conjuguée

Yesterday I, or I guess I should say we received a lovely Christmas card from my grandmother. As I bent over to pick up the ivory envelope, recognizing the familiar, elegant script, I did a double-take when my eyes zeroed in on the destination address : "Mr. and Mrs. Jean-Baptiste L____."

Smiling to myself for being so surprised, I opened and read the warm wishes from my Nana. Her words and thoughtfulness made me miss her and my family back in the Central Coast of California. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be in Big Sur, laughing with my Pop, eating one of my mom's divine creations, drinking Cachagua wine with my brother(s), dancing to a serenade of kazoos on the deck while Ronna and Alisa nearly pass out in hysterics.

I saved the envelope and put it, along with the card, on our hallway shelf.

This Christmas greeting marked the first (and probably not last) personal letter I have received where my first and last name are glaringly omitted. I don't count our gas and electricity bills, or the random letters I get from the French bureaucracy informing me of my civilian status and related duties and responsibilities. In France it is de rigueur to address couples with the husband's first and last name only, nodding to the feminine half with a "Madame," or a brief "Mme." "Ms." has no match here, and the ubiquitous hyphenated last names found in the U.S. are rare among French husbands and wives.

Nana's Christmas card, sent with nothing but loving intentions, arrives at a time when I still haven't decided how I want to be addressed. Do I opt for facility and take Jean-Baptiste's last name? It's a strong, easy to remember name, and one that doesn't immediately distinguish me as "other." But I don't really like the way my throat closes up when I pronounce it and my first name together. Do I make myself an example of conjugal compromise and hy-phe-nate? Or do I say to hell with it and save myself a lot of administrative hassle by retaining my own last name?

It's not entirely about feminism, or claiming my identity in a macho society; I like my last name, I like how it rolls off my tongue, and I like that it's something I share with people I love, like a jawline or knobby knees.