At The Cinema: Horton Has A Hoo Hoo

At first I thought I was hallucinating. Viruses can do those sorts of things. Then again, so can cigar smoke, and that Sneakers can billow out more puff than a 19th century steam locomotive.

Perhaps they were discussing movie reviews. The TV was on in the background, and what with the 4976 channels we have, I assumed that they had located a re-run instalment of Ebert and Roeper. But then a commercial came on and I heard Jennifer Love Hewitt say something like, "There was just less pimples on my face," and, after the guffawing died down, I knew that they had to be watching regular daytime programming.

Tossing one of the cats aside, I reached over to find my glasses and, with them, a more proportionate sense of things. I half sat up. "Did you just say Horton Has A Hoo Hoo?"

"I did."

"That's not what it's called. It's called Horton Hears a Who."

"What?"

"A Who."

"Horton Has a Hoo?"

"Hears a Who."

Boots rolled his eyes. "HEARS. Don't you listen?"

Sneakers blew smoke in his face. "That might be your version, but it's not the one we saw last night."

"Where were you last night?" I reached over for the ginger ale. "And who's we?"

"Well, while you were rolling about in popsicle juice, Ralphie and I took a little jaunt down to the entertainment district. It's pretty wild down there, isn't it Ralphie?"

"You and Ralph -- down in the entertainment district? I thought we had already discussed this."

"Yeah yeah, I know. Danger Bay. Oooh...big bad vice squad gonna get me. Would you be happier if I picked up a set of brass knuckles?"

The glass shook in my hand. "What does any of this have to do with Horton?" I noticed Ralph shuddering in the corner, behind the chair.

"Well," Sneakers laid his head back, inhaling deeply. "It's the new burlesque show down on John Street."

Boots laughed. "That works."

"You wouldn't be laughing if you had seen all those hot new felines strutting their stuff. Eh, Ralphie? Come on -- don't leave me hanging on this one. Tell her."

I sat upright. "Yes. Tell me, Ralphie."

"They were pretty cute. And it was sexually friendly."

"Sexually friendly? What does that mean?"

Sneakers interrupted. "Open to all genders and traditions. You know, the way you like it. Gay, lesbian, trans, bisexual, two-spirited, two-natured, too good to be feeling this way."

"Don't be a smart alec."

"Oooooooooooooooh...smart alec.....ooooooooooooooooooooh."

Ralph stepped forward a few paces. "Horton isn't exactly a sheline feline, she's a heline feline who's become a sheline feline. You know. Like Ru Paul."

"Yes, except she didn't want to change her name."

"Or her underwear, from the sounds of things."

"One more word, Boots, and I'll ask you to leave the room."

Sneakers puffed out his chest. "He's pretty much dead on and you can't fault him for that. Why do you think they call it Horton Has A Hoo Hoo?"

"Well, I didn't think it was because he had a virus."

"Because who had a virus?"

"Horton."

"Horton doesn't have a virus."

"I know that, you idiot! Horton has a Who."

"A Hoo?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

"But has?"

"Okay -- hears."

"Well, that's not what she said."

"Or did."

"Goodness, no."

"She sang that wonderful Bruce Cockburn song -- remember? Living in the past is not living at all…old fear going fast, everybody's scared to fall. Turn with the times, change your mind –"

"Change your underwear, change your underwear."

I picked up the ginger ale bottle to fire it, just missing Sneakers and Ralph who were walking arm in arm out of the room, Boots following in panting pursuit. I laid back down in my popsicle juice and longed for a hallucination.

Archived March, 2007

Waiting

I think only twice have I written two entries in one day. But I am here, waiting, although I am fairly certain of today’s outcome. You don’t live as long as I do (37 years, last I counted) and not develop a well-honed sense of intuition and observation. I am happy either way, and even when I have moments of always the bridesmaid, never the bride, I realize that I never really wanted to be married in that legal sort of way in the first place. Besides, what would I do with all that leftover taffeta?

