[Over the past few years, long lost friends and flames have contacted me. We have reached that age and stage. The "existential angst" I have felt with not knowing how to respond to these messages from the deep blue past gave birth to this template. I confess I have not actually used it.]
I am not very good at this--connecting or re-connecting with people. Some character flaw, I guess. Plus, I have become more of a loner and recluse these past fifteen years. Life's buffet has not served up the right choices, or I have chosen poorly.
Suffice to say, I am indeed still kicking and intend to for as long as possible. I appreciate and have made a religion of truth, beauty, and goodness. I use my talents and energies to discern and understand "what is." I am in good company, but certainly not special--neither a leader-to-follow nor exemplary parishioner. But I do my best to enjoy the moments and the visual and other candy that I discover each time I open my eyes, or close them.
I am happy to know you are here, too. I have strong and weak memories, some surely repressed, of the times we were together. It would be nice to sit and go through these. Who knows what would surface? I am sure there would be discoveries to delight, or perhaps dismay us. Regardless, it would be worth the effort. And it would allow us to share again a relationship-love that brought us together in the first place, caused by fate or fashion. And that surely has joy, sometimes laughter, associated with it.
Unfortunately for now, I am one of those who is limited. Call it economically challenged. I will travel to Mexico in a few days and try not to disappear (France would have been preferable). I have had to swallow hard and work on digesting the latest necessary corrections in the course of a life. I am not sure where my one-way ticket will finally take me. At least I can work on languages and cultures still, perhaps find a caretaking or other low profile job.
As you can see, it is difficult for me to get close. I use language and other defenses. My intent is not to do this, but for now I still find it necessary to cover the sadness and pain that otherwise can overwhelm me. In person I am still presentable. I am fit and healthy, handsome in a grayish sort of way, positive, and whatever else. I am not embarrassing to be with in public or one-on-one. Normal in everyday life, if that is descriptive of anyone--I doubt it is. I evade groups.
I cannot account for what has happened over the years. That is a kind of writing I was never good at and have decided not to try anymore. Suffice to say I am here now and glad to be able to say hello. If this is not the strangest message you have received from a distant someone, I would be happy to hear from you again. I will do my best to respond, but it may take some time. As I said, communicating and connecting are challenges for me, and I am flying below the radar, not entirely by choice.
End of August, 2007
March 18, 2010
March 16, 2010
At your convenience*
A trip back to the mother country awakens one's ears to changes in the mother tongue. I recently visited the US. Not surprisingly, I found my native language changing. The following sound bite surprised me. But I hope it is an aberration, not a development.
"Hello, this is So-and-So. I am not available to take your call right now, but if you leave a message, I will get back to you at my earliest convenience."
Several people I telephoned in the US had this recorded on their answering machines inviting callers to leave a message. For those interested in native speech, this sounds like a good sample of American English to consider, or not.
The phrase "at [one's] earliest convenience" has been used to leave an urgent message, or make an important request. The caller or writer says, "Please get back to me at your earliest convenience." Translation: "I need you to do something ASAP [as soon as possible]. In fact, and quite probably, I will be very worried or upset if you don't!"
Here is the translation of the variant of that phrase given by the answering machine.
"I will get back to you when I choose to. But it will be on my terms, if I have time today, perhaps after working out, having lunch with friends, checking my e-mail, and watching the latest installment of "Desperate Housewives" on TV. If tomorrow or later, well, I will just have to see if I can fit calling you into my busy schedule."
Yes, I may be overstating a bit. I acknowledge one might let this kind of thing pass coming from an answering machine. But aren't the incoming and outgoing voices on answering machines those of people? Face-to-face, the "at my convenience" would be rare unless the speaker really wanted social boundaries and difference in status in bold, italics, and underlined. "What is important and urgent for you is not necessarily so for me. In fact, it's not."
I was surprised at hearing these outgoing messages because "at your earliest convenience" has had a limited situation or context. It was for when you really needed an answer from someone, or to have something done. Not often was it used for saying, "I am more important than you, or whatever it is you want."
Has my native language evolved with this strain, or is this a culture bite I am hearing? For people to assert how communications will be without first knowing who is calling and for what, well, that is using language for a preemptive strike. Must be a culture thing.
