There are three barns or, depending on how you see things, two (one long and one shorter) on my parents' land. One of the barns acts as my father's shop, part of one as a garage, one is used by the farmer who farms the land, and they also act as storage. Storage for a lot of things over the years, in fact. The meeting has a yard sale, what do we do with the remaining items? Put them in our barn until next year. An artist friend doesn't have any storage space in the NYC loft apartment. Sure, put them in the barn. Want a goat and chickens? We have a barn for that.
One of the barns has a loft area which you have to climb up into with a ladder. Somehow my brother didn't get hurt when he fell off of that to the cement floor below. Another of the barns has stairs that led up to a second floor where you can climb onto the third barn's roof through a small window. Memories were made through that window when we slid off the roof onto a snow drift or watched the 4th of July fireworks from a distance. At some point my sister found incomplete pieces of furniture and carpet and created a makeshift living room up there, an escape from whatever needed escaping from. The barns were the source of pranks, daring each other to eat the cat food stored there. (Salty, in case you wondered). They were also the source primary materials for a multitude of school projects and surprising treasures. During one of her treasure hunts, my sister came across several pieces of artwork that had a common theme: the phallus. In some the phallus is the piece, a clay sculpture of a penis, and in others it is incorporated into the image, the central body of a butterfly. She gathered them together, removing them from their barn-life to display them in the family home's front hallway. To this day, many guests pass them, never giving them a look or thought, others stop to admire the arrangement. There have been purges, goats and chickens have moved on. Flexible in function, one day a dance floor then a garage then pinch hitting as a kitchen. The barns still stand, continuing to create the next generation of possibilities.
0 Comments
We can add suffixes and turn a verb into an adjective or noun or the other way around. We can also join two words to make a third. Some of these words become so ingrained that we may not even recognize the parts. While the parts might not be cognates, the logic of the compound words sometimes carries across languages. A word that obligingly falls into this category is skyscraper=rascacielos. Rascar= to scrape and cielos=skies. In particular, I like the word rascar which, much like its counterpart scratch, makes such a satisfying sound. Rascar has the added benefit of the beginning [r]* sound, the ever famous purring r. If you need an umbrella (Lat. umbra=shadow) for a sunny day, you can grab a parasol. I have never used a parasol myself, but it is an option. The word parasol is the combination of para=for and sol=sun. English borrowed that word, but not the word for umbrella, paraguas. In this case, para=for (yup, it still means for) and aguas=waters. Since para ends with an a and aguas begins with an a, we don't have to repeat the letter. In case you were wondering, in normal pronunciation if one word ends with an a and the next word starts with an a, the two a's become one sound even if it does not change spelling. The disappearing/dropped a also occurs in an example that can warm you up on a cold day, aguardiente. Agua=water and ardiente=burning which if we remember that adjectives follow nouns in Spanish, is the same as the English firewater. I heard the word aguardiente long before I ever saw it written down and did not make this particular connection until after I had acquired it as part of my working vocabulary. How 'bout some of that firewater? *Select "vibrantes" to listen to [r]. The word unique is overused (which may be why so many feel compelled to modify it with very.) Some have shied away from the word and replaced it with words such as distinctive. Few things are distinctive or unique, but we know what you mean. Until the age of the internet, it was harder to check to figure out of something was unique or even distinctive. I think I have stumbled upon something that brings me closer to authoritatively claim a distinctive quality for which I credit my parents: my name.