Mostly, however, I am waiting for news a little further down the road. Waiting to see how my tests have turned out. Waiting harder to know whether my son’s egg-sized brain tumour, removed on Monday after surgery, is malignant or benign. Waiting to see if, by writing the word malignant, I can somehow effect those outcomes – the kind that intuition cannot appease.

He was an obstinate child, resisting all attempts toward, “No, Pablo, don’t touch that. No, Pabby, you can’t have candy before supper. Pablo, that belongs to your sister. Please give it back. Pablo, you have to get up for school – home room counts. Pablo, why don’t you ever call me back?” But obstinacy can save lives.

He was also, and still is no doubt, challenging, lively, funny, determined, insistent, persuasive, elusive, enormously intelligent, sentimental (I am surprised he didn’t ask the surgeon to preserve the tumour in a jar), and easily hurt...like his mother, occasionally imagining slights when none were intended, and making some up when he felt like getting back at a world that always left him feeling a little bit short of first.

He has been gone from me and from us for many years now, wandering off to plant his own feet in a yard of his own making. But his absence doesn’t make my worry or my love for him or even my fear or impatience any slighter, and I hope that someday, when he is completely well again, he will come back my way – to this yard of my own making, here with Mary – his two lovely children in tow, chattering away a mile a minute and, as he did for more than twenty-five years (how is that possible when I am only 37?), saying things like, “Mum, what do you think?” and “Come on, Mum. Let’s have some fun!”

I learned a certain kind of patience when I was a child, wondering when my mother would come back. I waited five years almost to the day, until one late summer afternoon there she was, all sadness and smiles, standing in the doorway of my father’s home. I wasn’t to have or to know her for more than a handful of years, but oh, what a blessing that I had her again at all.

So here’s to anxious, hopeful waiting…waiting for tumours to be benign; waiting for pain to go away and scars to heal; waiting for the happy sounds of my son’s voice telling me that, finally, everything is fine.

Sunday Star Short Story Contest

There is so much happening in my life – in the lives of my family – that I can barely see past the concern, but today I am going to have my picture taken (never a pleasant result, but that’s hardly the point) and attend this evening’s event at the Toronto Reference Library as one of three finalists in the Sunday Star Short Story Contest.

I have been the fortunate recipient of other writing prizes (at university and in another contest in 2009), but there is something about this event, occurring as it is in the middle of a maelstrom, that reminds me of the precariousness of life, of life’s beauty, and of how infinitesimal we are.

I have long held as my mantra that it is in the doing, not in the done, which further reminds me of Don, who used to say that life is not a four-act play with everything culminating in the final act.

And nothing today could feel more absolutely true than knowing the importance of living day-to-day, all of which makes the privilege of this prize (because as one of three finalists, I have already won) more heightened.

Still, I have spent a long time deferring that second novel, thinking that as long as I had the project underway, nothing terrible could befall me or my family members. But as the saying goes, life is what happens when you’re busy making [and perhaps not completing] other plans.

At first I panicked, realizing that I had wasted precious time. But then I remembered that when I wasn’t writing, I was teaching, editing, talking, laughing, travelling, reading, eating, thinking, imagining, hoping, revelling, worrying – all the things that not only make up a day but contribute to a rich life.

I am meandering today, not able to say fully or exactly what I mean. I think I mean to say that life is terrible and wonderful all at the same time, and that if we do not recognize that necessary paradox, our lives might feel less worth living or less worth having lived.

I must go shower now, and wash and shape my hair. A week ago, I would have tried to shake off twenty pounds and years, but today I am content to look, and act, my age, grateful for all the splendid gifts I have been given.

Don and I were both right. Life is in the doing, not the done.

Restoration

It’s a beautiful day. The air is crisp and clean, and if I had a clothesline I would be hanging out wash. Or that is my fantasy. I wonder how many generations of women have said that, wished for it even, longing for the fresh smell of ivory-coloured sheets and the peace that comes with simple action.

