The Linguistic Gymnastics of Names: Or How I Tripped Over “Black Eyed Susan

In a dusty corner of my memory sits the imposing figure of Prof. Krengiel, the literary dragon of my youth. Between her rapid-fire book readings and sneak-attack quizzes, she offered an oasis of mercy: we didn't have to wrestle with foreign novels in their native tongues.

Fast forward to the New World. Picture the heart of St. Paul, MN, on the bustling corner of Ford Pkwy and Cleveland Ave, where the renowned Barnes & Noble bookstore once beckoned bibliophiles. One fine day, camouflaged behind stern business tomes and clandestinely flipping through pages about market strategies and ROI analyses, I found my true object of intrigue: my first English language novel, “Harry Potter.”

Before you chuckle, that very tome thrust me into the delightful maze of English peculiarities, where birds crooned, flowers preened, and every name was a riddle waiting to be unraveled.

Consider our flowery comrades. There's the “Black Eyed Susan”. I always imagined that maybe, during a forgotten tavern skirmish, Susan defended “Sweet William” from the unsolicited advances of “Naughty Nick”. And if you're curious, Nick's ego hasn't quite recovered; he’s still at the corner bar.

Then there are avian characters like “Whiskey Jack”, who I like to think, after a few too many fermented berries, danced atop pub tables with “Willie Wagtail”. Quite the spectacle! Not to be outdone, “Johnny Jump-Up” likely gatecrashed, never one to miss a party.

In stark contrast, “Jasmine” and “Dahlia” evoke the elegance of heroines from classic literature—eternally graceful, tales whispered through soft petals and lingering scents, standing in stark juxtaposition to their more boisterous botanical brethren.

Yet, when the "Wandering Jew" comes into focus, things get a tad more philosophical. I wonder if, during his ceaseless wanderings, he chanced upon a deep conversation with the master storyteller, Isaac Bashevis Singer. Amid chuckles and pensive pauses, Singer might muse, "A plant, of all things? Immortality does indeed have its quirks." A shared nod, a fleeting moment in the vastness of time.

The linguistic roller coaster doesn't stop there. There's the “Merry-Go-Round”—life's merry metaphor of cyclical journeys. And the “Rocking Horse”, forever rocking but never advancing. A poignant symbol of our bustling lives where we sometimes miss the essence of true living.