Word of the Month
mondegreen mon·de·green ˈmän-də-ˌgrēn
noun
: a word or phrase that results from a mishearing especially of something recited or sung
Etymology
Originates with journalist Sylvia Wright, who wrote a column in the 1950s in which she recounted hearing the Scottish folksong The Bonny Earl of Morray. Wright misheard the lyric "Oh, they have slain the Earl o' Morray and laid him on the green" and thought it was "Oh, they have slain the Earl o' Morray and Lady Mondegreen."
First known use
1954, in the meaning defined above.
Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary added the word in 2008.
Used in a sentence
A frequent mondegreen to my ear as a child, is "donzerly light” instead of “dawn’s early light” in our national anthem.
Jury Duty
When the verdict came down in that trial, at 4:20 pm on May 30th, it was an affirmation that not only is no one above the law, but no one is above... jury duty. Which reminded me of a poem I'd written and once posted here.
Poetry is a purity of conjecture. How can one argue facts, or lean on stats, if one sees a lesson in civics in terms of the sea? Which is how I've seen it.
jury duty
the wide net cast
a fisherman’s catch
humankind dragged in
the shelled and unshelled
the finned and un-finned
flapping and inert
the eels that had tried to slip by
through backdoor connections
now sit on ice
awaiting sorting and shipping
stopping their slithering
to unspecific notions
as time gets killed
but keeps coming back to life
in the silence of seconds
that turn into minutes
minutes that melt into hours
hours inching toward eternity
as names come and go
in the gene pool tide
trade winds of pleasantries in passing
Starbucks mermaids still smiling
despite their tepid remains—
felons piling up on the floors below
trying on their wet suits of alibis
praying for a shift in the current
that could set us all free
from this dead sea of great import
which was explained upon capture
but which no one can now recall
June 20, 2024
Expression of Patriotism
With the Fourth of July at the door, I express my patriotism by way of an imagined homework assignment my classmates and I might have been given, on a particular Tuesday, June 15, 1954. As might have been issued by the nuns who taught us. Staunch advocates for discipline, order, accountability and of course good penmanship, were the Sisters of St. John the Baptist. Here's what I would have turned in, in the mandated format—and only two-holed looseleaf was acceptable— for all homework and tests.
Why such an assignment might have been issued on this date? On the previous day, Flag Day, President Eisenhower—in response to the Communist (considered “godless”) threat in the midst of our Cold War with Russia—signed a bill to insert the phrase “under God" into the U.S. Pledge of Allegiance. This year thus representing a 70th anniversary of that signing. In so doing, he made this statement, in part:
From this day forward, the millions of our school children will daily proclaim in every city and town, every village and rural school house, the dedication of our nation and our people to the Almighty. To anyone who truly loves America, nothing could be more inspiring than to contemplate this rededication of our youth, on each school morning, to our country's true meaning....
In this way we are reaffirming the transcendence of religious faith in America's heritage and future...
In response to this news, I could see the nuns having us write out the “new” pledge, as writing things down tends to make one more mindful of words, invariably voiced by rote. And then this being a parochial school, the inclusion of God in the text must have been a cause for great joy for those sisters of fervent faith.
I remember a friend who attended public school, actually thinking that this was a change brought about by the nuns. Who could be imposing figures, but didn't have that sort of power, I could have told Marty. If the conversation hadn't in all likelihood, turned to Yankees and Dodgers and Giants, oh my!
The pledge is still recited in the public schools in all but four states, Nebraska, Wyoming, Vermont and Hawaii. Though students can abstain from such recitation on various grounds. As upheld by the First Amendment, whereby you cannot force someone to pledge allegiance to anything, as such a mandate, would be in violation of the right to free speech.
I can't help but wonder what, if any, discussions come up in the classrooms these days as regards to patriotism. If and how, it could or should be expressed. Particularly regarding The Flag. And flags in general.
A sitting Supreme Court Justice's wife, recently hung one upside down on the lawn of their home for an extended period of time. No problem? On January 6, 2021, the flag attached to a pole, was used as a weapon—a veritable lance—against the police who put their lives on the line to uphold law and order. No problem? Interloping Confederate flags too in the halls of Congress on that very day— no problem? Ironic. Back in the turbulent days of the late 60's, when the flag was being burned in protest to that war, and the draft, it was very much a problem seen by those who are now blind to these current stars and stripes transgressions.
I will not undertake an exercise to imagine what our homework assignment would have been on a January 7th in 1954 on the day after an attempt to overturn a legal election. And by violent means. Because such a breech in allegiance, is off the charts of imagination, circa 1954. Not even a George Orwell could have imagined something so blatant when he wrote 1984 in 1948.
On that baleful note...
MuseLetter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
A "Memoirish" Love Song of Summer
Summer made its grand entrance through the arches of Stonehenge ten days ago. And you didn’t have to be on the premises to bask in the glory of the moment. Just a click on YouTube and... YouThere. And you could almost hear Geroge Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun,” in the mind's ear.
