The typical response is blank.
Or, "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew... sounds like a winner."
I recover by explaining the plot of the story, that's it's directed by "one of those art house indie Swedish folk" and explain that Melancholia is the name of the asteroid on course to collide with the Earth. The "melancholia" part, I add, is also because, yeah, one of the characters is a bit of a downer.
"Huh," is the response to that one.
Though I truly would enjoy discussing this movie with someone who has seen it, the problem here isn't about the movie per se, but the way I pronounce it, which is exactly the same way my father would pronounce it: "Melan-cole-ia." Thats' M-E-L-A-N-C-O-L-E-I-A, with a long O. The proper pronunciation, as I'm sure you are well aware, is melancholia, —cholia, as in cauliflower, with a short o.
It's not like I'm unaware as this is happening. "Why am I saying it like that? Am I suddenly British? WTF?" I inwardly panic, watching the long O bounce over my credibility as a WRITING TEACHER to complete strangers, and perhaps, old acquaintances who have been suspicious all along.
It's naive of me to think they don't notice, but at least they are kind enough not to comment.
Folks, I know how to pronounce this word. I'm no stranger to melancholia—personally, professionally, academically. I often consider myself a "melancholia buster," in fact, when playing around with silly professional titles less threatening sounding than "therapist." All the same, this quirky wrong turn of phrase is a direct inheritance from my dad, who indeed fathered several thousand misnomers and malapropisms. He reversed names in ways I never imagined possible. He dropped vowels and in their stead inserted sounds yet unsung. Some words even fell by the wayside only to be replaced by total humdingers. "Open the light, Rox," he'd say, when evening fell over a room. Once when I was visiting someone a hundred years ago in DC, Dad called looking for me.
"He called me Carol," my macho lover confided, bemused, handing me the phone. His name was Carl.
So here I am all these years later saying "hey, have you seen Melancole-ia?"
I'd say dad would be proud, but the truth is I don't think dad was really aware that he did this. To him, Princess Di would always be "Princess Dee," and that's the end of it. Me, I'm quite aware. And frankly, endeared, once I get past the embarrassment. It's no surprise I inherited this trait, really. I also have his handwriting (sorry students!), his perioceptive challenges, and now, some of his gestures. It's the weirdest thing: I'll be standing talking to someone and catch myself suddenly demure. "Well, what do I know?" I might say after a heated conversation, which is quite out of character as I really do believe I know everything. Still, when spoken, those words are oddly genuine. In this way, I've exceeded my self-expecations thanks to dad and his quirky kindness. Whenever he played host to anyone—anytime, anywhere, say in conversation with a stranger—but mostly when people came to see him at his beach house loft overlooking the ocean, he made sure they enjoyed every moment of it with a sort of childlike fervor. He'd give up the master bedroom, his car, his routine, his opinion, anything. "No, no," he'd say pawing at the air when folks would object, "take it, take it. What do I need it? Don't be silly. You take it. Enjoy."
So here I am pawing at the air and speaking malapropisms.
Since dad died in 2008, I've felt him move through me a bunch of times. I don't say this with any particular woo or belief system (though he did come to me during a Shamanic journey last October in my drum circle, but that's another story), but with the awareness that he lives in me more powerfully than ever before, perhaps as an old mechanism of survival. Perhaps this means I am still in denial, keeping him alive within me so as to never have to really say goodbye. Now, that's what I call "Melancole-ia."
WHAT TRAITS/QUIRKS/ENDEARMENTS/ANNOYANCES/ETC HAVE YOU INHERITED FROM A PARENT? SO I'VE GOT MA'S ADD AND DAD'S QUIRKY LINGO, WHAT HAVE YOU GOT? AS ALWAYS, WRITE UNTIL YOU FEEL LIKE IT IS ENOUGH FOR NOW AND AS ALWAYS, PLEASE, PLEASE SHARE—EITHER WITH ME OR SOMEONE (ELSE :))YOU LOVE. THANKS FOR READING AND SHARING AND HOPE TO WRITE WITH YOU SOON! XOOX
Oh, yes, yes, yes! My mother lives on in me - and I notice it more often in recent years. (Perhaps its the age thing?)
ReplyDeleteI find my self standing in exactly the same pose as she did. Visiting my daughter-in-love in AU these past weeks, I often channeled my mom - not a bad thing. I stood at the counter in her kitchen and noted the pose to be exactly the same as a photo I have of Mom with my nephew in her kitchen, standing at the counter. I wonder then, am I also feeling as she did? Thinking as she did? Is this a deja-vu moment only in another body? Hmmmmmm???
However, after years of counseling, consideration, and effort - I've also discarded many of the automatic thinking patterns that were hers passed on to me. Mother was an avowed pessimist. "Always expect the worst - then you'll be prepared." Nope - don't do it! Expect the best and be prepared. You will cope fine if that's not what happens but it's much more likely if you expect it.
Mom also catered to Dad and I never heard her disagree with him about anything of importance (not counting "we did that on Tuesday" No, if was Wednesday."No - I'm sure if was Tuesday" ----Mom! Dad! It doesn't matter! Just tell the story!) So - I never really pushed the point with my partner - until I'd lost all ability to do so. But that's another story all together. I can tell you that by the time she was near the end of her life, she'd become bitter and told me once she wouldn't have married if she had it to do over. Such a shame.
Other things I seem to have inherited - wonder how? Skill in drawing, needlework. The urge to write - I've pages and pages of Mom's writing. She wrote a column for the local paper for a while - Maggie's musings.
Karla
Thanks Karla. I can't believe I haven't seen this 'til now. This is amazing. Thank you! Encourages me, if you know what I mean. Those old thinking patters are so automatic sometimes you just don't even realize they are automatic and can be changed!
ReplyDeleteJust yesterday as I watching Jude run across the field in his Twins t-shirt, I wished my dad could be alive to witness this floppy, loping trot, just like his! Genetics are odd in what they choose.
Miss you. Hope to write with you soon! xoxo