The Earliest of Beginnings (a.k.a. The Tale of The Chella, a.k.a. A Name for Your Beverage)

Yellowstone burned the year I was born.

I like to think that the fires in 1988 were a mere foreshadowing of what was to come.  Of course, I’m melodramatic and used to believe that it only rained when I wanted it to because I was that important to the universe.  Don’t worry, I grew to learn a little more about how weather patterns work and know that I (probably) don’t have the ability to stop the terrible droughts that happen here in the Idaho desert.  That being said, I still feel a strange pride knowing that such a powerful destruction happened as a precursor to my birth.

I was born into a good family.  My Mom and Dad named me Chelsea and my darling brother Shayne looked on adoringly at the package he had very specifically ordered from my parents.  I fear if I had been born a boy, my poor disappointed brother would have immediately disowned my mother for not taking his instructions that he wanted a baby sister seriously enough.  I guess she got lucky.

Shortly after being named Chelsea, I came into my more permanent title as Chella. (I should explain that this was the name of a red wine at the time.  Its so important you know this.  I cannot stress that enough.  Okay, lets continue…)

Apparently I wouldn’t stop crying and my poor tired Mom exclaimed “Chella! Please!” in an attempt to show frustration which I probably didn’t understand, being a new born and all.

“Chella?” My Dad asked.

“Well, she’s all red, and she whines” My mom replied, not quite sure why she said it either, but quick witted enough to make a joke even in her exhaustion.

And thus the Chella was truly born into this world.  Red and whining. 

(I would also like to mention the irony that the Hispanic community laughs when they hear my name because it so closely resembles the Spanish word for beer or alcohol.  My mother had no idea just how funny her joke was.)

To this day some of my closest friends often forget or have never even known that my legal name is Chelsea.  Even I forget often enough that when family members call me by it, I do not respond.  Instead I look on confused until it clicks and I have to convince my displeased grandmother of the truth: I forgot who I am…again.

So that, my friends, is a quick tale of the name that has brought me some color in this world.  Hope you enjoyed my beginnings.  Thanks for reading, and have a good one. 

Much love.