The American preoccupation with rights and what is right has its darker side. Argue with this if you will, but an answering machine's generic outgoing message reveals its owner in his or her new clothes. Among other, not-so-obvious messages is that "at my earliest convenience" assumes callers need to be clear about the rules for live talk. The party calling back will be in charge, including when.
It is as if the one leaving a call-me-back message isn't already clear on these points. The advance warning, or is it admonition, isn't necessary.
Having said this, I prefer not to hear the obvious, and not subject myself to a role I don't help define in relationship. "At my convenience" from an answering machine is rude. I suspect other users sensitive to the feeling-tones in the language would agree. This phrase should be reserved for those demanding few who deserve reminding their language or behavior needs restraint. "At your earliest convenience" can retain its original, useful urgency, as in "Please get back to me on this quickly."
I hope preemptive strikes are not casually creeping into the language. At your earliest convenience, argue with this message if you will. I will get back to you on that.
_____
* Posted originally by Kevin Mactavish, 13 April 2006, on http://jbrooksdann.typepad.com/anecdotal/2006/01/how_convenient.html. Thanks to J. Brooks Dann for starting the conversation.
"Hello, this is So-and-So. I am not available to take your call right now, but if you leave a message, I will get back to you at my earliest convenience."
Several people I telephoned in the US had this recorded on their answering machines inviting callers to leave a message. For those interested in native speech, this sounds like a good sample of American English to consider, or not.
The phrase "at [one's] earliest convenience" has been used to leave an urgent message, or make an important request. The caller or writer says, "Please get back to me at your earliest convenience." Translation: "I need you to do something ASAP [as soon as possible]. In fact, and quite probably, I will be very worried or upset if you don't!"
Here is the translation of the variant of that phrase given by the answering machine.
"I will get back to you when I choose to. But it will be on my terms, if I have time today, perhaps after working out, having lunch with friends, checking my e-mail, and watching the latest installment of "Desperate Housewives" on TV. If tomorrow or later, well, I will just have to see if I can fit calling you into my busy schedule."
Yes, I may be overstating a bit. I acknowledge one might let this kind of thing pass coming from an answering machine. But aren't the incoming and outgoing voices on answering machines those of people? Face-to-face, the "at my convenience" would be rare unless the speaker really wanted social boundaries and difference in status in bold, italics, and underlined. "What is important and urgent for you is not necessarily so for me. In fact, it's not."
I was surprised at hearing these outgoing messages because "at your earliest convenience" has had a limited situation or context. It was for when you really needed an answer from someone, or to have something done. Not often was it used for saying, "I am more important than you, or whatever it is you want."
Has my native language evolved with this strain, or is this a culture bite I am hearing? For people to assert how communications will be without first knowing who is calling and for what, well, that is using language for a preemptive strike. Must be a culture thing.
The American preoccupation with rights and what is right has its darker side. Argue with this if you will, but an answering machine's generic outgoing message reveals its owner in his or her new clothes. Among other, not-so-obvious messages is that "at my earliest convenience" assumes callers need to be clear about the rules for live talk. The party calling back will be in charge, including when.
It is as if the one leaving a call-me-back message isn't already clear on these points. The advance warning, or is it admonition, isn't necessary.
Having said this, I prefer not to hear the obvious, and not subject myself to a role I don't help define in relationship. "At my convenience" from an answering machine is rude. I suspect other users sensitive to the feeling-tones in the language would agree. This phrase should be reserved for those demanding few who deserve reminding their language or behavior needs restraint. "At your earliest convenience" can retain its original, useful urgency, as in "Please get back to me on this quickly."
I hope preemptive strikes are not casually creeping into the language. At your earliest convenience, argue with this message if you will. I will get back to you on that.
_____
* Posted originally by Kevin Mactavish, 13 April 2006, on http://jbrooksdann.typepad.com/anecdotal/2006/01/how_convenient.html. Thanks to J. Brooks Dann for starting the conversation.
The greatest sin is
omission, not evitable neglect:
To not do freely what one can and one ought.
Magnitude's measure is deliberation's delay.
Lest thou transgress, waken to never forget.
(No omission without commission.)
That same damned panhandler asks for my money
as he checks his Rolls Rolex up a long sleeve.
It is not easy or safe to juggle and judge.
Can you spare him a dime, his nose all runny?
