Roots and branches we’ve known and loved

Having found out that someone decided July should be Roots and Branches Month, we can’t pass up commenting, that being the name of our blog and all . . .

Roots and Branches Month is meant to celebrate family trees and encourage genealogy. We do enjoy learning about the people we come from. It helps us know more about ourselves and makes history come alive. But we can think of other roots and branches we know and love, too.

Roots Music. We love the soundtrack from O Brother Where Art Thou. Also The Three Pickers, by Earl Scruggs, Doc Watson, and Ricky Skaggs. Also Another County, which is The Chieftains with various country and bluegrass artists. And lately, 16 Greatest Hits of Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash, which probably isn’t old enough to technically qualify as roots music, but it’s related (a branch from the root?) and I’m loving it.

The willow tree at the house where I grew up. I was sad when it blew down in a thunderstorm the summer of 1976. I spent lots of my childhood climbing into its lowest branches. My petite and nimble friend Alice could climb 2/3 of the way to the top, which scared my Dad enough that he forbade me to climb it with friends, fearing one of them would fall and we’d be liable. I loved that tree.

Root vegetables. A baked sweet potato with butter and brown sugar. Fresh red beets, cooked, pickled, and chilled with eggs in the juice. Mmmm…

Etymology and linguistics. What can I say? We’re word nerds. Art’s studied Latin, Spanish, Hebrew, and Greek. I’ve studied Latin and French. Hence without much trying we see the backstories of many words. When a word, or word family, intrigues me, I tend to dissect it. What is its root, what language did it come from, and what does its progenitor word tell me about its meaning? What prefixes or suffixes change it in what ways? F’rinstance, somewhere in my files I have a whole page on the -fuse family: confuse, profuse, infuse, diffuse, suffuse, etc. This kind of research helps me get to the concepts behind the words. It even sparks new ideas. I’m also fascinated in learning how languages have influenced each other and why. I think this all started in my first weeks of high school Latin classes, when I met pater (father) and mater (mother) and my neurons started forming all kinds of happy linguistic synapses. It’s all about making connections.

 

Off Art’s chest . . .

Yo–guys! Cook! (And I’m not talkin’ about burning meat on the grill. So easy a caveman could do that!)

If you’re culinarily challenged, rise above it and at least learn to prepare a genuine man-cooked breakfast of eggs over easy and a couple of slices of fried bread (straight-up toast is for wimps). Throw in a glass of fresh-squeezed OJ, and your wife will renew her vows.

Not to be sexist or anything, but have you noticed how many chefs are guys? I’ve worked a stovetop and oven since I was ten, and if you handle it right, your sweetie will feel totally indulged (well, maybe not totally) when you take over the kitchen. (Don’t forget to do the dishes afterwards . . .)

By the way, every kitchen has a “miracle-worker”: AKA slow-cooker. Start there if you have to. Meat, veggies, broth, and seasonings (go easy here, OK?), and she’ll come home with nothing to do but relax and enjoy.

For you accountants and analysts out there, the ROI is huge. For the rest of you, try it. She’ll love it.

 

Ageism or respect?

Discriminating on the basis of age is illegal in the workplace, but it happens–in both directions, I’m sure. How much better off we’d be if we could get past this prejudice, too, and stop with the stereotypes.

I’ve read several excellent articles in the past few months about integrating generations in the workplace. The best ones counsel recognizing the differences and tapping into the strengths of each. This makes so much more sense to me than one generation disdaining another.

Ana Alvarez-Holmberg writes that “There are currently four generations ‘living’ together” in the workplace, which is pretty remarkable when you think about it.  She gives specific advice about navigating their differences in technological preferences–phone, email, texting, etc.

Fiona Emberton writes about building a team that capitalizes on inter-generational strengths.

Phil Cooke blogs about strategies to maintain a professional edge on the mature side.

What about you? Have you experienced either young or old “ageism”? Any insights into how to enhance communication between texting millenials and their more mature co-workers who prefer face-to-face conversations?

 

Doing as we say

In our weekly e-newsletter, Rainy Days and Mondays, we’ve recently encouraged our readers to do two things: take time off to “recreate” and organize a block party in conjunction with National Night Out in August. This is how we are following our own advice.

