The Puzzlement and Pleasure of Being Tongue-Tied

I dunno if you've ever noticed, but people groups have different sublanguages and sometimes it's hard to communicate.

No duh. ;-)

Only problem is.... my family has about six. Besides English. Some of them aren't a problem. For example, I am fluent in Quotese (a sublanguage built on references to various movies and books) and Tangere (a tactile language based on when, how, and where you touch family members). Another language, which I shall call CAME (Charity Anne Marjorie Elizabeth), is limited to my two younger sisters. As best friends and roommates they have a system of communication which is so esoteric that even Mom and Dad don't know what they're talking about half of the time. It's a sort of inbred Quotese based on shows that the rest of us haven't seen and books that we haven't heard on tape.

Then there's Boy, a sublanguage with which I am genetically predisposed to be incompatible. We also experience increasing amounts of what I like to call Flirtese, practiced by Mom and Dad, Mike and Jess, and now David and Casey. As Victor Hugo observed, this language isn't very difficult to translate: it consists of a perpetual "I love you." However, if you are not that you, it is mostly just entertaining to watch. Flirtese is another very limited language: to be precise, limited to two.

Layered on top of these are undertones and overtones of CLCese, TOG, and Marylandism. The first is a church community language, the second a laborers' rhythm compounded with Academia and Educatia, and the third a matter of cultural context. I am fluent in the first two, but stumble badly over the third. Anybody who has seen Step Up will understand what I mean, since that movie is set in Baltimore and is almost frighteningly accurate in its use of Marylandism.

Besides all this, one must realize that my sister Charity is a linguistical law unto herself, as is Danya: Charity because she is a walking neologism, David because he is a language-chamaeleon. Mike, when he isn't careful, also slips into the incomprehensible category. He speaks Engineer and Boardroom.

Yikes. You can see why, even as a Lit major, it's taking me some time to adjust. Not that I'm complaining--what could be more fascinating to a person of my interests and temperament? However, it is a daunting task. I expect I'll begin to make headway... just about the time school starts. ;-)

Workin' At It

Letters and emails are beginning to reach me from far-flung friends. I received one, seven pages of handwritten news and smiles, that made me laugh for sheer happiness. There is no loveliness like the loveliness of a letter made by hand. But electronic or otherwise, they all say the same sweet things: "Merry Christmas! We love you! We're praying for you!" These give me a joy both fierce and melting, gentle and strong. In ordinary human terms, is not the gift of loving thought and remembrance and longing great (perhaps greatest) among those we have to give?

The Christ was first in this. He remembered me with love when I had done no act of devotion or service for him. Mirabile visu, what gift is this? Mirabile ausu, whose voice is this? And yet I struggle to focus my thoughts on these things. Sin is strong; strong too is the enemy of my soul. My soul, magnify the Lord. Respond as He deserves, O my wandering heart, and return to God. Christ, draw me. Christ, human since then, please speak to my human-ness and transform it. Let me move in this reality according to the truths of that reality---let me live by metaphysics, not by physics.

I'm workin' at it. Please pray that the Holy Spirit works in me. I need to be wrought upon.

Verba Mille

I went to clean out storage boxes in my study last night, because I have (finally) purchased paint and am getting ready to carry out a long-cherished dream of turning my walls into parchment suitable for writing.

It is perhaps therefore appropriate that, of the seven or eight boxes neatly stacked in one corner, two turned out to be full of words.

I found the paper horses that I cut out when I was 13. Fingering them last night, I had to smile. What attention to detail, what care I lavished on all those tiny angles and curves of the feet, the hocks, the pasterns, and the tail! Throwing them away was a bit of an effort.

I found Christmas notes (my family always writes notes of encouragement to one another at Christmas time) from years past and cards of all kinds, crammed with love.

I found the sheet of thoughts that I wrote on September 11th, 2001. I was then sixteen years old.

I found my notes from Latin I (freshman fall), complete with Noe quotes. I miss Dr. Noe.

I found Danya's cartoons that I used to take to school, to cheer myself up when I was so homesick.