I know other people with my first name and, even those not related to me, with my last name. Neither is rare; it is the combination of the Indian subcontinent name plus the Anglo (or, in some cases,Germanic) one that set it apart in the US landscape. That's where the internet comes in. Several of my friends were able to track me down because of my name claiming that they tried to think of their friends with the most distinctive names to seek them out on Facebook and the like. It happened enough times that I had to see for myself. First, I went on Google and lots of me came out. A creepy amount of information, in fact. Stalkers paradise. In contrast, I searched my brother's name and some guy with his name had just been arrested for killing his (not my brother's) girlfriend. But one Google search does not the truth make. According to what I have gleaned along the way, Google searches are specialized to your particular search history; maybe that was the reason it was so easy to find mentions of me. To duckduckgo, which claims to not keep your history, I went. Again, it came up with the following pronouncement: 1person in the U.S. has this name And, that person'd be me. I like to think that the other ones are living off the grid somewhere feeling distinctly unique. Esa misma hija que anda vestida de color rosado y que se pinta las uñas escarlata, rosada, melocotón y púrpura, con los ojos color café, esa misma hija que anunció desde la silla trasera del carro, “Me gusta la palabra poop.” Palíndroma, el sonido a su gusto. Tiene que ser esa hija porque no tengo otra. Pensando en ella, apunto palabras de la semana. Repugnante y disparate: me gusta como suenan. Otras: omeya, califato, Mutamid, apto, recelo, pontífice, witizanos, pugna, y arranque. Palabras van juntas: mierda/violencia, marco/educado, sintetizar/nerviosismo, penumbrosas/interferencias, pregunta/inválida. Frases: Los enemigos estaban tanto dentro como afuera. No tienes que sentir nada. Sandra no existe hay grandes poemas y los demás confía en tu lector léame en quinientos años soy un budista nervioso elsubstantivorequiereadjetivonohaynadamásdifícilquelademocracia. Etc, etc, etc.
On Grammarly's Facebook page, I found the following post. "No matter how many times you use it, irregardless is still not a word." Actually, it is. I even checked two dictionaries to make sure. It's not a particularly erudite word, but a word all the same. According to Miriam-Webster:
There are so many great inventions. Some, think printing press, have changed the course of human history. I remember being asked in school to write essays about the most important invention. I found these essay prompts to be overwhelming. Who was I to decide which single invention was most important? Why should I even care? In middle school, when I was being asked to evaluate the inventions around me, I did not know what to look for. Since that time, I have lived for periods without a car, electricity, or even a steady supply toilet paper. Living without is the most tried and true way of appreciating an invention. Despite the fact that bathroom jokes were at the forefront of most conversations, I never would have thought of toilet paper in seventh grade. Now I know that it is the daily basic needs stuff you miss the most when they disappear. After a few more years of experience under my belt, I flip flop between clean water and reliable birth control to top my list of "most important inventions." However, I have decided, at least for this week, on my most beloved of inventions: the mute button. No other device can alter my mood from annoyance to peace so quickly. Simple, elegant, and effective. There are certain things in life that take planning and an eye for opportunity. First and foremost, location; it can’t be too central, too shiny, too rich. In fact, the grittier, the better. Timing is important, too. Do it too often, it is a vice. Too little, you lack commitment. If you need frequency, once a week is probably OK. I prefer every couple of months myself. Often enough for it to go seamlessly, infrequently enough that it leaves room for novelty while maintaining the appearance of nonchalance.
Once I set my eyes on the appropriate venue, this time the corner 7-11 in rural Virginia, the familiar flow of events begins. (Who ever heard of this kind of thing at a Harris Teeter or somewhere like Palm Beach.) I stake out the place. If there is a long line, the timing isn’t right, and even the best of plans must be postponed. Not wanting to appear too desperate, I'll remind myself that there will be other opportunities. One or two people in line? Perfect. I march in and take my place. Last thing before my final move, check the pockets. Whew, my emergency dollar is still tucked away. All set. Purposefully, I move up to the cash register, producing the wrinkled, tired-looking bill, “One Mega Millions, please.” After awkwardly making my way through three years of high school, I decided to break ranks and head to a boarding school in Canada. A great choice all around and fodder, perhaps, for a future post. One of my life lessons, though, occurred when I was home during a break. I had gotten back in touch with some of my friends, and we were reminiscing about the far away past (sophomore year). They started discussing a party that I had never attended, nor had I been invited to attend. However, in their memories, I had been there. Arriving there apparently by my proximity to the social groups involved even if I had never truly been part of those groups. Evidently it is possible to crash a party in memory only. Think of the possibilities!
|
To Blog?Why not? Categories
All
Archives
April 2022
|