Because P.Pie’s mother had twins, the idea of multiples has always sort of loomed over us – well her, really.
I mean, c’mon… we’re all adults here, science has made great strides in discovering the cause of babies.
So, back in the late ‘90s – before the dotbombs, before you had to take your shoes off to board an airplane, before I turned 30 – when P.Pie and I were getting serious, I often joked that if we had triplets we would have to name them Cattle, Land, and Railroad (Barron…baron, get it?).
As we built our list of potential baby girl names, I again brought up the baron name trifecta… it was immediately shot down. And truthfully, who could blame her? Would you want your daughter named Cattle?
So I shelved the baron names.
Once we had picked her first name – a loving tribute to P.Pie’s father – I began rolling middle names into and out of the sequence to see how they rolled off the tongue.
Unfortunately, nothing seemed to fit.
While I was surfing the net for baby names, I came across an interesting piece on the history of times zones in the US (would you believe railroad accidents was a huge reason time zones?). And no, I don't know what odd combinations of kewords I used to bring that search result up.
Anyway, then it struck me - Rail. There was a name that was original and had flavor.
When I think of the name Jorja Rail, I think bayous and gumbo, iron and steam.
I realize that descriptor doesn’t do it justice, but haven't the time to change it.
I must go now - the conductor is calling; she must be fed.