ever play again.

The kids sent her running off to the General Hospital. She spent an hour looking for Josh. No one knew where he was. Admitting suggested she try the Alberta Children’s Hospital, so off went April. All the money she had was used up in cab fare. When she reached the Children’s, Josh again was no where to be found. Where was he? By this time April had vomited three times, and the nurses were ready to admit her into the hospital. Feeling totally miserable, April finally collapsed on a chair in the lounge and had started crying.  Several minutes later, Josh’s voice had startled her, “Man girl, it was so funny watching you chase around the city looking for me. Must be love! And oh... by the way… April Fools, my cute little fool.”

April tossed aside the heavy covers. The baby was doing the wave in her abdomen and she felt a jab under her rib. She smiled to herself when she remembered the slap across the face she had given Josh. He had deserved it. A week later she told him to drift. She didn’t need someone that cruel in her life.

April went to the nursery and caressed the sides of the crib and ran her fingers over the flannel baby quilt. Looking out of the window she noticed the sky had lightened considerably and decided against going back to bed when suddenly she felt a warm sensation and a trickle running down between her thighs. Quickly she hiked her nightie through her legs and rushed to the bathroom. There her water broke with a vengeance. 

“I guess it’s meant to be.” April groaned. She called her dad and by the time she had mopped up the floor with some towels and changed into a clean night gown he was knocking at the door.

“You know what day it is, don’t you?” Dad greeted her with a wink.

She moaned in reply, her first contraction taking her by surprise.

“Perhaps its false labour.”

“Funny Dad! Just open the car door.” April ordered holding her belly like the beach ball that it was.

They reached the hospital in record time. Her Dad wanted to be a coach but had settled for chauffeur instead. April wanted this experience all to herself.

Things began to move quickly once she reached labour and delivery. Dawn turned into full morning with the hours passing, the minutes registered by the severity of contractions and the seconds in between. Once April reached the delivery room, the baby, anxious to join the world had come quite quickly.

She looked down at her newborn nestled against her breast and felt her heart swell. She kissed the soft downy head and smiled.

“Can we come in?” Mom poked her head around the door. “I want to meet my new grandchild.”

“Of course,” said April as she shifted the baby into the crook of her arm.

“Oh my!” Mom whispered in awe. “What a beautiful baby!”

“I’d like you to meet your grandson,” said April with pride.

“What’s his name?” Dad asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Well…” April had thought long and hard for the last hour about what to call her son. She looked at the clock. It was five to twelve.

She looked at Dad with a grin on her face.

“I think I’ll call him… Sue.”

“But… But…a boy named Sue?” Dad sputtered.

“No worse than naming your daughter April on April Fool’s Day, Mister Fouille,” answered April haughtily.

April glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. She looked at her parents and laughed.

“April Fool!”

© April 2008, by Patricia L. Atchison. All rights Reserved. No part of this document may be printed, reproduced or photocopied either electronically or in any format without written permission from the author.

Here I am at fifty years old and finding myself looking back and analyzing where I’ve come and where I am heading to. I have a twenty five year wedding anniversary coming up in June and just this week on television, there was a report on the twentieth anniversary of the 1988 Calgary, Alberta, Winter Olympic Games. I remember volunteering for this event, and also being 5 months pregnant with our daughter, who will be twenty in June.

I look back on our lives (hubby’s, and myself) over the last twenty to twenty five years and feel proud of all that we have accomplished. We moved forward. We are ahead, where we find ourselves leading a comfortable, enjoyable life. We made goals and flourished. We grew as a couple and learned how to be a mother and father. We raised a wonderful child, who is now in the process of attaining her own goals and dreams.

We will soon see the end of our mortgage. Just a little over twenty years ago, we hoped that someday we would be mortgage free and now the day is almost upon us. We’ve had other loans and paid them off. We’ve bought, sold and trashed many vehicles (over sixteen at last count), and I am sure there will be a few more. We’ve had vacation timeshares and family vacations have been a priority.

We are successful. Life is good – a motto we remind ourselves of every day.

But, what about the personal deep down goals, the health, personal and spiritual ones?  Did we fulfill those?  I can only speak for myself.

I find I strive and strive for something. I work hard, and then when it happens, it seems like I ask myself, “Wow. When did that happen?” An example is my karate training. I started seven years ago. I always knew I wanted to get my black belt, but it seemed so far into the future, I didn’t put much emphasis on it. How did I even know my health would hold up until I could get to that step – which is about ten years of training – at least? But I enjoyed the training and proceeded to test and learn and train. No, I don’t have my black belt, at least not yet, but now I am close enough to the dream that it is becoming a reality, another few years and I should be there. I find myself wondering how I got this far. When did it grow from a dream to a goal I can realize?