Ah, summer. A sort of magical season. All sunstroke aside. In that, within which, we get the opportunity to shape time. To our liking. Whereas throughout those other pages on the calendar, time gets to shape us. Often, to our disliking. As commitments and routines and the day-to-day, dictate where and how we need to be. The job, the getting kids off to school, the familial obligations wherein even "holidays" can be a source of stress. That derisive aside by Noel Coward comes to mind: "Christmas is at our throats again." In a way summer never is. But to paraphrase Harry Truman... "If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kvetching." Turn on the AC. An option I grew up without. Even ice cubes were still a novelty when I was a kid. We were so poor, there was only a Half Foods in my neighborhood. Where was I?
Summer is a time to shed clothes; to take to a beach or to other preferred body of water. And as I pull out my rolodex (remember those?), of a metaphoric kind here of course, of summer memories and moments, and begin the rotation of a lifetime passing—the bungalows of Staten Island in the 50's come through. (Where I learned how to ride a bike). With Lake Hopatcong, New Jersey interjected. (Where I learned how to swim). Followed by the hormones kicking in. The 60's.
Those summer visits to relatives' places on Long Beach, Long Island... where a few pals and I once slept on the beach overnight. Because that is what jerky young men would think cool. An experience that turned out to be farcically overrated. Given its beer-fueled anticipation. Unlike the three weeks I got to spend in Puerto Rico, where I turned 18. First time out of the 50 states. The improbability of how it came to be, seems fantastical still. Una larga historia.
In adulthood, other water-associated experiences that come to light, include that summer of Jaws; the beach at Nag's Head and the ten weeks in Hertford, North Carolina. Daily fishing in an adjacent river? Moi? Where I once caught a 13-pound catfish at water's edge, with a fig on a hook at the end of a rope. Which under the tutelage of Southern-knowhow, and an overflow of their heralded hospitality, I skinned this ugly beast with a pair of borrowed pliers.
Which of course, is another aspect of summer. It takes you out of your comfort zone. You are free to be who you rarely are. To experience, as it were, The Never. Though not always for the better. Long before that catfish, I once drank milk about twenty minutes after it was taken from the cow. Yuck! An experience beyond the "pail."
A week spent on a farm in a place so rural, it was an hour away ... by phone! Any milk I was ever to drink thereafter, came from a store. Not from a cow. And always with a chocolate additive. And there was some flexibility here in the matter.
Though, I've never tasted rural again. An acquired taste I've had no desire to acquire.
As for venturing out of a comfort zone, the excitement of meeting the challenge of doing summer stock in Vermont— over fifty years ago— with no prior experience... still holds a prominent place in memory. Or what would follow a summer after, in "Middle of the Night," a play in Mt. Vernon. Through which I would get my Actor's Equity union card. And a decade ago getting the opportunity to read the Declaration of Independence on July 4th at Federal Hall, site of Washington's inauguration? Beats anything else I've ever experienced in the summer's crown jewel of a day. Over and above any fireworks display.
As a bonus, this is a season that also comes along with a prescription: read some good books and call me in September. Oh, to catch up on all that reading one promises to get to, and never seems to. As that beloved magazine of many words, cleverly reminds me with its current cover. A presumably retro take on a bygone summer's night in the naked city.
Summer of course, is a also a time of heading off to far-off places. Even beyond Vermont. "Oh, the places you will go." And went. Those capitals and iconic old-world sites ... Rome, London, Athens, Amsterdam, Paris (to which I will return for a sixth time, this time, to experience the opening of the Olympics this month)....the isles of Greece, Milan (for Expo 2015), Florence, Verona, Lake Como, Venice (12 days at a villa in Mira compliments of a friend). Many of these on more than one occasion. Which is of particular value, as columnist Pamela Paul in a Times piece wrote: "You're visiting not simply a place, but a place captured in a moment in time—one that exists for you in the past and for a past version of yourself."
Back on U.S. soil, and on the other coast...Catalina, Santa Monica, Santa Barbara and... Anaheim? Yes. "You've just gone to Paris, what are you going to do next?" "I'm going to Disneyland!" A return on little mouse feet, to go back in time. A ritual that borders on "meccahood" since the birth of my kids. Now fully grown. All of us now, allegedly adults. But for us there is always the prospect of a summer's day spent in a "magic kingdom." All woke Disney controversies aside. The latest, the redefining, of the Splash Mountain ride.
From where I now sit, where "there's no place like home," there have been the de rigueur getaways to The Hamptons and The Cape. But forever here... the 70th Street pier. Where I found love beneath a sunset. My life partner. Approaching our eleventh August together.
Thus concludes this flipping through, to reenforce the sense of why summers seem of another realm. Why they matter. For how they are spent is self-defining in a way that no other period in life seems to be. And so unsurprisingly, they remain like dry flowers pressed between the pages of memory; to mix metaphors. And wonder in closing, by way of a play on that CapitalOne commercial tagline: What's in your wallow?
Quote of the Month with "Selfie"
"
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The akrasia of New York Yankee great Mickey Mantle, can best
be summed up in his own words, in which he once said, that if he knew he was going to live so long, he would have taken better care of himself.
graphic design by Ron Vazzano
—Ron Vazzano