I found the paper I wrote the day I decided to put aside childish things and pursue womanhood, when I was 20. That was a very sober paper. That was the day I said goodbye to Peter Pan.

I found words of complaint, words of confusion, words of groping, words of desperation, words of heartsickness, words of faith, words of humility, words of understanding, words of worship, words of thanksgiving, words of wonder, and words of love. I found a thousand thousand words: verba mille.

In the end, I threw out the boxes, fabric scraps (from sewing projects), syllabuses, ticket stubs, receipts, and even the paper horses. I gave away some of my once-favorite (now outgrown) dresses and clothes to my sisters. I tossed old CD's, computer programs, scarves, jewelry, half-used bottles of lotion, and the only stuffed animal I've ever had. I got rid of a lot of stuff.

But I kept all those words. I need them... to remember.

I also put up my portrait, which was taken when I was twelve. That little girl in her blue lace dress stares out of the frame at nothing--and everything--with a Mona Lisa's smile on her childish lips. She (I always think of her as "She" and not "I") looks exactly as if she means to pierce all mysteries of the future by means of sheer intense gazing. It is an extraordinary picture, quite worth a thousand words of its own. It makes me wonder whether I was born quite human.

Why English Teachers Flee the System

Maybe you have to have grown up in the education/publishing milieu in order to find the following as hilarious as I did. Be that as it may, I submit for your review...

Why English Teachers Flee the System

Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit theircollections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high schoolessays. These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of teachers across the country. Here are last year's winners.....

Note from Me: I have edited this list, as some of the metaphors and analogies were unsuitable.

He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like aguy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the countryspeaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solareclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegratedbecause of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.

The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way abowling ball wouldn't.

McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bagfilled with vegetable soup.

From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced acrossthe grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one havingleft Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topekaat 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.

They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fencesthat resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.

John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was theEast River.

Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil,this plan just might work.

The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from noteating for a while.

He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either,but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

The Office -- Season 5

The moment you've all been waiting for...

“You know, it’s just so convenient that everybody has a goddess for a mother or a river nymph for a sister.” – Christy, mostly to herself, flipping through the Aeneid
“I know I do! Don’t you?” – Casey

On White Chocolate – Holding the Line
“Come over to the dark side, Christy.” – Mom
“I’m on the dark side! Dark chocolate!” – Christy
“Come over to the light side, Christy.” – Grace
“I was with you, Chris, but I’ve been won over. This white chocolate is so wonderful—you’ll love it!” – Mom
“I refuse to love it.” – Christy
“Classic.” – Mom
…..
::Grace finishing up her shopping list:: “…Okay, so that’s all for this side, except the chocolate that Christy’s gonna hate…”

“A person who is selfish with their popcorn has no excuse for living.” – Dad

“I think the Pyrenees are spelled wrong.” – Casey, reading for typos
“What would you suggest, dear, as a solution for the world’s spelling error?” – Christy
“Mmmm…. I think maybe a silent ‘k’ would be nice, maybe right before the ‘n.’” – Casey

“I’m sorry to waste your ink. It makes good paper airplanes, though.” – Casey to Mom

“No! I already have the hummer! I want the Ferrari!” – Casey
“The Ferrari is on a ten-year backorder.” – Nate
“I’d like an elephant. Hannibal makes me want one.” – Casey
“I need a yacht.” – Mom
“Those are on a twelve-year backorder.” – Nate
“And how about a pony?” – Marjorie

“They may have had a little too much spiked eggnog…” – Mom
“Wow, we’re judging everybody today!” – Casey

Strictly Sensuous, But Getting Deeper

Deciding to embrace change, and even acquiring some basic proficiency in doing it, does automatically turn one into a Grand Master or a Wizard of the Art of Changing Gracefully.

I consider myself an upper novice. Had I begun to train earlier, I could have been by now a skilled member of the open division, but---more from lack of willingness to learn than from lack of opportunity to practice---it is only in the last year or so that I have begun to pay serious attention to the discipline of graceful change.

