Randie, pronounced RAN-dee, drifts across the tongue like a single late-season sakura petal, cool and unhurried, her syllables pared down from longer forebears such as Miranda, Randolyn, or even Randolph yet carrying the Old Germanic root rand, “shield-edge,” as quietly as a lacquered tsuba hides tempered steel. First fluttering into wider use in the postwar United States, she climbed the name charts through the 1960s and 70s, then receded until only a scant handful of newborn girls each year now receive her—rarity giving her the hush of an ukiyo-e kept out of sunlight. Beneath the soft -ie ending lies a glint of guardianship: protector, steadfast friend, small blade in a silk wrap. Associated with musicians on dimly lit stages, soft-spoken athletes, and denim-jacket dreamers, Randie suggests a spirit who moves lightly yet stands firm, catching the wind of change the way a paper lantern gathers flame—subdued, luminous, and entirely her own.
| Randie Carver - |