What we love, we name

Sometimes, you do things you don’t know are weird.

Like when my niece Piper innocently asked her little friend, “What voice does your mom use to make your dog talk?” She thought every family pretends their dogs carry on elaborate conversations with them in silly accents. My last dog had a brogue.

Other times, you do things you know are weird, like referring to your house as Merrytop.

I bet you’ve named your car. That car goes everywhere with you. It gives you wings. It knows your singing voice. It’s only natural to personify something you love.

My daughter’s car is The Grey Lady. I know of an SUV called The Beast. And The Blueberry is the nickname of a friend’s little blue compact.

Back in the day, it was our homes that received the honor of being named. Think Monticello or Graceland. And Fallingwater perfectly describes Frank Lloyd Wright’s famous masterpiece. Our stories, too, are filled with homes as characters, like Bilbo’s beloved Bag End in the Shire.

Why did we drop this charming habit? If we love the place we call home, it should have a name, too.

When we moved into our current home on Butternut Avenue, I was smitten. I remember the first time I washed dishes and felt the joy and gratitude of being able to look out a window right over the kitchen sink. Little things.

For years, only my family knew our home’s name. Wouldn’t I be made fun of if people knew? But now, it’s out there. Merrytop. A happy, bright little place with a front room I call my Salon and a kitchen garden out back for growing herbs and sweet cherry tomatoes. My husband even had a Merrytop logo designed for me as a Christmas gift one year.

So, what is your home’s name?