I find my writing goals are also the same. I’ve taken so many twists and turns in my “writing career”, I sometimes wonder if I am ever going to reach that ultimate goal for which I strive. To me the ultimate goal is to be published by a “publishing house”, a company, which offers contracts for manuscripts it wishes to publish and promote on the trade market. The writer signs the contract and works with the publishing house to promote and market the book, however all the costs involved are usually paid for by the publishing company. Once published in this way, the author is deemed “a published author” and is eligible for all sorts of accolades with various organizations within the industry. This might be the opportunity to join elite clubs, apply for grants, have reviews done on the published book, and be permitted to attend school author circuits. It is almost like getting a degree. You can say you’ve been through a course and done well, but without that degree, you’re not considered eligible for certain openings. Some people, companies and organizations don’t put much emphasis on degrees, and look at the skill sets and experience of the person.

The good news is that with everything there is a back door to the publishing trade. There are Print on Demand (POD) companies setting up all the time, where they will take care of your publishing needs for a fee, and they will help to market your title on their online store and with distribution (this isn’t very clear how they do this and it may be limited unless you are willing to spend lots more money). The other option is to self publish and perform the complete task of getting your book from layout to print process and then market it yourself.

This is the route I chose. I have been in the graphics, and printing industry for thirty years. I have been writing and editing for well over 15 years. I have the experience to walk through the back door of the publishing industry. Have I realized the goal of published author? I believe so, I do have book in hand and many published articles in magazines to prove it. Am I considered a ‘published author’ in ‘the industry’s eyes’? Depends who the group/individual or club is. With magazine publishing – yes, because I can supply clips of articles published by magazines to show my experience. As a published book author, not really – I don’t have a trade publishers stamp. However, I have many readers who have enjoyed the book, and continue to do so.

With all this verbiage, where do my thoughts lead me? I was talking about realizing personal goals. I am getting there. In my mind I am not there. The road is winding, going downhill and uphill and curving around many obstacles. Am I stagnant, stopped? No, I am on the move, and that is what meeting goals is all about; moving forward, looking back to see how far we’ve come and striving, always striving. Welcome to life!

Christmas has always been a hard time for me. I still struggle to figure out the reason. I love giving gifts, and receiving them (the giving is better). I like Christmas music, although I do find most of it brings tears to my eyes. I like the zippy ones that make you want to dance. Putting up the tree can be a chore, especially if one gets too fussy about where the lights are sitting, or which bow has too many ornaments compared to the others.

The commercialization takes away from the Christmas spirit. It seems every item that can be purchased is fair game including cars, diamonds worth thousands, and furniture you don’t have to pay for until a few years have gone buy.

One gets tired of all the fundraising phone calls. I guess because it’s the ‘giving season’ we all should have our pocket books wide open for any charity that wants to take up a few minutes of our busy lives.

Why is it every year the same movies are played over and over again? The classics they’re called. Can’t we write new Christmas scripts – oh I forgot there’s a writer’s strike. If I hear one more ad for “A Christmas Carol – Now Playing’, I might put a hole through the TV. Speaking of TV’s – who needs that big 52 inch one? What happened to simple gifts? Oh right – I guess they’re still around: a pair of socks even boxed sets of 3 or more.

This year our Christmas time out includes neither decorating nor putting up a tree. I did talk my husband into getting a small spruce in a paper cup to sit on the table. After all it can be planted in the yard once spring arrives. Our time out also includes a vacation away to Mexico. We’re taking no gifts – actually we haven’t even bought many as our trip is the Christmas gift. It’s kind of exciting thinking about lying on the beach and forgetting it’s Christmas day.

Will we ponder our time out after all is said and done and wish we had taken part in the festivities? I don’t know. All I know is that each day I wake up and tell myself to get to my ‘happy place’. It’s only one month, only a few weeks left now and we’ll be onto the home stretch, then I won’t have to worry about it for another eleven months.

What brings about this depression of an event that’s considered the most important one of the year? I still search for an answer. Perhaps it’s buried deep within – some psychological turn of events that left a scar. As each year passes I greet the season with trepidation and stomach aces. I feel the spirit – but it seems to go in the wrong direction, down not up.

So as I greet this time out from Christmas and push myself into my happy place, I find myself not too sad. I am succeeding in getting through the days. I’m even getting ‘jiggy’ with a few seasonal melodies and finding a few happy moments in each day.  
Merry Christmas