Taking time off: We struggle with this one. But it must be something we need to learn to do, because yesterday our pastor preached on taking a day of a rest. We can’t escape this. Our last vacation was, oh, let’s see, a year ago last May when we went to Colorado for a week after our latest grandchild was born. (I went again in July 2007 for two weeks.) Our budget is not going to allow a trip this summer. But I am pressing for at least a few days this month when we are outta here on day play trips.

Block party/National Night Out: Since we live outside the city, Art has called county law enforcement to find out what if anything we need to do to reserve our part of the street in our subdivision for an evening in August. Then we’ll talk to our two next-door neighbors to find out if they want to help us pull this party together. Then we’ll make flyers for the neighborhood and walk them around. Pie and ice cream social. Maybe the children who live nearby would like to make some signs promoting it. We want them to have some ownership, too. This isn’t just about dull grownups. Hopefully things will be “Jumpin’ at the Woodside,” with a nod to Count Basie.

 

Merriam-Webster’s updates, and mondegreens

I think Merriam-Webster’s website is fun, but then I’m a word nerd. Today I’m enjoying their article about mondegreens. That’s a new term to me, but I’m happy to have a name for misunderstood phrases such as “There’s a bathroom on the right,” instead of “There’s a bad moon on the rise,” from Creedance Clearwater Revival’s song of that name.

Mondegreen got its name from confusion over the words of a Scottish ballad in which “they laid him on the green.” Seems a writer named Sylvia Wright, as a child, thought they were talking about Lady Mondegreen.

Tales abound about children in Sunday School who thought they were singing “up from the gravy a rose” instead of “up from the grave he arose”  or “gladly the crosseyed bear” instead of “gladly the cross I’d bear.” In fact, years ago when I was into making Teddy bears, one of my creations ended up crosseyed and we’ve called him Gladly every since.

What mondegreens have you heard? Share them here. For that matter, share them with Merriam-Webster.

 

What I meant, not what I said

Last week I ordered 40 halves of chicken from a local caterer for our family reunion. The caterer, Nelson’s, provides chicken for organizational fundraisers all over our county every weekend. The sales rep told me on the phone that we could pick up our order from one of those locations, and that we should get it from “the cooker, not the organization.”

Bear with me — this has a point. In my mind, because the cooking apparatus and the organization are not parallel “things,” the word cooker as she had used it registered more as the cook. (More on parallel construction another time.) I don’t know if the initial miscommunication was between her and me, or what came later . . .

When we got to the location Sunday, I told Art that we’d been instructed to go to the cooker, thinking cook. He stopped by the cooking apparatus but asked the organizational people about our chicken, and I felt like he hadn’t been listening to me. We got our chicken, and all the way home that one tiny miscommunication grew into a tangled web of hurt feelings: mine, because I felt unlistened to; his, because he felt like he’d been treated like a child who really had done nothing wrong. We put it to rest, though, and the rest of the day was fine. But it just goes to show how fast things can go south when communication gets messed up. Sometimes the little things will get you the most. And no one is immune.

It’s not safe to assume that our unpublished thoughts and assumptions are not perverting our communication. You’d think we could relax about this with the people who know us best, but sometimes we need to be especially diligent with them. The people we love the best deserve our best.

 

Summer reading list

If you have elementary, middle school, or high school students at your house, chances are they have a summer reading list. Depending on how old they are, it could include anything from Dr. Seuss’s Horton Hears a Who to 7 Habits of Highly Effective Teens, by Sean Covey — both are on our state’s department of education 2008 list.

I’m currently reading Emotion Marketing: the Hallmark Way of Winning Customers for Life (by Robinette and Brand, with Lenz) and Thomas Harris’s psychology classic, I’m OK, You’re OK.  What comes after that? It’ll probably come from my “to read” notebook. Maybe First Impressions: What You Don’t Know ABout How Others See You, by Dr. Ann Demarais; Creators, by Paul Johnson; or My Father Is a Book, by Janna Malamud Smith (daughter of author Bernard Malamud).