This clumsiness is still evident in my style of performing a change, which I shall now judge critically as belonging to the category of "strictly sensuous." A real adept, when faced with a change, is able not only to experience change on three levels (the surface or sensuous level of details, the deep level of emotional response, and the deepest level of the soul), but is able to enjoy all of them. This is the art of gracious change at its pitch of perfection, wherein heart, soul, and mind agree harmoniously together to freely submit to and rejoice in God's fatherly disposal in every situation.

Now I, being but an advanced beginner, am not able to deal with all three levels at once. I play therefore in only one dimension, and that the shallowest. During a change, I perform the correct movements and occupy myself with the surface of things: doing dishes, cleaning my room, getting through a day at the office, observing the weather, the way the light falls on the floor at home, the dinginess of winter landscapes, the beauty of winter sunrises.

My emotions (at least, the emotions which belong to the Virginian side of me) are not serene. They are merely absent. I have locked them all in a watertight box and sent them floating off upon the waters, whence after many days I expect that they shall return. Meanwhile I am busily unpacking the box of Maryland emotions which I left at home. They want airing and some need to be mended, but I packed them away with lavender and am pleased to find them still so wearable. Above all, I cultivate a cheerfulness which acknowledges that every day will be fraught with alteration in my mental patterns, and that these alterations necessarily accompany a change of this magnitude, etc. etc. If one cannot meet change with cheerfulness, one has not mastered even the most basic principle of the Art. Alas, I am in this also a mere novice.

I know that my style is stilted, technical, and lacking in that expression which makes a dance beautiful. It is not the best. Still, in being above a zero it is so very much better than the aching misery of previous transitions. I am, therefore, profoundly grateful. True, I am not able to experience more than one level of change, because if I permitted myself to experience it, I should be miserable. But true also that I am able to sincerely enjoy the dimension that I permit myself, and that, as I become more settled, I shall be able to access the deeper levels of emotional response with serenity as well.

God giving grace. Amen.

So now you know where I am. :-) Please pray.

All Tied Up -- Back Soon

Tapestry deadlines. I promise I'll be back soon... as soon as Week 30 is in.

Footloose and Fanciful

I walked out of my last Hake final at 9:30 this morning. As of now, I have survived and profited from twelve Hake classes. As of now, barring unforseen circumstances, I will never take another Hake class. That's a strange thought.

But it doesn't prevent me from being glad that finals are over.



The phrase "footloose and fancy free" is one of my favorites. I give it here the twist of fanciful (literally "full of fancies") because I am not at all "fancy free" at the moment (in one sense, though very much so in another). There are any number of fancies making their voices heard in the recesses of my brain. I fancy an evening at home. I fancy an hour with God. I fancy my own bedroom and especially my own bed. I fancy having time to read all the books and see all the movies and hear all the music that I've been putting off for weeks. I fancy the opportunity to sit down and order my ipod nano (birthday present from my dear family). I fancy a long talk with the High Queen, and a long walk in my woods, and a long, long, long, long bath. Those are my fancies.

However, I must not be a Peter Pan about them. If the process of embracing adulthood has taught me anything, it has taught me that I must orient my whole heart away from self-service. Every one of those fancies may come true within the next three weeks, but it is almost certain that they will not all come true within the next day, or even the next few days. I must not build up expectations of being served, but must set myself to serve. Miss Prism was wrong about the definition of fiction, but I will echo her tone of utter conviction when I say: "That's what Christianity means." I have it on the highest authority (namely the book of Matthew, chapter 20).

It is delightful to have fancies, and more delightful to have contentment, and still more delightful yet to know that what I fancy most is that selfsame service which seems repugnant at first and somehow still manages to be sweeter than honey or cream. "What are men compared to rocks and mountains?" Say rather, "What are baths and books compared to the look of delight on my parent or sibling's face?"

I'm going home to serve, glad, voluntary, and eager. This is a work of grace, a gift of God, not my own. I will boast that God has done it, and it is marvelous in my eyes.

