WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

 

 

I came across a new-to-me word while doing a puzzle the other day.  The word was “heteronym.”  Here is the most straightforward definition I could find:

 

“[O]ne of two or more homographs (such as a bass voice and bass, a fish) that differ in pronunciation and meaning.”   - Merriam-Webster.

 

I tell you this, not to present you with a word that might also be new to you, but to share my geek-ish excitement over the discovery. 

 

I experienced a similar delight this morning, when, once again, working on a puzzle, I learned that temperament has an “a” in it.  I hadn’t known this. I did know that temperature had an “a” in it, but English spelling is a tricky business, and it had not occurred to include an “a” in temperament.

 

As you may by now have surmised, I love words.  

 

I have loved words ever since I can remember -- ever since I sat in an overstuffed chair in my childhood living room, sounding out “See Dick run.  See Jane run.” ** This is one of those vivid memories, complete with physical details -- I can see and feel the nubby, brownish material of the chair -- that stick in the mind.  Who knows why?  I call them snapshot memories – nothing to surround them – they just loom out of a black hole. 

   

Here is a snapshot memory of me that a friend shared recently:  

 

It is maybe 40 years ago.  We are walking across Tenth Avenue in downtown Portland, when I ask her what she thinks about while walking around.  She, a yoga teacher, tells me she is always looking at people and thinking about whether their bodies are in alignment.  When she asks me the same question, I tell her I am usually thinking about words.  

 

I don’t remember this exchange, but it absolutely rings true. It is of a piece with my own word-related memories.  Here is one:

 

I am in my early twenties and am at the home of a much-older couple with whom I am friends.  I am telling the man, whom I much admire, about a dream or series of dreams, and I say, “They were just short vignettes, really.“   

 

Here’s the thing.  I pronounce “vignette” as “vidge-net.”  

 

Decades later, I can still remember the look that flickered across his face.  Was it surprise?  Suppressed laughter?  The man in question, being older and wiser and quite kind, refrained from saying anything. Bless him.

 

It was probably several years before I learned the word’s proper pronunciation.  Sadly, the passage of time had not erased the memory of my friend’s look.  I was retrospectively embarrassed.  

 

What can I say?  I had never studied French, but was an avid reader, scooping up words as I read.  I had a vast reading vocabulary.  That is, I had learned a great many words that I had never heard spoken.  With the passage of time, this memory no longer brings embarrassment, only compassion for a young woman who loved words, whether or not she could pronounce them.

 

One more memory.  I am in elementary school.  I am nine or ten.  For homework, we are to make a list of homonyms (not to be confused with the aforementioned heteronyms). This is right up my alley. But, do I stop at making the list?  Oh, no.  I am so pleased with my list that I staple it to piece of colored construction paper and staple another piece of construction paper on top as a cover, upon which I write these words:  

 

“Even though I am a busy teenager, I always have time for homonyms.”  I can still see the stick figure of a teenager that I drew alongside these words.  In memory, her skirt is a triangle, and she is carrying a purse.  I can still see myself proudly handing this creation to my teacher.  What was I thinking?  What did I imagine being a teenager would be like? Words and a purse, apparently.

 

As a matter of fact, I remained a word geek throughout my teenage years and beyond.  I memorized miles of poetry during high school and college – not by trying, but by osmosis, by reading the ones I loved, over and over again.  (To this day, I can recite many of these poems, but don’t ask me what I read last week . . .)

 

My love of words has not changed in the decades since I memorized all that poetry.  I am most happy when I am reading, writing, or thinking about words. Looking back, I see them as a major throughline of my life. 

 

And you?

 

What is it that has followed you throughout your life?  Where is it that you feel most aligned with yourself? 

 

                                                Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

 

** Books for early readers have greatly improved since the 1950s.  If you are too young to remember Dick and Jane books, be grateful.  

 

 

 

 

 

BITTERSWEET

You know how they say that at the moment of your death, your life flashes before your eyes? Well, it seems to me that as we get older this begins to happen on a smaller scale. Now that much more of my life is behind me than ahead of me, I often find memories of the past intruding on my days. 

I will be taking a walk or pruning roses, when I will suddenly have an image of my teenaged self heading to the movies with my best friend to see A Hard Day's Night; or my 20-year-old self, sitting under a tree with a boy; or my 30-something self, composing a short story on a typewriter; or my 40-something self, hugging a young daughter; or my 50-something self, admiring my husband, with his dress-shirt sleeves rolled up.  Or I am sitting in a college classroom, bursting with the love of literature, imagining my life as a writer; or celebrating the birth of a daughter; or hunched over my computer, rushing to meet a deadline at work.

You get the idea.

The memory will be sharp, as if it were a photo lit by a flash. Like a sunset, it will linger for a few moments, and then it will be gone, leaving me with whatever it was I was doing before the memory filled my inner eye.**

This didn’t happen in my early and middle years, when the present crowded out most of the past, most of the time. But, now, memories are everywhere.  I will spend time with a granddaughter, and suddenly have an image of that granddaughter's mother as a baby.  I will start to read a book and remember another book.  

 

And, often, these days, I will see a face - on TV or on the street, anywhere, really - and be reminded of another face. I guess this makes sense.  There can only be so many variations on faces. The most startling moment of this sort occurred last week when I saw a picture of our new Congresswoman, Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, on the front page of our paper, and did a double take. Viewing her face in profile, I thought it was a picture of me. Let me hasten to add that Marie is 34. I am not 34, but I saw a young me in the photo.  I sent the picture to a few people who knew me when, and found that my reaction was shared. It was very unsettling.  (The photo, not their reaction. Sometimes I will watch a TV show or movie from years or decades ago and wonder what it is like for the actors to see themselves moving about in their younger incarnations.) 

 

And then there are the times when memories or faces don't intrude, when I actually invite them, as when I’m trying to fall asleep at night and I do what I call watching home movies. I will pick a moment in my life and call up scenes from that time and just hang out there for a while. 

 

And sometimes my memories feel like a deck of tarot cards that I can spread out on a table, picking up a few and pondering what they have to tell me. Was that a good decision?  Would I make that choice again?  How much would I give to relive that day? How does a particular memory inform a decision I must make today?

 

At times, memories bring me great joy and, at times, they bring regret or longing. Not too much regret though.  Of, course, there are things I profoundly wish I hadn’t done or had done differently, but if I were to undo any decision from my past, everything that followed would collapse.  Most importantly, I would not have the family and friends that surround me.  There would be a different family and group of friends, but this is inconceivable. And, so, I have learned to, mostly, accept my past.

 

Finally, there is this.  The older I get, the more the past and present seem to overlap and unspool at the same time. I am grateful to have lived long enough to have such a wealth of memories weaving through my present. 

 

And you, who read this post, may your regrets be few, and may your memories, however fleeting, bring you joy and peace. 

 

 ** Yes, I have written before about the intrusion of memories. https://woacanotes.blogspot.com/2019/09/fire-and-rain-on-time-travel-and.html   I guess I had more to say on the subject.