MUSING S FROM JOAN #7
My grandson, the lawyer, calls me the Human Dictionary. He is positive that I not only can spell anything, but I also know the meaning of every word in the book. A slight exaggeration of course, but in truth, my “spelling gene” stopped short at my daughter’s doorstep and was not passed on to my grandson either. They both owe a heartfelt “thank you” to the inventor of spell-check.
My daughter Andrea holds a BA degree in Journalism and is a whiz in marketing and public relations, but definitely can’t spell the word definitely. She persists in adding the letter “a” where no “a” has gone before. In desperation, I once bought her a necklace made of copper wire at an art fair that could be custom designed with the wearer’s name. Hers spelled “Definitely”. It didn’t help.
Words have been my business for more than half a century, but my sister and I owe our extensive vocabularies to our Mother. She was always sending us to the dictionary for the correct spelling and meaning of some new word. As kids, we were required to use “the word of the day” at the dinner table each evening, using it in complete sentences. This resulted in some odd dinner conversation but it certainly did wonders for our vocabularies. My Mother’s choice of words was sometimes a little over the top. The first time I heard the word “chauvinist”, was over a plate of meatloaf. You try working that into a sentence at 12 years old.
I am addicted to crossword puzzles. My significant other and I do “dueling puzzles” and the first one to complete the day’s offering in the Miami Herald is more than likely to phone the other with feigned sweetness to offer “help, should you need it.” We would both rather die than accept the offer.
My love of words extends to all sorts of games. My friend Ed Gadinsky still hasn’t forgiven me for beating him twenty years ago in a hard fought game of “My Word”. “My Word” is a board game, similar to Scrabble, and I trumped him at the last moment with the word “bobeche”. Ed, who is major competitive, to say the least, insisted there was no such word. Never mess with an experienced writer of interior design. Out came the dictionary (there was no Google in those days, and besides we were in the outback of North Carolina at the time), and voila! Victory was mine.
By the way, you probably own a bobeche, you just didn’t know it. A bobeche, dear friends, is the glass or metal cup that catches the dripping wax on a candlestick or candelabra. Look it up on Google if you doubt me. Esoteric, yes, but a winner that day. No wonder Ed sulked for the rest of the evening.
My secret vice is writing jingles. As my family and friends all know, give me a good excuse and I will write a celebratory “Ode to (fill in the blanks)” for the occasion. When Andrea grew up she received a “birthday ode” from her 16th birthday to her 21st when I laid down my pen only to pick it up again for her wedding poem. (No, I did not write a poem for her divorce or for either of mine, in case you were wondering.) My grandson Adam’s list of poems includes his graduations from high school, college and law school and, most recently, his 30th birthday. (I can’t imagine how I missed his bar mitzvah.) Even the significant other was the recipient of a poem in honor of his 80th birthday celebration. I enjoy writing them. You’ll have to ask my family and friends how they feel about receiving my rhyming chronicles of their lives.
Everybody needs a passion and I guess writing is mine. A couple of years ago I would have told you my passion was skiing, both downhill and après. I still enjoy the après part, (especially a well made sour apple martini or a nice pinot grigio), but strictly on level ground these days. Whatever your personal choice, I believe passion is necessary to keep you thinking young.
I believe that so passionately, I think I’ll drink to that.
# # #
My grandson, the lawyer, calls me the Human Dictionary. He is positive that I not only can spell anything, but I also know the meaning of every word in the book. A slight exaggeration of course, but in truth, my “spelling gene” stopped short at my daughter’s doorstep and was not passed on to my grandson either. They both owe a heartfelt “thank you” to the inventor of spell-check.
My daughter Andrea holds a BA degree in Journalism and is a whiz in marketing and public relations, but definitely can’t spell the word definitely. She persists in adding the letter “a” where no “a” has gone before. In desperation, I once bought her a necklace made of copper wire at an art fair that could be custom designed with the wearer’s name. Hers spelled “Definitely”. It didn’t help.
Words have been my business for more than half a century, but my sister and I owe our extensive vocabularies to our Mother. She was always sending us to the dictionary for the correct spelling and meaning of some new word. As kids, we were required to use “the word of the day” at the dinner table each evening, using it in complete sentences. This resulted in some odd dinner conversation but it certainly did wonders for our vocabularies. My Mother’s choice of words was sometimes a little over the top. The first time I heard the word “chauvinist”, was over a plate of meatloaf. You try working that into a sentence at 12 years old.
I am addicted to crossword puzzles. My significant other and I do “dueling puzzles” and the first one to complete the day’s offering in the Miami Herald is more than likely to phone the other with feigned sweetness to offer “help, should you need it.” We would both rather die than accept the offer.
My love of words extends to all sorts of games. My friend Ed Gadinsky still hasn’t forgiven me for beating him twenty years ago in a hard fought game of “My Word”. “My Word” is a board game, similar to Scrabble, and I trumped him at the last moment with the word “bobeche”. Ed, who is major competitive, to say the least, insisted there was no such word. Never mess with an experienced writer of interior design. Out came the dictionary (there was no Google in those days, and besides we were in the outback of North Carolina at the time), and voila! Victory was mine.
By the way, you probably own a bobeche, you just didn’t know it. A bobeche, dear friends, is the glass or metal cup that catches the dripping wax on a candlestick or candelabra. Look it up on Google if you doubt me. Esoteric, yes, but a winner that day. No wonder Ed sulked for the rest of the evening.
My secret vice is writing jingles. As my family and friends all know, give me a good excuse and I will write a celebratory “Ode to (fill in the blanks)” for the occasion. When Andrea grew up she received a “birthday ode” from her 16th birthday to her 21st when I laid down my pen only to pick it up again for her wedding poem. (No, I did not write a poem for her divorce or for either of mine, in case you were wondering.) My grandson Adam’s list of poems includes his graduations from high school, college and law school and, most recently, his 30th birthday. (I can’t imagine how I missed his bar mitzvah.) Even the significant other was the recipient of a poem in honor of his 80th birthday celebration. I enjoy writing them. You’ll have to ask my family and friends how they feel about receiving my rhyming chronicles of their lives.
Everybody needs a passion and I guess writing is mine. A couple of years ago I would have told you my passion was skiing, both downhill and après. I still enjoy the après part, (especially a well made sour apple martini or a nice pinot grigio), but strictly on level ground these days. Whatever your personal choice, I believe passion is necessary to keep you thinking young.
I believe that so passionately, I think I’ll drink to that.
# # #
Feel the need to say that the definitely (is that the right spelling?) necklace was not worn because of the implications of a young girl in her 20s wearing that word around her neck while frequenting bars after work!! Loved the necklace tho mom.
ReplyDeleteAndrea