I’ve always wanted to name my house – ever since the days of my childhood when I would watch Dallas and marvel at the majesty of Southfork. Of course, I knew I would not likely have anything as vast as a Southfork of my own, but the thought of a place with a name – a distinct identity – was intriguing.
Our old house was warm and friendly, but never quite name-worthy. The name would come some day when I fulfilled the dream of building my own house.
That day is now.
Any appropriate name would need to be Italian (duh), and so I spent weeks in my “spare” time google-translating phrases that were personal, yet meaningful. Stately, yet modest.
Weeks, I tell ya. Weeks.
(By the way, this is exactly why I don’t have a tattoo. Such a permanent item would need to be, in my estimation, an all-encompassing graphic rendition of my personality, beliefs and ideals. Its meaning and message would need to stand the test of time. I mean, really…how would I ever decide on one?)
I also had standards for not only what the name would mean, but for how it sounded when spoken. It couldn’t be cumbersome. It needed to sound lyrical. It needed to roll. Google Translate and that little Italian voice inside my phone had their work cut out for them.
I won’t bore you with all the details of the names I tried and cast aside. In the end, one name won out because of its meaning and its melody. Poca Voglia (pronounced POKE-a VOHL-e-yah) means “little wish.” This house began as a little wish twenty years ago when Dom and I sat in the student center at our university and he drew me an abstract picture on a napkin of the home we would someday build together.It’s probably hard to see on this scanned and faded napkin, but that’s the house in the foreground with a pond in the back. And a dog. No house is a home without a dog. 😉
I am full of little wishes. But I am also full of gratitude and contentment. Poca Voglia. Welcome home.