Wordisms

On Monday I bought myself a potted rose.  It is a bright dark purply pink colour, and has a couple of flowers blooming and a few buds.  It was both a pick-me-up from an expensive car ding I had to pay for, and a reminder of my childhood, the 1st of June being my mother's birthday.  It is beautiful, and a bit of an extravagance (See car story above) not being a grocery necessity. 

    "It's not lilies," I pointed to the table where it is placed, showing Lovely Daughter, "but I think they are wonderful."  She smiled.  She is one of a handful of people who understood what this shorthand conversation  meant.  Out of the 8.3billion residents of this planet, I estimate that 10 people would know what I am referring to.  (To up the number, I will tell you too:  It refers to a book title that suggests if you want something, go and get it. (Like flowers, not dead bodies...) .  Buy yourself the ....lilies, is the title if you want to seek it out.

I have been told that our family has a lot of coded communication.  I hadn't realized the extent of this until my sister pointed it out to me.  It creates an intimacy of words and by association, it also acts as a block to those people who don't understand a word we are saying.

An example:  When I am thanked for something, my automatic response is "You're Malcolm." Instead of you are welcome.  The origin goes back over 50 years to languid beach holidays with another family. One of the son's name is Malcolm.  (There is more to this derivation story, but that would be giving away a little too much...) 

Or when the kettle is on, I ask if people want tea or Kofi Annan.  Coffee seems a little boring, and I am sure the ex Secretary Of the United Nations would be delighted that his legacy lives on in our household.

People do give us quizzical looks when they hear us.  The phrases we use come from all sorts of places - films - "Eight is a lot of legs, David." for something awkward or unusual; books - "A cool frood knows where his towel is"  for occasions when items need to be found; songs - "Dick and the dancing queen" (well that's their fault for bad lyrics)

 I do understand that it confuses outsiders, and  I suppose  that is the point really.  When the kids were little we had a secret code word to slip into conversations if they (or us parents) were feeling uncomfortable and we needed to make our way home.  It was very useful. 

Family words are not unique to us quirky quarks - I am sure you could list your favourites too.  Most families have "pet names" for their children too.  Sweetly, my father called me "Boots," apparently because of my dislike of wearing shoes when I was a baby.  There is a huge intimacy about pet names and coded speech and I make no apologies for the language of my family.  It is the language, and tone, of love, shared experiences and uniqueness.  Above all it is human.

And since our humanness seems to be the Final Frontier, with AI lurking on the other side of the sound barrier, I am hoping to keep using personal words.  Please ask me to explain if, at times, I am not making sense. We can create our own list of wordisms.

 

 

 

Colour me beautiful.

When I was 14, I went a pale shade of yellow.  It was not a good look on me, particularly as the whites of my eyes were more mustardy than light ivory. Luckily not too many people saw me looking like that as I was confined to bed for a couple of months.  I was in Standard 7, and missed the entire second term of schooling.  All thanks to hepatitis. I slept.  And slept and slept, waking only to eat some thin mixed vegetable packet soup - the only nourishment my body would accept.  I was aware that my grandmothers took it in turns to come and sit in the house with me, as Mom and Dad were working, but I don't think I was very sociable (or much trouble to look after.)  It was the better alternative to the hospitalization our friendly GP suggested.  

After my deep sleep (alas no handsome prince to hack through a thorny hedge pitched up to wake me...) I remember managing to do some needlework and some scrapbooking.  I found those large A3 blue-paged books a few months ago, and finally threw them out.  After looking at them again, of course.  I reread the notes my classmates sent me on a daily basis.  Not about schoolwork or what homework I was missing, but little bits about themselves and their everyday lives.  These notes were not just from my limited supply of friends either. People who were way too cool for me to have thought they even knew I existed, wrote regularly and kindly.  It was - and is - a huge gift.  To be included.  To be cared about. That kindness embedded itself in me, and lines the memory compartments in my head like a bubblewrap of kindness, cushioning other thoughts which may intrude.  People are generous.  People are thoughtful.  Thank you, classmates, for helping me get better.

