Columns
Jim Atwell: New tricks for an old dog
Just now I’m up at Silver
Bay at the Quakers’ annual
conference. I’ve told
you about that place: It’s
where, in the middle of the
night, I once accidentally
entered a sleeping woman’s
room and almost sat down
on her head and got arrested;
but I didn’t and wasn’t.
Anyway, for your delectation
I’ve pulled up a column
from about seven years
back. Enjoy it, please.
Last week I made a
quick trip to Annapolis and
back, mumbling Spanish
all the way. Instead of entertaining
myself with a recorded
book, I was gabbling
responses to a language
tape. It’s almost eight hundred
miles, down there and
back; that’s a lot of gabbling.
When I climbed out
of the car back home, Fly
Creek seemed like Guadalajara.
Cramming Spanish is
part of a four-month leadup
to a travel adventure.
One of Anne’s far-flung Canadian
cousins, a great
young guy, is being married
in February. Ryan and his
heart’s love Susie have
shared life for several years,
and now they’re ready to
formalize things. But an
Edmonton, Alberta wedding
in February struck
them as inapt to their warm
relationship. So they decided
on a wedding south of
the border — two borders,
in fact. The wedding’s in
Cancun.
I know — that’s a pretty
dramatic leap; but these
are young people, remember,
and think differently
from us. And to their credit,
they’ve done some practical
planning. Susie’s sister, it
turns out, is heading for
marriage; too, and the girls
agreed they should tie the
knot in the same week, in
the same place. And when
brides and grooms tallied
up the two guest lists, they
had enough potential travelers
to negotiate a sweet
deal on travel and a resort
hotel down Mexico way.
Clever kids! Come February,
wedding guests will
board planes in Alberta,
British Columbia, Ontario,
even New Brunswick Province
(the other groom’s from
there). All those jets will be
winging south to tropic
warmth and a week of celebration.
And who’s tooling
up to Toronto to hop aboard
the Ontario jet? Yep. My
own bride and I. Hence the
crash course in Spanish, a
language I’ve admired but
never learned.
Once, years ago, I had a
fair command of French,
and could even read Latin.
But that was when my
mind was fresh, still trailing
remnants of the amazing
gift for language that
every baby brings into the
world. Some years have
passed since then; and with
them, nearly all the French
and Latin. And with the
years, as well, went my language
aptitude.
I first realized that skill
was fading back in my forties.
I was preparing for a
lectureship in Brazil with
language tapes in Portuguese.
I thought I was doing
fairly well, but got to
Rio to discover I’d been
stuffing my head with Iberian
Portuguese, not Brazilian.
The latter, with its
own set of distinct idioms,
turned out to be a cavalo of
a different colorido. That
same trip, I abashed myself
and convulsed a Carioca
audience by using a finger
gesture in public that, up
here, means A-OK, but
down there is, uh, beyond
just impolite. Oh, well. I’m
not likely to go back.
This time around, I’m
setting the bar low for
learning Spanish. The
course I’m using is called
``Spanish for Gringos,’’ and
its goal is not language precision
or elegance, but bare
survival.
By the course’s end I’m
to know numbers, colors,
months, days, occupations,
foods, places of business,
furniture, family members.
I’ll also command a few basic
verbs, plus some set
phrases to get me to the
hospital, the hotel, or a
bathroom. ``Don’t worry
about your poor pronunciation,’’
the instructor says
blandly. ``Just reinforce
your efforts with lots of gestures
and mugging. Latins
are warm-hearted,’’ he
says. ``They’ll see you struggling,
sympathize, and try
to help.’’
That instructor’s casual
dismissing of accent came
to mind last Sunday. Anne
and I were over in Edmeston
to celebrate John
Blackman’s forty-fifth ordination
anniversary. John
held the pulpit at Edmeston’s
Second Baptist for
over thirty years, and congregants
and other friends
there threw him a party.
Their reminiscing included
lots of jokes about John’s
accent when he first came
to Edmeston. He’s from
Maine, you see, a real
Down-Easter. One man
said that, when John first
arrived, his accent was so
rockbound that he hardly
spoke English at all. ``It
gave us a jolt,’’ he added,
``when he addressed the Almighty
as `Lard Gord.’
Weren’t sure just what we’d
hired!’’
Well, it’s an amazing
gift, our bent for language
— and all the more so when
we think about reading.
When first learning to read,
we looked at individual
squiggles, translated them
to sound, grouped the
sounds, and grasped meaning.
But, after years at it,
the reading process got
more subtle: Now we see a
word’s familiar shape and
at once grasp its meaning.
Here’s an example that
popped up in my email:
``Aoccdrnig to rscheearch
at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it
deosn’t mttaer in waht
oredr the ltteers in a wrod
are, olny taht the frist and
lsat ltteres are at the rghit
pcleas. The rset can be a
toatl mses and you can sitll
raed it wouthit a porbelm.
Tihs is bcuseae we do not
raed ervey lteter by ilstef,
but the wrod as a wlohe.’’
Now, if you and I still
have enough language skill
to grasp that paragraph,
maybe there’s hope for me
with Spanish. Maybe I can
teach this old perro a few
new trucos.
