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
Jim Atwell: New tricks for an old dog
- Columns
-
-
From Fly Creek: For help with the smug
I’ve been having much fun lately, friends, writing a short book called “Saints for Special Needs,” completely fictional characters whomight get us thinking about humanity—and ourselves, in particular. Here’s a sample. Let me know your reaction. (Oh, and I have a fine cartoonist to illustrate the book!) [Almost every culture has a place for “the wise fool,” the vacant sort of person who, in fact, has a witty and trenchant view of humanity, and may even see into its future.]
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Still more from 1986
Early August found us asking the question, “Does anyone know when Edgewater was builtand by whom?” The answer, much of which came from Ralph Birdsall’s history of the village, appeared in the Aug. 13 column as follows:
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Continuing on from 1986 ...
We continue this week by answering the question we asked if anyone remembers the old Cooperstown National Bank? On May 13, we wrote: “Martha Dickison, Delaware Street, called to tell us about the Cooperstown National Bank where she worked at her first ‘real job’ after her graduation from school.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Spring inventions
The second line of Lawrence Durrell’s novel “Justine” reads as follows: “In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of Spring.” I first read all four novels of his magnificent Alexandria Quartet during the year I traveled from Saigon to Paris after working in Vietnam for a refugee organization for several years.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: More from 1986 ...
This week we continue with the discussion of telephone service from the pre-dial days. On March 12 we noted that: “No one has yet produced a telephone directory from pre-dial days, but Doug Preston of New Hartford recalls that some business (which one?) in the village had the phone number 7.”
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Celebrations abound at the Thanksgiving Home
April was a month of celebrations and much to appreciate. We had a 90th birthday celebration for Wanda Noyes on April 4 including her family and friends. Personal care staff Dee Bouck worked with residents to hand paint Easter eggs for the tree in the activity room.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1986 continues ...
This week we continue our journey through the columns of 1986 with the answer to the question “for whom, according to tradition, was Hannah’s Hill named?”
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Baseball book features local contributors
Baseball is part of the nation’s fabric. Most kids have a memory of the game either from playing Little League, attending a major league contest or meeting a favorite player. In Cooperstown that feeling is magnified since we are the official home of baseball. We get to see firsthand what has made the sport the national pastime.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Returning to 1986 ...
For the past several years now we have undertaken sharing some of the area’s oral history we have collected over the years that we have written this column. Therefore, this year, we would like to go back to 1986 to share that rather unusual year. Those who were here then no doubt remember that it was that year that the village celebrated the bicentennial of its founding.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: CCS balancing act ... side two
Last week we shared a number of activities in which students at CCS can participate. We thought it was an impressive, if not overwhelming, list. And we are indeed pleased that the young people of our area have these opportunities. However, we think it is also important to keep in mind that these undertakings do have a cost associated with them. They are not free. In fact there are, no doubt, those who would say they do not come cheap.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that and the other side ...
We note that the CCS Class of 2012 is presenting its senior class play, “Snow White” by Tim Kelly, this week with performances 7:30 p.m Thursday and Friday, March 29 and 30, and at 11 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturday, March 31. All performances will be at the Nicolas J. Sterling Auditorium at the Middle/High School.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: That green thing ...
Of late we have noticed that our email inbox has been much busier than usual. In fact, we find ourselves hard pressed to keep up with all the various messages we receive. As a result we suspect we have not answered some in as timely a fashion as might be thought appropriate.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: What you need to know
In their last Sunday’s bulletins, all 84 churches of Otsego County were to have carried announcements of an important meeting; most of them did. But because the announcement is so important, and not just to the churched, here it is again.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Living the magic of ‘Hoosier’
A lot of people consider “Hoosiers” the best sports film of all time. The 1986 classic follows the exploits of a fictional small town Indiana high school basketball team in 1952 as it attempts to achieve the impossible dream of a state championship. The story is inspired by the true life achievement of the 1954 Milan team, who with an enrollment of only 161 students shocked big city power Muncie Central on a last second shot to win the state title. It’s the kind of sports story that represents something that is hard to grasp unless you live in a small town.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: The most perfect village... home to heavy industry?
We suspect we would get a whole lot more accomplished if we spent less time thinking, pondering and musing about things. In fact, there is a good possibility we might actually have completed our goal of cleaning the basement if we only focused on the task at hand, instead of trying to figure out the world around us. It almost makes us wonder if it is possible to think too much about things. We certainly hope not because should that be the case, we are in deep trouble.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: The past in the present
Clichés abound about the value of photographs. Most are probably true at least to a certain extent. What I do know about an image is that it represents something of the past that is not the pastitself. But that is the power of any image. It represents something that once was. The beauty of an image, revisited, is that it functions as a catalystfor reliving in the present a past experience. My own view, one that I thank the Spanish writer Jorge Luis Borges for, is that all we ever can experience is the present.
Continued ...
-
From Fly Creek: For help with the smug