After my yellow phase, I have - off and on- had blue phases, red phases, and green phases.  And now I think I am entering a Purple Period.

Did you know (I didn't, despite my being remembered by a work colleague as "that Librarian who spent
her spare time reading the dictionary....") that the word purple has an interesting derivation. Long story short it comes from a Greek word for Sea-slug, as the expensive dye was made from the creature's slimy mucus.  No wonder it was reserved for the rich.  I imagine a lot of mucus would be needed to create the aura of wealth associated with the cloaks of kings and priests and other members of the upper crust. These days you just need to combine some chemicals C₂₀H₁₂N₂O₂ and Voila!, (or should I say Violet!) the colour palette is available to the masses.  

 I nominated this year as my purple phase after looking out of my bedroom window to see tall watsonias waving to me. They were a vibrant, life affirming shade of beautifullness. And if I looked deeper into the flower beds, splashes of purple were popping up between the oranges and yellows and pinks.  Spring was a calmness of colour. (Sidebar: I was going to use the usual phrase "riot of colour" but the thought of associating the gift of a garden with violence, protest and unrest didn't sit well with me. End of sidebar.)

I am aware that these days purple is crudely made by mixing blue and red, if we are talking about primary school poster paint.  So maybe I haven't left my blue and red phases behind altogether, maybe I have just combined a splotch of a sadness with a dab of anger to create something more manageable - an understanding of purple. 

 

PS Who remembers that book, Colour me Beautiful, wildly popular in the 1980s, and prescribing what colours people should wear to enhance their natural beauty.  In my family it was always disparagingly referred to as "Colour me luvvvely."   It sat on my bookshelf for years before I tossed out (along with my shoulder pads) the notion of being told what colours I liked. 

 

 

 

 

 

Books

books

Despite my  (or maybe because of my) love of reading and books, I have never belonged to a book club.  I am not much of a wine drinker, to be honest, and that seems to be a prerequisite these days.  But that is not the real reason, obviously.  It is more that I am just not much of a group person, and prefer seeing people on a one to one basis, so I can enjoy their company and chatting without group dynamics.  I am pretty much the same way with books - I am not one of those people who can have several books "on the go" at the same time, dipping into each for a little bit.  I like to focus my concentration on a particular text and give it my full attention.  This is probably because I get deeply involved in my books.  I enter wholeheartedly into the plots, the characters' lives, the page turning, even the punctuation. I am a bit obsessive - I can see that!  I am also wary of recommending books to a group of people because my experience of a book is very unlikely to be the same as yours.  Reading is not only about the words on the page, but also about where your thoughts are at a particular time; whether the sun is shining on the chair you like reading in, whether the dishes are done, who is at home, how the children are.  You know what I mean.  It's personal.

I admire people who belong to book clubs.  They are readers and thinkers and sharers, and the world needs as many of these people as possible.   Their commitment to supporting the print industry is important too.  I am just not one of them. 

More books

Andrew jokes - at least I hope he is joking!- that if I buy any more books and put them upstairs, the floor might cave in under the weight. We would be pulverised by literature.  I do have a large collection -  I have a wealth of words.  And I am very happy to share my bounty with you - come and see if anything takes your fancy, or I can set you up on a blind date with a book I think might be a good fit. No questions asked when you return it. As long as it's personal.

I have just finished reading a memoir that left me feeling raw, and shaken, and moved.  There was a vague synergy between this book and where I find myself at the moment.  When I put it down, I felt bereft, and took a while to leave her world and re inhabit my own body.  Such is the power of reading for me.

Some books are just pure escapist fun - I love a good weekend read that leaves me smiling and happy and admiring people who have the gift of giving joy to so many people.

Even more books....

I worked in the adult literacy field many moons ago.  It was such gratifying work, because I can't imagine a world without reading. It plays such an integral part in our lives. From work to entertainment, social networking to life management, reading and writing are the backbone of how we live.  

To me, words are personal.