This has been, in ways, a difficult month – so much topsy-turvey careening to a hard stop against a brick wall. But as I listen to the birds singing their spring songs, I know that even brick walls, inevitable as they are, serve a purpose.

They tell us that it is time to stop, at least for a little while, and take in everything that we see and feel: our family; our friendships; the rejuvenating air; the joys of the past; the struggles of the present; the hopes and wishes that we have for the future – the kind that multiply exponentially, like heavy pollen or rose-petal scent or the bouquet from a half-bottle of red wine that has been left on the table long after the conversation has ended and the candles blown out.

Viktor Frankl was right: you cannot know the heartbreaking thrill of a perfect day until you have seen the worst that man, and nature, can do. And when you can sit there in the face of it all, powerless, you understand finally, and fully, the meaning of life.

For Pablo

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

 

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

 

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

 

Robert Frost

In Loving Memory

In memory of

Pooh Bear

who died as she lived:

patiently, lovingly, bravely

March 11, 1993 – April 17, 2010

http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=pkPNa4DBFHI

I Can’t Help Myself

What kind of mother, friend, and 37-year-old grammie would I be if I didn’t take a few minutes to say thank you?

If it weren’t for each and all of you, I wouldn’t be who or how or what I am (where’s Emily Litella when you need her?), and I wouldn’t half-know how fortunate I have been, and am, to know all of you.

And given that I am supposed to be writing this blog for my descendants, what poor manners would I be teaching my great great great great grandchildren were I not to remember, revere and honour the people who take the best care of me:

Mary Sarah Elizebeth Noam Susan H. Eva & David Sarah Mae Lainey Blue Abel Sheila Mike Homer Stephan Mary T Juanita Diana Antonio Michelle Susan R. Marg Sarah C. Richard Tawnie Barbara Mark Taffy

Thank you. I am, in truth, deeply grateful for you and to you. You make me feel happy, blessed, appreciated and understood, and considering the number of individuals who never find such fortune – how lucky am I?

Thank you. I love you.

Jennifer XO

You Born Today (a reprise)

A Marseatoats birthday horoscope

Reputedly born on the “day of the iconoclast,” you are one of the world’s true originals. A classic Aries—fiercely loyal, passionate, dynamic, funny, warm and steamy—you possess a rare combination of inner strength and vulnerability. Never satisfied with half measures, you are as committed to proper punctuation as you are to proper speech and right action. Your keen intelligence, creativity and extraordinary talent with words exceeds even your expansive powers of understanding—a fact that is both frustrating and endearing to those who love you.

Child of the zodiac, you born today meet the world with both wonderment and wisdom. Challenged to be brave early in life, your verve for living has been honed in adversity. You face all challenges with dignity and grace and you reserve your strongest feelings for the privacy and safety of your home. Easy to laugh and frequently moved to tears you give pleasure easily and remain open to what every day might bring.

A magnet for Librans and Geminis, your restless and enquiring nature is particularly satisfied in the company of unusual and mercurial personalities. A gifted writer, teacher and friend, you inspire the lives of all who are close to you, giving special inspiration and support to your partners in life by encouraging them to take risks and fulfill their potential. Of all the jobs that you have excelled at in every stage of life, the one that gives you the greatest joy— the one that you have given your whole self to—is motherhood. Your dedication to your children’s happiness is perhaps only surpassed in magnitude by your devotion as a grandmother. The guardian angel of babies, you are (and will be) a loving and important presence to all your grandchildren, throughout their lives.

The coming year will continue to bring you greater happiness than you thought possible - particularly in the areas of work, travel, family and love. You will finish what you started long ago and you will find a grateful, adoring and attentive audience. You born today are loved, lovable and loving. You take it all with you. Not as tumbleweed does, blowing along the road, but like a beautiful, multi-sided ruby, polished in the earth, shaped by experience and shining magnificently, always.

