“Women on one side, men on the other.”
“He told us [the men] to leave, and we did.” (p. 171)
From the book: The Montreal Massacre by Louise Malette & Marie Chalouh; translated by Marlene Wildeman. Charlottetown, PEI: gynergy books, 1991.
Do you know the new inclusive words for the Canadian anthem?
Why is it wrong if I need the words of my national anthem to include me through its language?
I am not a son. I am a daughter. I am not a man but I am a person. I am part of us.
My Previous words of remembrance.
Je me souviens … Geneviève Bergeron, 21; Hélène Colgan, 23; Nathalie Croteau, 23; Barbara Daigneault, 22; Anne-Marie Edward, 21; Maud Haviernick, 29; Barbara Klucznik Widajewicz, 31; Maryse Laganière, 25; Maryse Leclair, 23; Anne-Marie Lemay, 27; Sonia Pelletier, 23; Michèle Richard, 21; Annie St-Arneault, 23; Annie Turcotte, 21.
I’ve moved a lot since I graduated from Grade Twelve. At least twenty times. I downsized every time! I gave away things. I gave up things. I sold things. I lost things. I don’t miss most of those things.
I gained as much as I lost!
There are two things I miss.
Words. I miss words.
Words that I wrote.
The first is a short story I wrote when I was sixteen; there was an unicorn and a black rose in it. For years after, I searched out information on black roses. (This was before the internet). Were they possible? Could you grow pure black roses? This was a topic I researched from 1975 until the 1990s and I still don’t know the answer. I know you can create black roses by dying them. I know that there are red and deep purple roses that will look black in certain types of light. But to grow a genetically perfect black rose; still impossible I fear.
But back to the story. I sent it into Seventeen magazine. I got back a form rejection slip with a very encouraging note written on it in someone’s handwriting. I’ve lost the note as well. I remember thinking “Now, I am a writer!”
The second of my words that I lost was a romance novel.
I wrote it as an experiment. I wanted to see if I could write 50,000 to 70,00 words. This was the length of a Harlequin romance novel back then.
My first draft. My only draft. I write shorter now: blog posts, essays, memoirs. I’ve not attempted anything longer. Maybe I will. Maybe this November. It was a typical 1980s romance. It was probably staid and priggish. My friend Twyla liked. She was the only one who read it. I did nothing with it.
Though, it might be in my hope chest. So might the short story.
I’ve moved the hope chest here, there and everywhere but I seldom explore deep in its depths. There are bombs in there – my wedding pictures, my parent’s after-divorce letters and other such emotional flotsam and jetsam!
I try to stay away from bombs even though there might be treasures also strewn within the minefield!
Thus, these things I’ve left behind may never be found!
I was born in 1949, and by the time I was 10, I figured out that my hope chest was not aimed in the same direction as everybody else’s was. And that life was going to be very, very complicated. And that I could either be provocative and declamatory, or shy, retiring and scared. ~Dorothy Allison
This week, I am posting two photos for two different challenges.
The first challenge is “words” over at Photo Friday.
The second challenge is “create” over at WordPress’ Weekly Photo Challenge.
Enjoy and I’ll see you next week!
Sorry I didn’t post yesterday (family obligation, busy weekend).
Which, thankfully, also included this:
A festival dedicated to words, words, words.
All that was missing was someone hawking the OED. One day, I’m going to own a complete print edition.
The library has been advertising for months.
I’ve been looking forward to the event ever since I couldn’t get to last years which was at the Farmers’ Market.
This year the festival was in front of the main library.
I go there a lot (at least, once a week).
Unfortunately, the day was tooo hot, for me.
I am a Fall creature; I thrive best between 25 Celsius and minus 25 Celsius – a temperature that is somewhat moderate, not too cold.
There were giant games, retail booths and three tents/venues dedicated just to readings.
Words, words, word…
Brought to you by the letter W.
I went early. I left early. I almost melted in the heat.
Thank the stars, the air conditioned library was one of the reading venues!