A summer reading list isn’t a bad idea. Do you have one? What’s on it?

 

On beauty, brains, and reality

Images communicate. I noticed something today, yet again, about images of females in our culture and what they communicate.

First, I watched Kate and Leopold on TV. I’ve seen it before. It’s a nice story about a clash of cultures and romance, with lots of fantasy and a nod to Breakfast at Tiffany’s thrown in. What got my attention this time was in the last scene. Hugh Jackman is about to choose his wife, and all the young women he doesn’t love are plain at best. Then in walks the lovely, winsome Meg Ryan, whom he does love, and after gazing into each other’s eyes, he chooses her and off they dance.

Second, I just read a piece featured on Newsweek’s website (dated June 16, 2008) about ”Nerd Girls.” It’s about smart engineering students who happen to be female. Great topic, but lo and behold, all the girls featured in the accompanying video are also model-worthy. The text and voiceover even mention how hot they are.

I don’t have anything against gorgeous girls. It’s just that I know good and well that lots of delightful, smart girls of wonderful character wouldn’t quite measure up. They are thinner, or chunkier, or their hair doesn’t behave quite so well, or their skin isn’t quite flawless. Whatever. Campuses are full of them. Workplaces are full of them.

Yes, I was one of those girls. Maybe that’s why I care so much. But I don’t think that’s all it is. What bothers me is a side effect of our celebrity addiction. Men or women, we are tempted to compare ourselves and everyone else to perfection that isn’t even real perfection. What we see is only achieved with trainers and makeup artists and high-priced hair stylists and stylists and photo touchups — and if all else fails, hey, just reshoot till you get it right. Most normal people don’t have that kind of time or money to invest in their physical appearance, and don’t even want to.

Here’s my request: Let the lead guy, who may or may not be a hunk, fall in love with someone shy of gorgeous, just once. And include some less leggy geniuses in the next feature on bright girls, please.

 

The bones of passion

Everyone from Oprah to high school teachers challenge us to find our passions these days. People are passionate about dance, fishing, even cupcakes. A question arises: If we have to find it, are we passionate about it? If passion is strong emotion, we oughta notice, wouldn’t you think?

 

I know, I know, sometimes we tune out, turn down the volume, lose touch with our own emotions and drives. That’s what the search for passion is all about. That, and learning to trust what we know about ourselves.

 

Me, I’m passionate about words. It has recently dawned on me that we’re diluting the word passion with our overuse of it.

 

Where did we get passion, and what does it tell us from its heritage?

 

Pathos was the name of the ancient Phoenician god of desire. Just across the Aegean Sea in Greece pathos meant suffering. The Romans had a similar word passus, meaning having suffered. (Ever notice how often desire and suffering go together?) From there the word traveled through the French and Old English to become our passion. Today my edition of Webster’s contains six related meanings of passion, from suffering as in the Passion of Christ to the object of fondness. Fondness, mind you. I’m fond of mushroom omelets. Wide range, wouldn’t you say?

 

At its bones, our word passion means a desire for which one would suffer and die, a commitment on which we stake everything. However much I enjoy words and desire to use them truthfully and elegantly, I am not passionate about them.

 

Or am I? Sometimes making words work borders on suffering, yet the desire is still there.

 

Is truth at stake? Are people at stake? Or am I selling a cereal, a car, a website?

 

What’s your passion? What, or whom, are you so committed to that you would suffer and even die?

 

Fathers in film

A week from today is Father’s Day. To recognize that, let’s think about memorable fathers in film. Here are a few of ours:

• Spencer Tracy, in Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner — I love his speech near the end about love.
• Richard Dreyfuss, in What About Bob — for the comic, neurotic hole in his got-it-together persona.
• Paul Dooley, as Mr. Stoler in Breaking Away — father and son both grow, and we laugh and cry with them.
• Jimmy Stewart, in It’s a Wonderful Life — with Zuzu’s petals in his pocket.
• Meg Ryan’s father in I.Q. — absent, but in her eyes coming back as the comet named after him. Makes me cry every time.

What father in film comes to your mind? Or what movie makes you think of your dad? Leave a comment . . .