Happy Birthday, Jennifer. Congratulations!

Jesse Winchester

Years ago when I worked at the small, two-roomed Dispensary (an underground…as in below-ground…bar in Charlottetown), I would often ask Don, in the early days of his patronage, why he never sat in the second room on those weekend nights when we featured live Irish music.

He would look down into his bratwurst and home fries, his liquid brown eyes half-smiling, and reply, “I can’t sit too close to the music.”

Don and I always spoke the same language, so I knew straight away what he meant (which is probably why I never grew tired of asking). But there’s something to understanding a person’s words and actually feeling them.

Thirty years later I had that pleasure, and heartache, on Friday night at Hugh’s Room listening to Jesse Winchester. I was sitting, in fact, at an upper level table about thirty feet from the stage, with a dead-ahead view of the microphone, and later the singer, on stage.

It wasn’t enough that the first-act performer, Corin Raymond (http://www.corinraymond.com/) practically killed me with songs such as Blue Mermaid Dress and If Wishes Were Horses – and oh, his voice, his voice! – and those sad, funny accompanying stories, and a wicked laugh that captivated me and, clearly, everyone else in the room.

But then Jesse Winchester had to come on-stage with his genteel Southern accent and demeanour, that poignant humour, and the sweetest, surest voice…such remarkable clarity…to say nothing (because I am not qualified) of his noteworthy guitar picking, his stresses, his artful pauses – and the fact of what he was saying and playing when he wasn’t saying or playing anything at all.

Oh, I laughed and I clapped and I cried through Eulalie; Sham-A-Ling-Dong-Ding; That’s What Makes You Strong; Brand New Tennessee Waltz; Little Glass of Wine (oh my God, my mother); No Pride At All (and my son), and I almost killed myself over I Wave Bye Bye (Don).

More than that – and yes, I know. This is an aging woman’s fantasy – I swear to God in heaven that Jesse Winchester sang all those songs directly to me. Forget the glaring lights blasting out his retinas; ignore the possibility of a man’s fading eyesight; don’t be distracted by the fact of his lovely wife attending his Toronto performance for the first time, or that passionate love song he sang for her whose title Freudianly escapes me. None of that matters. Because every time I looked into the eyes of that charming musician, he was singing straight to me.

It might be the fact of his politics, his resonant abstinence from the Vietnam War, his age, his poetry, his fatherhood, his subject matter, his astonishing voice, but if I had been sitting 300 feet from the stage it would have been too close for me.

In fact, as we were leaving and buying cds, I mentioned to his lovely wife, musician Claire Lynch (http://www.clairelynch.com/), that I found his music – the very closeness of his music – heartbreaking. A small, worried look crossed her pretty face, and in that like-attracts-like fashion (because her husband also seems kind), she said warmly, “I have a cure for that.” (slight pause) “Live with him.” I was laughing so hard on my way out the door that I missed her final comment (later relayed to me by Mary): “Don’t quote me.”

In the end, all I can tell you is this: if Jesse Winchester is someone you think you might want to listen to, and see, you’re taking your life – and your heart – in your hands. Sit as far away from him as you like, his words and his music will always feel just a little too strikingly close.

Jesse Winchester: http://www.jessewinchester.com/index.html

Idioms III

And finally…

These idioms take different prepositions, depending on the circumstance:

agree to (a contract; implies concession or settlement): I agree to your demands.

agree with (a person, a place; implies harmony): Chicago agrees with me.

angry about (an event, idea, etc.): Mary is angry about the demonstration.

angry at (a person) [a phrase I do not use]: Jill is angry at Jack.

angry with (a person; more confrontational that angry at): Marvin is angry with his boss.

compare to (to show similarity): Please don’t compare my copy to the original.

compare with (to show difference and similarity): My work can’t compare with hers.

consist in (to mean reside or inhere): Success consists in valuing hard work.

consist of (to mean composed of): My lunch consists of bread and jam.

