What's in a Name?

“Mary Poppins, is that your name? It’s lovely.”


I have heard that so many times.

Ok, it’s actually, “Ivy Bliss, is that your name? It’s lovely.”

Yes. Ivy Bliss is my name. My first and middle name. I tend to just go by that, my last name is difficult to spell – not because it is hard, but because it could be spelled in so many different ways, due to phonetics. Also because when people see it on paper, it is always said wrong.

And, of course, there’s a story behind it. My parents are not hippies. That’s me, remember?

My mom doesn't.

My parents worked at a ski resort in Colorado long before I was born. My mom was a maid, and my dad ran the ski lift. They met several famous people in that time. My mom met Lucille Ball. My mom is not a fan. Apparently, Lucy lined up the maids and hand-picked who was allowed in her room. She told them who looked like a thief and who was pretty enough to clean her room. I have heard that story my whole life. Therefore, I have never seen a single episode of I Love Lucy.

However, my dad met Buddy Hackett, and his daughter, who was very young, maybe four or five at the time. This little girl fell in love with my dad. Her name was Ivy. And for some reason, it stuck.

On their way to the agency to pick me up, they stopped to get something to eat. Their waitress’s name was Bliss. And it worked with Ivy.

So there you go, I am Ivy Bliss.

Hug Your Siblings

I'm off to the beach tomorrow.  No, not for lesuire, but for a party.  A big party.  My sister is getting married in 9 days...yes, the countdown has begun.  In reality, the countdown started about 6 months ago.  But now we are in the single digits.  So, 6 of her nearest and dearest, her, and I are headed to Destin for 3 1/2 days of sun and girly ridiculousness.

My sister and I are six years apart, I'm older.  We have never had much in common.  She is a super-girl, I am a tomboy.  We don't have any friends in common.  Her friends are the type of girls I wouldn't hang with, they do their hair everyday and wear nice clothes.  They do not wear Converse.  I wonder if any of them could catch a frisbee?

Most of them are married or in long term, live-in relationships.  They have done things "right", whatever that means.  (Again with the quotes! AAGGHHH!  This blog seems to be bringing out the worst in me!)  I'm sure to be questioned as to why I'm not currently attached.  I'm sure to have to tell them I'm just super-picky, that I don't have a good picker, that I have yet to find someone who meets all my needs and doesn't do something that annoys the shit out of me.

My sister has asthma.  And she is blonde and fair-skinned.  I need to be sure she doesn't hang in smoke very long (yeah, that's gonna happen...I'm sure we'll be bar-hoppin'), and that she doesn't burn (um, aren't we going to the BEACH???).  But I'll do what I can.  After all, I am the oldest.

I have to admit, I'm a little nervous about the weekend.  I'm afraid I won't fit in.  I'm afraid they won't like me.  I'm afraid I'll make an ass of myself.  I have a pretty big, unpredictable mouth.  Especially when I'm nervous.

But here's the thing.  It doesn't matter.  I am the big sister.  I can be who I want and what I want.  I will be here forever because sisters are forever.  Sisters matter, no matter how much I wanted a brother, I love my sister with all my heart.  She is, in spite of all the crap I gave her growing up, she is my favorite person.

We will recite lines from Mary Poppins and Back to the Future, sing Monkees songs and confuse the hell out of everyone.  But it's what we do.  And we love it.  It's our thing.

I hope to find time to write while I'm there.  Maybe even blog.  But if not, I'll be back Monday and surely have tons of stories to tell and pictures to share!

Hug your siblings this weekend.  Remember, older or younger, they are who part of who you are today.