Teresa Fannin, reader, writer, gardener, chocolate fan & tea drinker

Category: Musing (Page 21 of 31)

detention

At Bishop Alemany High School, the one from the 60’s, not the one that is in a new location and probably is the same, but not, study hall was in the middle of the campus. At that time, having no clue if it’s the same now, although I could probably check, there was a boy’s side and a girl’s side. I’m not even sure that’s what they called it, nevertheless that’s what it was. When you walked up the main steps you came to a breezeway, one side was the girl’s office, the other side the boy’s. Yeah, co-educational down to the administration. You walked on campus into an open quad. On the other side of the quad was the chapel, small, very small. Mass for the school being held in the gym. Behind the chapel and up one level was study hall. Then one more level up was the library, my personal favorite. We had an eight period day, and you could only take seven courses, or was it a seven period day and you could only take six courses? Not the point of the story.  If you weren’t in class, you ‘took” and I use the term very loosely, study hall. My Aunt Ann, aunt on my Dad’s side,  was the study hall moderator, and when I was a sophomore I received detention for eating carrots in study hall. Pretty stupid to eat something that crunched, shoulda stuck with raisins, but no, I liked carrots.

Now we said Ant Ann, not Aunt Ann. The Aunt always sounded a bit strange coming off the tongue, that ‘u’  or \ah\ sound almost creating an affectation, and I truly have an intense dislike for affectation which is the top of a slippery slope down to pseudo-elitism. Fast forward maybe twenty years, I was on the T in Boston, the redline actually, from Quincey Center to downtown. It was winter, everyone in their black coats, scarves, mittens or gloves. The T overheated, crowded, loud. I was surrounded by three people, younger than me, louder than me and most definitely very opinionated and very willing to share their views, whether anyone wanted to hear them or not. The girl, woman, female of the group was expounding on the stupidity of people who pronounce Aunt ant. Apparently someone in her office had the gall to talk about her Ant Betty. And this girl, woman, female spit out her pronouncement with little regard for any one else’s space. “An ant is a six-legged, hooked clawed, winged creature with two antennae and compound eyes. At least she could say it correctly, Ahnt.”

In Webster’s the pronunciation key uses \ˈant, ˈänt\ . In the OED  they suggest pronunciation of \ah-nt\. not pronouncing the u, but the \ah\ sound. Sigh. Two very respected research resources, two different views.  Personally, I wanted to send this girl to detention. But all I could think of was the 1937 Gershwin song, Let’s Call The Whole Thing Off which had more to do with class differences than regional differences. “Hey,” I wanted to say, “we’re past that, aren’t we? We don’t mock speech patterns. We are tolerant and open, this after all is the 1980’s.” The two men, boys, males were far too affirming of the girl’s proclamation. I suspected the truth was they had lost to her many times in the past, her verbal style sharp, direct, cutting for them to even vaguely attempt to suggest she was anything but right. So, yeah! detention for her, loudly crunching in a public place, for being obnoxious and bullying and yes, because for her it was all about elitism.

Valentine’s Day

Ah, Valentine’s Day, of cupids and hearts and roses, red, of course. At first, celebrating this day was all about courtly love, where the lover makes himself more worthy by acting bravely. Since the middle ages it’s moved to romantic love, more along the medieval ideal of chivalry. Somehow, I doubt that unrequited love, comes in on this day.

The name “Valentine” is derived from valens, like valor: strong, powerful, worthy.

It’s a saint’s day in the Anglican Communion, the Lutheran Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church, and the Greek Orthodox Church. In the Catholic Church, at one time we celebrated this as a feast day, a martyr who died on the Via Flaminia. That’s right. Not celebrating life, love or anything close. Just martyrdom, but what is martyrdom but the supreme act of love. We really know little about this person or persons. There could be three or more of these Valentine saints. And so, Benedict XVI made St Valentine’s Day, much like St. Christopher back in the eighties, a commemoration, not a feast day.

Still, I like that the name comes from the same root word as valor. I think that’s what you need for love. You need to be strong to withstand all the adversity that comes with a loving relationship. You need to be powerful in your belief that you belong together, that this is the path chosen and it is good. And you need to be worthy of love, all kinds of love that comes to you. So, I hope you have a great Valentine’s Day.