correspond to (to mean match; be in agreement): The results correspond to the predictions.

correspond with (to mean exchange letters): Romeo and Juliet corresponded with one another after dark.

decide on (a noun): Let’s decide on a place to buy a cottage.

decide to (do something): They decided to have fun.

differ with (to mean disagree): I differ with her politically.

differ from (to mean unlike): Gloves differ from socks.

different from (not than): Gloves are different from socks.

fail in (an attempt): The man failed in his efforts.

fail to (do something): I failed to finish the painting.

practice for/to (when practice is a verb [and used to be spelled practise]): I have practiced for my recital. I am practicing to be a writer.

practice of (when practice is a noun): The practice of body piercing is prolific.

reconcile to (to mean accept hardship): He was reconciled to his loss.

reconcile with (a person): After the fight, Paco reconciled with Bad Spot Boy.

result from (when result is a verb): Bad temper results from lack of sleep.

result in (when result is a verb): Lack of sleep results in bad temper.

result of (when result is a noun): Bad temper is a result of lack of sleep.

sympathy for (to mean have compassion for): I have sympathy for that little boy.

sympathy with (to mean agreement; sharing of feelings): I have sympathy with your position. I am in sympathy with your position.

~

These words do not take prepositions. According to Grammar Smart, 2nd edition, all of these prepositions are commonly misused:

continue: continue the meeting. Not continue with the meeting.

equally: equally important. Not equally as important.

inside: inside the box. Not inside of the box.

meet: meet people. Not meet with people. But meet with difficulties.

name: named Minister of Education. Not named as Minister of Education.

off: I fell off the couch. Not I fell off of the couch.

tend: tend the campfire. Not tend to the campfire.

visit: visit your grandmother. Not visit with your grandmother.

Idioms: Part II

I am doing the best I can, but honest to God, now I remember why people who work out-of-home 300+ days per year have so little time for anything else apart from family and friends. Whew!

Anyway, it can never hurt to know a little more about idioms, and don’t forget – there’ll be a quiz.

Of

ask of: What do you ask of life?

capable of: With enough hope, you are capable of anything.

composed of: My wardrobe is composed of black pants, white shirts and extra-large underwear.

desirous of: I am desirous of more fun.

in search of: I am in search of ways to improve my writing skills.

necessity of/for: Love is a necessity of a happy life.

partake of: Only in the Bible do people partake of food.

From

buy from: Please buy from my fruit and vegetable stall.

different from: My sister is different from me.

divergent from: I love my brother even though his views are divergent from mine.

prohibit from: My mother did not prohibit me from staying up late on Saturday night.

separate from: That woman cannot separate reality from fantasy.

As

define as: Mental health has been defined as the ability to work and love.

depict as: In the movie Ordinary People, the mother is depicted as narrow and cold.

regard as: I regard TCM as the best movie channel ever.

For

craving for: I have a craving for potato chips.

mistake for (not as): Don’t mistake me for a fool.

On, Against, Over, At, In

dispute over: The family had a dispute over money.

lavish on: The teacher lavished praise on her student.

prejudiced against: I am prejudiced against skinny people.

Church Going

Once I am sure there's nothing going on

I step inside, letting the door thud shut.

Another church: matting, seats, and stone,

And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut

For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff

Up at the holy end; the small neat organ;

And a tense, musty, unignorable silence,

Brewed God knows how long. Hatless, I take off

My cycle-clips in awkward reverence.

 

Move forward, run my hand around the font.

From where I stand, the roof looks almost new -

Cleaned, or restored? Someone would know: I don't.

Mounting the lectern, I peruse a few

Hectoring large-scale verses, and pronounce

'Here endeth' much more loudly than I'd meant.

The echoes snigger briefly. Back at the door

I sign the book, donate an Irish sixpence,

Reflect the place was not worth stopping for.

