What's in a name?

Well, I've learned this week that I need to be much more careful with name ASS-U-MPTIONS. Have been caught twice in embarrassing situations.

The first incident occurred when I received an email from Myra telling me she had a new granddaughter. She even supplied the name. So, I wrote back with congratulations to her, Byron and all the family.

The next day I received a note which said: It's Brett. I'm sure you misthought.

I immediately wrote back and said, "I meant good wishes to the grandparents, Myra and Byron. I certainly knew who I was talking about, Dear."

The next day I received another note, which said, "Oh, now I know who you were thinking about: Myra and Byron Lewis." The note went on with more details about the baby. When I reached its ending and saw the clearly complete signature: "Myra Converse," I felt pretty stupid.

So, I sent her back one more note and told her not to worry too much about my sanity. After all, Myra is not that common a name and Myra Converse does not write to me emails quite as often as Myra Lewis does.

I'll admit to wondering, though, throughout the email interchange which of Myra Lewis's daughters had had a new baby, especially cuz one of them is old enough to be a grandmother.

So, I got past that faux pas. Then, came another----bigger one. Several weeks ago, I wrote a blog entitled "Citizen Tim." It was about a guy who passionately opposes the relaxation of building heights in Sandpoint. He has found creative ways to get his point across, and he's relentless in his quest to prevent tall buildings in Sandpoint.

In fact, I saw him last night at Dub's and he whispered to me that the state Attorney General was getting a letter about the conflict of interest involving two City Council members who voted to allow relaxation of the city height restriction policy, making way for a new bank office complex. Seems both council members have an association with the bank in question and they did not recuse themselves from the voting process.

As we walked out of Dub's, I told Bill that individual who had whispered to me was Tim Elsa, and that he was the man who had put so much effort into opposing the controversial move by the council.

"Is that Tim Elsa?" Bill asked. "Doesn't look like the Tim Elsa I know. "

"Well, it is," I assured him.

"Was he once the county road guy?" Bill then asked.

"Yup, I'm sure he was," I replied.

"Well, he doesn't look like the county road guy named Tim Elsa that I knew," Bill continued.

I decided to prove my case as I saw my friend "Tim" walk out of Dubs with his bag of fried chicken.

"Didn't you used to be the county roads guy?" I shouted across the parking lot.

"No, I'm JOHN Elsa, " he said, "but that's okay. I've been called a lot worse."

So, today after extreme embarrassment and gracious forgiveness from John Elsa, as a good journalist, I retract my earlier "Citizen Tim" essay title and change it to "Citizen John."

Now, if the Myra's in my life will clearly identify themselves, and the John's whom I call Tim to their face will nudge me when I make such a gross error with their names, I can go on with life.

Such problems on this Saturday. Have a good one, all you whatchernames?