I Gotta Be Me....

From an email, I was sent a chance to find out how many people in the USA have my name. Here's what they said:

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 0 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

And all these years, I have squiggled when asked my name.
Duchess.
"Is that your real name?"
Yes.
"I know a dog named Dutchess."
"Sounds like a dog's name or a stripper."
I'll take the dog.

It was not easy to grow up The Duchess. Yes, I dropped the the as it got in the way. It was hard enough to explain my name.
Now if I had been born in the 60's instead of the 50's my name would have seemed tame in comparison to Moon Zappa or Chastity. And yet, even in this new millenium, people have trouble with my name.

And you don't spell it with a "T"--you know, Duchess as in royalty? As in Duke?
Unless you send me mail to Mr. Dale Duchess and then the "t" is omitted.
Take your pick.

"Gretchen?"
No, Duchess.
"Gretchen?"
NO, DUCHESS.
Nevermind, just use DD ...

On another note...
As I was leaving the nursing home today from visiting my mother, I walked down the hall to leave and I smiled at a man camped out in the hall in a resting chair. He asked me how I was. I told him I was doing well. And then that ol' minister instinct kicked in and I knew this man needed to talk; to connect. So I walked over to him and began a conversation. Soon, I pulled up the floor and sat down with James Azkobowah who came to the U.S. to go to college for engineering and had a stroke six months ago. I guessed this man to be in his 60's and very intelligent and very present despite his body's apparent betrayal. He was restless and morose because the nurses had left him in that chair for hours and he really wanted to return to his bed. I asked him if I could get the nurses for him and he nodded. Three nurses told us that it was the shift change and someone would attend to him soon. The look in his eyes told me differently. James told me he was going home to Ghana tomorrow. He said he hopees to return but not to this nursing home.

I asked if he had family there and he does. He stopped our conversation to introduce me to his speech therapist for whom he had a great respect and appreciation. James asked me if I was married. I said no but that I have a boyfriend. He asked me how I felt about a black man. I told him I felt that he is a man with black skin like I am a woman with red hair. He smiled. Is my boyfriend white? Yes, he is. He told me that my boyfriend was lucky to have me. I said I would tell him that. I smiled.
I offered to pray with him. He asked me about my religion. He wondered if Science of Mind was the same as Scientology which he did not trust. I told him about Religious Science and he understood.

Shortly, there was another patient who wheeled herself out of her room and saw us talking. James said that she was from Libya. I motioned her over. The woman was clearly curious about my being with James. I introduced myself. She said she saw us but did not want to interrupt. I began my polite exit and left them together. I felt better that at least she would be there and could wheel down the hall for a nurse if James needed one soon. I told him I would see him tomrorow if he hadn't left already for his trip.

How many other people are in nursing facilities like James? How could our advanced society allow such indifference and negligence for our people? We must do something about health care and begin doing it now.

Votre Sante.