 

Yet stop I did: in fact I often do,

And always end much at a loss like this,

Wondering what to look for; wondering, too,

When churches will fall completely out of use

What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep

A few cathedrals chronically on show,

Their parchment, plate and pyx in locked cases,

And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.

Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

 

Or, after dark, will dubious women come

To make their children touch a particular stone;

Pick simples for a cancer; or on some

Advised night see walking a dead one?

Power of some sort will go on

In games, in riddles, seemingly at random;

But superstition, like belief, must die,

And what remains when disbelief has gone?

Grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky,

 

A shape less recognisable each week,

A purpose more obscure. I wonder who

Will be the last, the very last, to seek

This place for what it was; one of the crew

That tap and jot and know what rood-lofts were?

Some ruin-bibber, randy for antique,

Or Christmas-addict, counting on a whiff

Of gown-and-bands and organ-pipes and myrrh?

Or will he be my representative,

 

Bored, uninformed, knowing the ghostly silt

Dispersed, yet tending to this cross of ground

Through suburb scrub because it held unspilt

So long and equably what since is found

Only in separation - marriage, and birth,

And death, and thoughts of these - for which was built

This special shell? For, though I've no idea

What this accoutred frowsty barn is worth,

It pleases me to stand in silence here;

 

A serious house on serious earth it is,

In whose blent air all our compulsions meet,

Are recognized, and robed as destinies.

And that much never can be obsolete,

Since someone will forever be surprising

A hunger in himself to be more serious,

And gravitating with it to this ground,

Which, he once heard, was proper to grow wise in,

If only that so many dead lie round.

 

Philip Larkin

Idioms: Part I

(Not to be confused with idiots)

id·i·om (d-m)

1. A speech form or an expression of a given language that is peculiar to itself grammatically or cannot be understood from the individual meanings of its elements, as in keep tabs on.

2. The specific grammatical, syntactic, and structural character of a given language.

3. Regional speech or dialect.

4.

a. A specialized vocabulary used by a group of people; jargon: legal idiom.

b. A style or manner of expression peculiar to a given people: "Also important is the uneasiness I've always felt at cutting myself off from my idiom, the American habits of speech and jest and reaction, all of them entirely different from the local variety" (S.J. Perelman).

5. A style of artistic expression characteristic of a particular individual, school, period, or medium: the idiom of the French impressionists; the punk rock idiom.

---

[Late Latin idima, idimat-, from Greek, from idiousthai, to make one's own, from idios, own, personal, private; see s(w)e- in Indo-European roots.]

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company. All rights reserved.

Anyway, as I was saying…

These idioms always take the same preposition:

With

afflicted with: I am afflicted with thin hair and thick ankles.

argue with: For the last time – don’t argue with me!

comply with: You must comply with the new rules.

consistent with: Her actions are not consistent with her words or Her actions are inconsistent with her words.

meet with (things vs people): Are you sure that the new designs meet with current regulations?

tamper with: The robber tampered with the lock and broke the safe.

To

according to: According to my mother, handsome is as handsome does.

analogous to: My mother made everything analogous to everything else, and this made me dizzy.

averse to: She was not averse to generalizing.

aversion to: She had an aversion to other people generalizing, however.

cater to: She spent all day catering to her husband’s needs.

conform to: Conversely, she did not conform to his patriarchal notions about fatherhood.

equal to: My mother was equal to any man.

forbid to: I forbid you to speak ill of her.

intend to (not on doing): She intended to make me an independent woman.

oblivious to: And she was oblivious to prurient neighbours.

ought to: My mother ought to have understood her value.

preferable to (not than): Knowing my mother was preferable to knowing my father.

prior to: Prior to meeting my father, my mother was widowed.

superior to (not than): Unfortunately for my father, my mother was superior to him in almost every way.

temerity to: My mother’s best friend's daughter had the temerity to ask my mother for money.

tie to: In making her request, she tied her economic need to sociological data.

try to (not and): Try to finish your comparisons as quickly as you can.

(Stay tuned for…Idioms Part II)