I stayed for the poetry slam which was number 1 on my to do list.
Tonight Its Poetry hosted the slam.
My favourite poet was Khodi Dill; his poem was about the demise of libraries.
After 2 hours, in the blazing (30 degrees Celsius) sun, I took the bus home.
Here is the swag I collected.
I love swag…
The only item I paid for was the bag ( a toonie) – is it not lovely?
I’m hoping next year that the day is not so hot so that I can enjoy more words, words, words!
Words, words, words; words are some of my favourite things.
Words elicit laughter:
Words tell us what you believe in:
This post is for Weekly Geeks: 2011 – 9 which is titled, “That word we never use.”
This week’s challenge has four parts:
1 – I would like to make you all parents and send you over to Save The Word.org to look at all the words that are either not being used enough or are due for a cull probably within the next couple of years. Adopt a word.
As you can see in the photo above, the word I adopted was gelicide which is a noun. It means a frost and is used in the following sentence so that you all can get a sense of what gelicide means.
Those poor garden gnomes – they’ll die from gelicide if we don’t bring them inside.
I encourage you all to rush over and adopt a word – it was a fun and rewarding experience.
2 – What is your pet peeve word? – The word that makes you grind your teeth with either it’s over use or being used out of context.
I have no pet peeve word per say but grit my teeth every time some one misuses the plural, that is, they write sister’s when they mean sisters.
3 – What is a word you adore, or a word that you feel is not used enough. Irrespective of meaning or even era it’s a word that you just love.
The word I adore I have not been able to find in any dictionary. That word is sundelightful – I fell in love with it the minute I read it in a book. I wish I could link to the book but it’s been decades since I discovered the word and forgot the referenced book.
4 – Lastly what is your opinion on word culling or the rise in “text speak” that’s happening now.
I’m in favour of words so I have no problem with new and evolving languages. I wish I was better at learning languages as I love to pepper my speech with foreign words but will only do so if I can explain the foreign word or phrase that I am using.
Words, words, words: I love words. When I went back to school in my thirties (shh – I’m old, aged, ancient, decrepit, experienced, mature, geriatric, antique) I discovered the multi-volume print edition of the OED. I could spend hours sitting and exploring all the words stored within. This is something I covet; I want to own the print version of the OED. Does anyone have a spare $1, 595.00 + (today’s price) that they do not need and could give to me?
Love is an alien species as far as I’m concerned;
Alien, exotic, other-worldly;
I am an Alien and a stranger to this world, this galaxy, this space.
As these three are.
These Alien Lovers/Family were captured together.
They are creatures from outer space; extraterrestrial. (I love the sound of that word – extraterrestrial – extra as in having more, being more).
They are unlike one’s own; they are strange; not belonging here. I feel that way so often; Alien, not belonging, strange.
What amazes is that the word, alien, has been around since the 1300’s. Are we all alien? Yes, I think perhaps we may be. I can’t pretend to comprehend you. I don’t expect you to comprehend me.
These three mirror the familiar; compare them to the telephone pole. Don’t they look the same? I learn by mimicking my peers; so often I am lost to the nuances of society. There are days, months, decades where I’ve felt that I would survive easier by leaving the familiar for the new, the exotic. And I did, for the most part. It is staying in one place that limits me. It is staying tight within those limits that which I fear.
I am a stranger exploring a strange land, confused by strange customs. You may know me. I may be new. I may be old. I may be an acquaintance. I may be an outsider even though I have been here forever. I am not a visitor or a guest but I am alien to this community. I am unaccustomed to your customs.
Be patient; teach me how to be human.
Art work brought to you today by James S. Korpan, a local artist.
The title comes from this book, A Deepness in the Sky. I have not read the book so I have no idea what it is about. Someone read it and come back and tells us about it, please. 🙂
P. S. Is it spring yet? The ice cream store across from me opened on Friday – it was also open briefly on Valentine’s Day.
So, this means it must be spring – yes?