Read about Jim Atwell’s
book, From Fly Creek--Celebrating
Life in Leatherstocking
Country, at JimAtwell.
com
- Columns
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
(I owe the first part of this column to an informal writers’ workshop sponsored by the Smithy Pioneer Gallery. The small group, led by Gallery Director Danielle Newell, meets Sunday afternoons and is open to anyone interested in the writing craft. As a warmup exercise on that very rainy afternoon, we each wrote a few paragraphs on the weather and emotions. Here’s what that keen group prompted me to scribble down) The dour old Scotsman, the one featured in jokes without number about buying lottery tickets, pinching pennies, scorning worldly ways, etc., once silenced a friend who was praising the beautiful weather.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: We're back from Michigan ...
Unfortunately, we once again find ourselves stuck in a time warp. When we look at the calendar, we realize that Labor Day is fast approaching. Yet, we seem to be operating under the misconception that it is still early July due in large part to the fact that we spent the almost five weeks from July 15 to August 17 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. We feel the summer has sailed by and we, unfortunately, have not kept pace.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Censorship?
All those indebted to John Lawrence, Post-rider, and do not settle the same IMMEDIATELY may rely upon having to pay cost!! Otego, Aug. 24.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1984 comes to a close ... finally
As we continue traipsing through 1984, we realize that even though we were supposed to be covering the comings and goings of Cooperstown, we actually were able, even then, to touch on a number of pressing community, as well as personal, issues. Of course, much to the relief of the powers that were at CCS, the school was not among them. The he-we ran for the school board in 1984 and was elected. Thus the school was deemed off limits by the powers that were at the paper. But we discovered there was still a wide range of issues upon which we could write.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: New school book
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, Aug. 18, 1810
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Books offer tennis insights
Professional tennis sometimes seems to be the ultimate life. Where else could you travel the world, earn gobs of money, get in great shape, and have groupies from the opposite sex chasing you all the time? And you get all your equipment free to boot (which may explain why players smash racquets without remorse). Quite a glamorous life, isn’t it?
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Continuing our 1984 musings
Now that we have undertaken the beginnings of this column, we fear we find ourselves unable to stop our review of the early writings. In fact, we seem to be completely addicted to the project. And thus, we will continue to explore the very foundations on which this column has been built.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Burnett's book recalls 'Golden Age'
It’s a shame that today’s young generation missed the golden age of television from the 1960s and 70s. The fact that Hollywood studios with their ``original’’ ideas of constantly remaking hit TV shows from that era into new movies and reunion specials is quite telling. Even Fox with its ``That 70’s Show’’ is a reminder of that whimsical time.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: A place to cherish
As we enter into the middle of summer, let us pause and relish in the fact that we have been blessed with such lovely weather.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Hurray for Mother Bassett!
Just back from my annual week at Lake George’s Silver Bay, in company with about 600 other Quakers. As always, it was a great time: Friends shared silence in the early morning by the lake and during the day in the big brown-shingled tabernacle. (Silver Bay is an old YMCA camp.)
Continued ...
Plenty of fine stringed music and singing in the evenings; lots of daytime rocking-chair stints on the deep veranda, facing across rolling lawns and lake to green mountains and skies of startling blue. -
In These Otsego Hills: In the beginning
Our remembering Jerry in last week’s column has now lead us to muse about our early days of writing a weekly newspaper column.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Prohibition should not be ignored
I was an American history major in college and one topic that my professors never discussed was prohibition.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Elopement
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 21, 1810 Compiled, with comments BY HUGH C. MACDOUGALL
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Personal Care is a rewarding occupation
When I was a young girl in the early 50’s my family would often take rides through Cooperstown and the Cherry Valley area.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Remembering Jerry ...
Difficult as it is to believe, we have been a widow for eleven years this week. And yet it seems as if our late husband Jerry just died yesterday. The memory of it remains most vivid in our mind. We suppose there is much that we don’t remember about July 20, 1999. But we do remember just how much that day changed our life forever. We lost not only our spouse of 28 years, but also our best friend.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Celebrating the 4th
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 14, 1810 Compiled, with comments by
Continued ... -
Our Opinion: What’s good for the goose...
The board of trustees has decided to hire an engineer to review the work of CLA Site, the firm hired to do the site assessment and design work for the Village Gateway Project _ now known as the Cooperstown Intermodal Transit Project. That review will cost up to $12,000.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: ‘Thump-thump, dum-lum’
Since I last wrote to you I’ve been several times embraced to Mother Bassett’s bosom.
Continued ...
(Oh dear, I hope that’s not a disrespectful metaphor. But if you’ve seen photos, you know she was a handsome, dignified woman with an ample superstructure.) This time, for variety, the hospital visits at first seemed to have little to do with Parkinsonism. But a new problem had turned up that had me tested in every part of the hospital except obstetrics. -
In These Otsego Hills: Travels with The Widge...
We have decided that the role of grandmother is quite to our liking. As we have been told any number of times, as a grandparent it is perfectly acceptable to hold, play with and fawn over the grandchild until such time as said grandchild becomes fussy. And then, and this is the best part, it is completely within the purview of the grandparent to return the fussy grandchild to the parents. We love it.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Shocking accident, American arrested
On Wednesday last, as Joseph Faulkner, esq. of Middlefield, was returning home from Cherry-Valley, a gust of wind arose up suddenly, a large Elm was blown across the road, directly on Mr. Faulkner, who, together with his horse was instantly killed.
Continued ...
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
