What's in a Name? Part II

After writing the previous post, it was suggested to me by a friend that I should give a tutorial on my last name. I think that is a brilliant idea, so I decided to do implement it.

Before I begin, I would like to add in a couple of nicknames that I left out of my previous post. It wouldn’t do to leave it incomplete, so here they are:

Evange: A friend of mine started calling me this and I thought she just hadn’t caught on to the whole Vange thing. However, she purposely left the ‘e’ in front to be different. Not bad. A+ for creativity.

Evan: This is not pronounced the way you would pronounce the boy’s name. It’s a long “ē” sound, making it sound like the beginning of my name with the rest chopped off. Maybe people will start calling me Evan Almighty…(Btw, I never watched that movie)

Eva: This one kinda sounds like an old lady’s name, but I don’t mind it too much.

Okay, now that I’ve exhausted just about every name people can possibly call me, I’d like to take a closer look at the last name of Rupp.

The name Rupp has its roots in German. In fact, my dad is pretty much all German and my mom has some German in her, so I’m mostly German. However I don't speak German. I don't even speak Pennsylvania Dutch for crying out loud.

When people see the name, Rupp, they automatically pronounce it Rŭpp. This is NOT correct.

At least not for my family. There are Rŭpps around, but I am not a Rŭpp. I am a Rupp, pronounced like Roop. It rhymes with loop. Please don’t make up a rap song about my name either. Already had that done…

The way we pronounce it is the German way, and I’d like to keep it that way. Pronouncing it Rŭpp would just not be loyal to our roots. I’m all about loyalty. I mean, I guess.

I think all of us Rupps and Rŭpps come from the same families who settled in this area back in the 1800s. (I’d have to verify that fact with my mom who is the family genealogist, but she’s not here right now, so I’m going with it.) However, some of the Rupps were traitors to the name and switched over to the dark side. Because of this, it gets really confusing who are Rupps and who are Rŭpps. However, I have a little expression that will help you all keep it straight.

“The Rŭpps have all the money, and the Rupps have all the kids.”

In my experience, this has held true. Maybe I should change my name to Rŭpp…

Just kidding

 

Honestly, the only bad thing about my name is spelling it out loud. Go ahead, try.

See what I mean? I’ve started saying “double p” at the end just to get away from that. Moving on…

So, are you ready for this???? Here is my full name and you now know how to pronounce it correctly:

Evangeline Joy Rupp

If you need a whole tutorial on how to pronounce my middle name, I’ve got nothin’ to say to you.

 

You know, my mom had the freedom to give me a long first name because my last name is really short, but what if I marry some guy with a super long last name? (Side note alert: Okay, so me getting married is HIGHLY improbable. If you question that statement, then just read this whole blog. It’ll clear things up for you pretty quickly. I mean, who would want to marry someone who does cartwheels at work and whacks guys in the face with kayak paddles? Exactly.) But all the same, what if I married a guy with the last name Neuenschwander?  

Evangeline Joy Neuenschwander

Wait, is it already 2014?

 

What about Snodgrass?

Evangeline Joy Snodgrass

That girl sounds scary

 

How about Drozdovandropopozgiopanatzakis? This is a real last name and here is the link if you don’t believe me: http://www.gazettetimes.com/news/local/the-man-with-the-long-last-name/article_5c9a63e4-2d01-11e1-a2ab-001871e3ce6c.html

 

Poor Evangeline Drozdovandropopozgiopanatzakis. Three years after the wedding, she was finally able to write her last name without her husband’s help. Ten years later, she was able to pronounce it correctly. Maybe one day, she'll be able to pronounce it with a Russian accent. Who knows?

 

Maybe, I’ll just stick with Rupp. Yea, I like Rupp.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

What's in a Name?

     I have recently joined a small Baptist church, and I love attending there and being part of a church family again. Last January when I left my old church, I didn’t realize how taxing searching for a new church would be, and then how great it would be to finally find one.

     That aside, there are two, very sweet elderly gentlemen who are the greeters for my church. One is named Don Frank and the other is Gene Rettig. That’s all good and fine, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get their names straight. In my mind, Gene was Don and Don Frank was Frank. Don’t ask me how my brain did that, but it did.

     Just about every Sunday, I had to ask them who was who and then I would repeat their names after they said them so that I could remember them. Finally, the day came when I thought I had mastered this small feat in my life. I was walking up to the door at church and I could see Don ready to open the door for me.

     “Don Frank, Don Frank, Don Frank,” I said to myself over and over again as I approached. He opened the door, and I stuck out my hand with a big smile. “Hi, Frank!” I exclaimed and then groaned. Back to the old drawing board…

Lately, I have done a pretty good job of remembering Don and Gene’s names, if I do say so myself. Recently, however, my brain decided that it couldn’t be perfect in all areas, so I found myself calling my Bible study leader Paul, when his name is really Joe Paul.

 

     I guess I shouldn’t feel too bad about messing up other people's names because they mess my name up a lot. With a name like Evangeline, I shouldn’t expect anything else. I might take this brief opportunity to give instructions on pronouncing my name.