Snow

I tell people I grew up without weather. When I was in college at what is now CalState Northridge, my urban geography teacher said that Southern California was in the last throes of perfect weather. That was why the movie industry located itself in the area. For a while I was truly upset, how dare that great weather pass me by!  But eventually I came to cherish the idea that I had lived through a time unprecedented. Only problem was few people knew it. Maybe, with that in my history is the reason I find weather so fascinating, mostly snow. I had my fill of earthquakes living through the Sylmar quake of 1971. And, having never lived in the middle of the country, I’ve never experienced a tornados. Hurricanes are loud, booming, in your face weather.

But snow? It is so quiet. It blankets, a cliche, I know, but still. Maybe cliches come from absolute truths, and because we say them so often, it becomes, not just true, but boring. Still, it blankets.  The world softens, it blurs into white on white. Beautiful as it is, it is dangerous. It is deadly, the snow, especially the heavy and wet stuff, takes out trees, power lines, roofs, just by its weight, by its doing nothing but falling, softly, gently down, on anything and everything.

I often think about what we mean as a traditional Christmas, with snowflakes on windows, and evergreen trees, the red of the holly berry. And, it takes a while to remember two very important things about snow: less than a a third of the population of the planet experience a Currier & Ives Christmas, and, most snow the wicked, terrible weather of snow comes in the middle of winter, long past the glories of the holidays.

brain synapsis

Yes, Google, I do think you have made me stoopid!  Well, read for yourself and you decide. My brain synapsis fire differently now. Ah, well, maybe it’s not just Google. I sometimes wonder if it has made us less of a research and think society and more of a check out Wikipedia and write.  Shaun Tan @#ny12scbwi said drawing is thinking. Well, so is writing. I think writing is drawing too. Maybe we don’t put pencil to paper and make a line, crooked or straight. Maybe we don’t use ink to define the line. Maybe we don’t use color to illuminate or add depth. But in writing we do draw everything from conclusions to a hook to a horrific cliff [not fiscal, those aren’t as real as my cliffs].

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, yes. It can be. But me, I’d take the thousand words first. It’s harder for me to see the mind working in a picture, because once it is completed it is done. We can draw story out from what we see, but a picture to me is more about how the artist sees the world or wants to see it or doesn’t see it, but imagines it. That’s sort of what Shaun Tan said.He said when you know the story, it’s not good. Whoa! Very metaphysical and just plain deep. Maybe that’s why a picture book story is so very hard for me, the combination of story and picture frustrates me, it’s the lack of control, the ability of someone else making the story more. For me, when I read those thousand words, well, I can see the writer’s mind moving slowly through the story, picking and choosing words, placing them in a certain order, making the story progress at their pace. That is my kind of drawing.

Back

The NYC SCBWI Winter 2013 conference is a blur. It will take me weeks to process. I have flashes of what is good and great. The conference is like the old ‘onion’ metaphor. You peel back the layers. First, well, d’oh, it’s New York. A wonderful city we don’t really spend that much time in. Next year I think we’ll plan on a week up front or a week behind. [probably depends on who is running where and what we want to do.] Then there is the excitement of the keynote speakers. This year I was blown away by Meg Rostoff. Shoot! now I have to find her books and read them. In the afternoon, the amazing art of Shaun Tan and his THE ARRIVAL. The Oz contingent cheered.

Sunday am, the fabulous Margaret Peterson Haddix talked about story, my favorite thing, story. Following by Julie Andrews and her daughter, Emma Walton Hamilton. Sitting in the front row, yes, yes, just inches, well, feet, from the most well-known icon, it was a time to be dazzled and later understand they talked about collaboration, story, outline, mission statement, revision and editing. Yes, they did pack a lot into one hour. Closing keynote was Mo Willems. Funny, irreverent [did you expect anything less?] outrageous, and talented. I was so mesmerized I forgot to take notes. Ah, well, memories 🙂

But by far the best part of the conference is the connecting; with friends, with acquaintances, with editors and agents who are open and interested. And now, back…

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