Best Friends are the Best Fun

It's not tradition, and we don't try to make it happen. It just does. That's what I love about my friendship with Brittainy. We serve other people together (plus some schoolwork crammed in around the edges, of course) until we're ready to drop, and then we drop--and oh, my! Yesterday was a day like that. At 11:30 PM we dragged back to the dorm from a full day which included the never-to-be-forgotten-though-we-wish-we-could Drama Final, plus a full afternoon of writing/studying (me) and meetings/serving (her), plus an evening of writing and studying (both of us).

"Let's do something."
"I thought we scrapped the movie idea."
"Well, we could watch part of a movie."

We stood in front of the movie collection.

"Court Jester?"
"Mmm... how about Persuasion?"
"That's a quiet movie. Are we in the mood for a quiet movie?"
"I haven't seen it in a few years."
"Okay, but if we start Jane Austen, I just want to warn you that I'm going to finish it. You can't just 'start' a Jane Austen movie."
"Well, we could..."
"Remember the last time we said we'd 'just start' North and South?"

*Note to the reader: on that memorable North and South occasion, we were up until 3 AM*

There was a pause while we contemplated one another with thoughtful expressions on our faces.

"Well," she said, "if you fall asleep, then we can turn it off."
"I won't fall asleep," I rejoined with mock indignation. "But if you want to go to bed at any point, that's okay. I'll just have to finish it if I start it, that's all."
"Okay."

I fell asleep. Brittainy turned off the movie, forbore to point out that she had been right (generous roommate!), and got me pointed right side up in bed.

"Goodnight, dear."
"Goodnight."

This morning...

"Well, let's finish it tonight?"
"Sounds good to me!"
"I meant to stay awake."
"I would have stuck it out if you had."
"Aha! You would have, would you?"

We grinned at each other.

Somewhere in the course of lunch we decided to stage an air hockey tournament this afternoon. Apparently we've both got too much energy. Our competitive streaks are coming out. But it'll be a fair fight because Brittainy is at least as good with hand-eye coordination as I am, and though she hasn't played as much air hockey in the past, I haven't really played for a year.

Best friends really are the best fun. And "thank you" doesn't seem enough to say to God. What I really need is a couple square miles worth of concentrated sunlight---that would be something like an expression of my gratitude for this dear and completely undeserved gift.

God is good to me!

Taking Stock

Well, it's been a semester. I've laid aside some old things and acquired many new ones. I've changed in ways both major and minor. Let me give you a quick set of data points...

Old Things Now Gone

1. Fear of adventures (and boy, is it fun to embrace them!)
2. Fear of growing up (it's too late now to be afraid)
3. Class ranking (I am now " classless" at PHC)
4. Upperclassman arrogance (for the most part this is no longer such a sin issue. Thank God!)
5. Discontentment (not perfectly, but genuinely)

New Things Now Here

1. New friends and acquaintances: Natalie, Kaylyn, Rachel, John, Colten, Lindsay, Sarah, Ed, Curby, Noah, Katherine, Christy, Cate.
2. New music: Michael Buble, Jack Johnson, Regina Spektor, and jazz/big band in general. My Cyrano cast has had quite an impact on my musical tastes.
3. New enthusiasm and a new sense of freedom to serve. Somewhere during the last seven or eight months, I became an adult and embraced my father's motto: "Live to serve." Blessing other people, especially in artistic ways, has become my favorite thing in the world to do.
4. Love for God's people. All kinds of that kind of love, for a startling variety of situations and personalities. I have grown wiser and less selfish in the way I love. Thank God!
5. I've learned to like change. This is because I see now what I did not before---that change is the fundamental state of the Christian soul on this earth. When I became a Christian, I was set on a trajectory of "constant change is here to stay." I am in a continual state of change as I grow more into the likeness of Christ, and it's just no good fighting a basic principle like that.

The fallout of this last season will require many months to process, and you'll see that process at work on my blog over the course of the next season (daily blogging is back until at least the fall of '07, when school/work may preclude it again). For now, I'm just stepping back to take stock.

We'll continue that thought later. ;-)