Here it is from the dictionary:

Evangeline (ē-văn-jŭ-lĭn) 1. Bringer of glad tidings 2. A fairly cool person of the female gender

 

(Okay, my name really isn’t in the dictionary, so I took the meaning of my name and a pretty accurate description of myself to compile my own definition. Bingo! It will be in the next edition of Webster’s. I just know it.)

Continuing on with the pronunciation of my name, I would like to point out how my name ISN’T pronounced.

It is not Evangelīne. My name does not rhyme with pine or whine. I just need to make that clear.

It is not Evangelēne. The only One I want to lean on is the Lord, and I don’t like lean foods because they don’t taste good, and I used to love to read about Mary and Laura Ingalls who used to live in a lean-to. However, that word is NOT part of my name.

It is not Evangelēna. This is a version that people like to add on to the previous pronunciation. Another variation of this is Evangelica, but only one person has the nerve to call me that, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t read my blog, so I didn’t feel the need to list that separately.

It is not Evangel. That’s a cool variation because evangel is synonymous with evangelist, but that’s still not my name.

It is not Avangeline. Some of my dear friends were quit shocked when I told them they were pronouncing my name wrong after knowing them for about eight years. Oh well…

It is not Vangeline. This variation happens after someone knows me for awhile and gets tired of saying four syllables, so they decide that taking off the first one is easiest.  At least its not the second or third syllable ‘cause that would just be weird.  

Some other mispronunciations of my name include, Evangelista, Evangelotta, Angela, Angelica, and Robert.

My name is Evangeline. (ē-văn-jŭ-lĭn ) I would change the spelling of my name to Evangelynne, but it's too much of a legal hassle. Just kidding. I like the spelling how it is.

To those of you who are sweating bullets because my name is so difficult to pronounce, I have a simple solution for you. I have lots of nicknames!!!!! Whoohoo!

Vange. This is the most commonly used nickname in use for my name. I respond quite readily to this one.

Vangie. I like this one a lot but only a few people use it. A variation of Vangie is Vangie-poo, but only four people call me that, and I’d personally like to keep it that way for obvious reasons.

Vango. This one is unacceptable. I only let my older brother call me that because I can’t get him to stop. The end.

Banjo. See above explanation.

Van. I was called this by one girl, but it kinda made me feel rather large and 15 passengerish.

Lynne. I was called this by one girl, but it never stuck.

Jo. This comes from my middle name of Joy, and fell out of use in my middle teen years.

Angel. A few years ago, I actually realized that this word was in my name. I thought it was cool, but it’s pretty clear why no one calls me that.

 I know that everyone has been on pins and needles waiting for a full pronunciation guide for my name, so I thought I’d end your suspense and give it to you today. You’re welcome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ETA, SPD, ODOT

     First off, I think it’s kind of rude for people to use abbreviations. I mean, they know what it means, but does anybody else? I think they say to themselves, “Hmmm, I’ll sound cool if I use this abbreviation, and if anyone else doesn’t know it, I’ll get a good laugh when they try to guess what it means.” I think I’ve given several people a good laugh.

     One night, the unit secretary from ER called up and said they were calling Life Flight. I couldn’t exactly understand what she had said until she made helicopter noises. Anyway, I was supposed to call the police department because they come out and make sure the landing pad is cleared of pedestrians. So, I dutifully called the police and told them that Life Flight was on their way.

    “What’s their ETA?” the guy on the other end asked.

     “Their what?”

     “Their ETA.”

     I decided to assume that meant he wanted to know what he was supposed to do. I figured he should already know that, but I would try to help him out anyway.

     “I think you guys come and keep the landing cleared off,” I said.

    “Estimated Time of Arrival,” he clarified, probably thinking that I was a complete nut.

     “Uhh, right. I don’t know that, let me transfer you back to ER.” I was probably blushing over the phone because I do that often.

 

     Just yesterday, a guy called and wanted Sterile Processing. Okay, what in the world is that, and why would anyone want to talk to a department called that? Whatever. The point is, he wanted to talk to Sterile Processing and I had no idea what to do. Besides that, the phone had already rung back because another girl had already tried an extension for him and it didn’t work. Ahhh!

     “Is there another name for that department because we don’t have one called by that name,” I said, not realizing that we really did.

     “SPD,” he said giving me the abbreviations. Here we go again…

     “STD?” I asked, repeating what I heard. The girls next to me started to giggle.

     “No, SPD,” he said, and I quickly hit “transfer” to get rid of his annoying voice and to keep from embarrassing myself further.

     I was blushing again, which is no surprise, and I finally got rid of him by paging Sterile Processing overhead.

     The other girls in the office said they were glad for a laugh, so at least I made somebody’s day a little brighter although I embarrassed myself AGAIN.

 

     In conclusion, I would just like to see if anybody out there knows what ODOT stands for without Googling it. I recently learned that one too…

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother Dear

     It’s been proven that I’ve embarrassed myself plenty of times. I guess that just goes to reason because I’m blonde (at heart). A whole new dimension is added, however, when other people embarrass me. My mother is one of those people.

