What's in a Name?

For years I've wanted to be able to name our home. But it just isn't something that's commonly done in Canada. So, even if I did name it, the likelihood of the name ever coming into common use was pretty slim.

Then I moved to Uruguay.

People in Uruguay name their houses! Practically every home you see has the house name posted on the gate or on the lawn. In fact, the houses don't have numbers in most neighbourhoods of our city, just names. So when you get an address it sounds something like:

     Bay Street

     between Brunswick and Douro

     House: Talsma

     City

     Postal Code

(makes me a bit curious about mail delivery, but it seems to work)

The home we have rented already had a name: Yuchan. Yuchan is a variety of tree here that is growing in the front yard. But there was no sign, and we thought this might be my chance to name a house. 

Before long we had chosen a name.

When my Dear Man and our colleague went to work out the final rental agreement with the owner and the lawyer, they asked if we could choose our own name. The owner balked.

"You can't change a house's name! It's bad luck! It would be like changing the name of a ship or boat; it just isn't done!"

We thought that was the end of it, and I resigned myself to living in a place called "Yuchan".

And I tried not to be too disappointed.

Later that same day the two men met again with the owner about something else, and he brought up the naming question. "You go ahead and give it a name if you'd like," he said. "In all the years we've lived there we never even made a sign for it. It will be fine."

So, here we are, in a home we love, quirks and all, AND I was allowed to give it a name!

A couple of days later we realized that we needed to work fast: the telephone company was sending their workers to install our phone line and the address we'd given included the new name.

One of the teen-aged boys on our team got out his sautering iron and burned the name into a leftover piece of lumber that was in their yard. On our next trip to our house we set up the new house sign.

It is my prayer that everyone who enters our door will find refuge: a place of sanctuary and peace, welcome and safety:

Bienvenido a El Refugio

Welcome to The Refuge

50(5x2 + 6) + 5x17 + 5x5 = stress

The morning began the night before.


I stood in the living room, tears in my eyes, and sobbed to my Dear Man "It's not going to work!"


The reply came with a gentle hug. "You go to sleep. And imagine that while you're sleeping the packing elves will be hard at work."


So I did go to sleep, lying beside a tearful daughter, praying silent prayers of peace and comfort for a girl who is aching.


Wakefulness came early, just as sleep came late. The autumn sun wasn't yet risen when I returned to the living room.


Sure enough, the packing elves had been busy through the night. There were more bins sitting ready to go on the airplane with us. Unfortunately, the little piles of personal belongings seemed to be just as plentiful as they were the night before. And so the tears returned.


Another trip to the hardware store to purchase two more bins.


Another period of rearranging the binned items to keep the weights below the magical 50 pounds.


Loved Ones came to give last minute assistance and to give good-bye hugs; their help was like gold.


And by the time our scheduled departure came we were ready with our 10 allotted bags (2 each at 50 pounds) plus 6 extras (50 pounds each) and carry-ons (one carry-on of 17 pounds plus one personal item each - we quickly learned not to call those 'purses' for the sakes of our little boys!).


Let the travelling begin!