Chip Away

"And what's the baby's name?!!" S asked me excitedly.
I scanned my memory banks. "Parsley" flashed but I knew that (probably) wasn't it. I thought for a moment, replaying meeting new mom, A, pushing her colourful chariot towards T and I. We had done a big trek over the bridge into la belle province (c'est magnifique!), over hill and dale, back over another bridge and then into the liquor store to warm-up. Heh, it was just THERE. So handy. How could we not go in? And ogling all the handsome bottles in that particular monster outlet was rather irresistible. Oh, and then there were the Tangueray samples too.

It had been a couple of months since I'd seen A and now there she was (ta da!) no longer pregnant but with a teeny-tiny sleeping wiggle under a pink blanket in one of those groovy running-stroller-things. She mentioned it was their first walk outside together and they were headed to the liquor store. A fine first outing!
"We just came from there! There's gin samples!" T and I heralded. Then we all checked to make sure we didn't wake-up...uh, the little person.

We had stopped there on the sidewalk beside an Italian restaurant and talked. I remember the restaurant's name, what everyone was was wearing, the smiling old man that nodded and passed, the license plate numbers on the cars that drove by (O.K. not those). But the baby's name? Total blank.
Usually when I meet someone I am likely to meet again, I add a rhyming word to their name. Bread Ted (his daughter, Square Clair, owns a bakery. Eclair didn't come to me at the time). Defense Attorney Bernie (he was). Space Grace (She's full of it - uh, Grace of course - so it's easy but she also asked if the shuttle launch happened the day we met). Sedimentary Rock Jacques (a geologist and his hair was layered too. Helpful.).


Parsley flashed again in my head. Then a sprig of rosemary. Then, out of nowhere, a loaf of linseed bread.
"Kimberly I think" I said.
"Isn't that a lovely name!" said S.
Well, it turns out the baby's name is Lindsey. So close! Nuts. If only I had followed the course a bit further along, I perhaps would have arrived at Lindsley. Which is how someone might pronounce it after a shot of booze.
But, maybe, in the future I should go the full poem mnemonic route. Or use a camera and notepad. Or take a pass on the gin.