     Pop, Mom, and I stopped at a rest stop on my way to take my cosmetology boards in Grand Rapids, and I walked into the restroom first. I got into my stall and I heard someone else rustling about. It’s always good to be careful what you say in restrooms before you know who is there listening. At least that’s what I think.

     Mom walked in and said rather loudly, “Evangeline, do you need any hand sanitizer to wipe off the toilet seat?”

     I inwardly groaned. The unknown person just found out we were a family of fruitcakes. Cover blown.

    “No,” I muttered, trying to not make the situation any worse. Mom helped out with that.

     “Well, our society is so promiscuous that I don’t trust any toilet seat,” she said with conviction.

     That was it. I was definitely not coming out of my stall until the other person was gone. They couldn’t see me. They couldn’t know I existed.

     So I waited. I made sure they were gone, and then I came out and washed my hands. Mom came out as I was drying them.

     “Mom, there was another person in here!” I exclaimed, thinking she would feel as sheepish and embarrassed as I had.

     Mom shrugged. “I don’t care. It’s true.”

     So much for scolding her. (Somehow that doesn't seem to work on parents.) We talked a little longer about the rather comical situation, and then Mom left.

     As I was finishing drying my hands, I heard rustling. Someone else had been in the bathroom the entire time listening to the whole thing, unknown to my mom or myself!

     I left as quickly as possible, trying to gather any shreds of dignity that remained. (There probably weren’t enough shreds to make a decent pot holder.)

     The moral of the story is try to stay away from public restrooms at all costs, and do NOT take your mother unless you really do want to use hand sanitizer on your toilet seat.

     Love you, Mom!

 

 

    

 

 

 

Words from Above

This summer, my family and I were vacationing at a lake in Michigan called Long Lake. It was fun for all of us except my mom who doesn’t like lakes, but that’s another story.

     One sunny afternoon, I was diligently working on my tan (its harder work than you think) and reading my Bible on a lawn chair. After awhile my dad and brothers came out, and were headed to the boat for a ride. Being the very spiritual, godly person that I am, I left my Bible reading and jumped in the boat with them. (I promise I finished it later.)

     As we drifted away from the dock, the wind started blowing the pages of my Bible and Pete took note of it.

     “You’re gonna lose your place, Vange.”

     “It’s God’s way of showing me a verse He wants me to read,” I joked. “It’s special revelation.”

     Sometimes people open up their Bibles randomly and whatever verse they see first, they think that that is the verse God has for them. Sometimes it is, but as a general rule, that’s not the best way to hear from God. I have to admit that sometimes I do that, but let’s pretend I don’t. Anyways…

     I forgot about it, but when I got back, I looked at my Bible and began to read to Pete the first verse that I saw.

     “And this shall be a sign unto you, saith the Lord, that I will punish you in this place, that ye may know that my words shall surely stand against you for evil” (Jer. 44:29).

     Pete hooted with laughter. “Only you, Vange.”

     Thankfully, the Lord doesn’t always speak directly to us through randomly selected Bible verses or I may not have made it back from the lake that afternoon.

Have You Ever...

     Have you ever tried to pull up window blinds and have them come crashing down on you with the wood work as well?  

     Have you run into a door?

     Have you watched Legally Blonde and related to at least most of it?  (“Eeee! Road trip!”)

     Have you tried to secretly eat a caramel apple sucker at school by pulling off the stick and having the whole sucker stuck to the roof of your mouth?

     Have you had a client who wanted you to save discarded hair so they could use it to plant trees?

     Have you ordered Mulan from the library only to find it’s in Chinese?

     Have you hidden in your suitcase and jumped out to scare your friend’s boyfriend?

     Have you ever thought that tiki torch fluid was apple juice?  

 

     If so, you have lived a fun, fulfilled life. (At least, that's my take on it.) ;)

 

    

¿Mi Tio?

     At one point in my long life of 25 years (you can tell I just had a birthday because I’m feeling old), I spent eleven weeks in Mexico doing mission work.  I thought after having studied the Rosetta Stone program and having taken Spanish lessons from a teacher, that I would pick up on Spanish quite quickly. Not so.

     The little Mexican kids would babble on to me about something, and I would be like, “Your grandma ate a brick and then rented a llama? What?”

     Ok, it wasn’t exactly like that, but I could catch a few nouns here and there, and body language and hand motions were my friends.

     One fine evening, I went with the missionary family and Joanne (another single girl) to a birthday party of a young lady from the church. They did the usual tradition of smashing her face in her birthday cake as she tried to take a bite with no hands. That was exciting, and I still had yet to embarrass myself. It was a good night.

     Later on, Joanne and I were in a group of young people and the birthday girl introduced me to a young man.

     She said, “Es mi tio.”

     I figured Mi Tio was his name, so I said, “Mi Tio?” To make sure I pronounced it right.

     At that, everyone burst out laughing and the birthday girl was saying, “No, es MI tio. MI tio.”

     Finally, Joanne had calmed down enough to tell me that “tio” meant “uncle”.

     So, she had said, “This is my uncle.”

     I had said, “My uncle?”

     “No, MY uncle. MY uncle.”

     Of course I turned red, the uncle was amused, and every time I saw the birthday girl after that, she would give me a sly grin, and say, “Mi tio.”