My life's excuses beget the same guilt.
Plea ignorance or insanity,
it's our dirty all same. To the books then,
or whatever you can, to work through the silt.
Heighten awareness of things surface beyond;
deep or distant, it's an eternal game.
You have no choice nor do I.
Give me a cup then, bring the beggars on.
The double bind me-thou is thou-me.
Subjects and situations more heinous?
Who's to decide the degree, or agree?
Except we're all damned, 'n me most of all.
To not do freely what one can and one ought.
Magnitude's measure is deliberation's delay.
Lest thou transgress, waken to never forget.
(No omission without commission.)
That same damned panhandler asks for my money
as he checks his Rolls Rolex up a long sleeve.
It is not easy or safe to juggle and judge.
Can you spare him a dime, his nose all runny?
My life's excuses beget the same guilt.
Plea ignorance or insanity,
it's our dirty all same. To the books then,
or whatever you can, to work through the silt.
Heighten awareness of things surface beyond;
deep or distant, it's an eternal game.
You have no choice nor do I.
Give me a cup then, bring the beggars on.
The double bind me-thou is thou-me.
Subjects and situations more heinous?
Who's to decide the degree, or agree?
Except we're all damned, 'n me most of all.
March 9, 2010
Mercy's shadow
[I suppose this piece somehow wells up from my dark side. I also know an angry crazy person, impossible to live with, and I have experienced first hand having been driven to extreme frustration, although I have never gone this far unimaginatively. And it puts out an imagined but no less palpable reality, a thing to be witnessed and at some level understood. Good only exists, I'd pontificate, because evil does . . . such is the dualism of every thing.
From the view of imaginative variations to come at what is, this piece offers some interesting possibilities based in part on intentional ambiguities. For example, where would this question lead one: Grounded in what is said and only that, what is the relationship between the speaker and you (mentioned twice)? and the man she lived with for eight (or more) years? Ask further questions like these, and you will get additional tentative realities, I imagine. Leading to . . . an open and comprehensive (integral?) conclusion to bank for future decision/action.]
I've told this before, but I can tell it again if you like. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. If I had it to do over, I would. Even if things was worse than now. This is nothing compared to living with him. I didn't actually live with him. I lived at his mercy. And that finally got me. I mean I realized it. I only lived because he let me. He watched. I was under his thumb. Every minute of every day. My only safe place was the bathroom. He wouldn't come in there, trained he was, like that. But he would bang on the door if I was in there too long, longer than I should, "to take care of normal business," he said. He was like a dog, and angry. Oh, the anger. Anger and meanness. I took it for as long as I could. I think eight years is long enough. After I moved back into the house, it started. I should have left him then when it began to get bad, before even that. My sister warned me. I don't remember the first time, but early on. She finally said, "Bash the bastard in the head. The world'll be better without him." I finally got the message, but bashing seemed so brutal, or something. The word. Cruel, I guess. She said, "Show no mercy." Like him when it comes right down to it. But in the end, I got pretty angry, pretty desperate. Bash. Yes, that is what I did. Skull caved right in. I guess almost anything does with a with a hammer. "Lucky hit for a girl," he'd have said. He always said stuff like that. But this time he didn't. He can't. At that point I didn't care about nothing. Not me, not him, not my sister, not mom, not what would happen, not if he lived like a vegetable from then on or just died right there and then. Nothing. And I'm happy now. I was pretty shocked at first, but now I'm OK. At least sort of peaceful. This place is heaven compared to our old dump. Plus there's heat and TV, and it's clean. I couldn't even tidy up, he had me so scared. Like a mouse or something I was. No, he was this big cat and I felt like this tiny helpless thing. Yes, maybe a mouse. I just wanted to get away from him. Hide in the corner. But I couldn't after I decided to come back. He was always there. Always. Watched me. Talking. Never let up. My sister warned me. I guess I lost days, months. Probably most of those years. I had nothing else but to do what he said and try to avoid those hands when he got riled about something. He'd hold his arms straight down and his hands would begin to make those fists. I'd freeze up, stop whatever I was doing. Something silly. Nothing, really. I lost years, and I don't even remember stuff. It is like a blur to me. I remember when it started and when it ended, but in between? It's all fuzzy. Like his head. Like it was. He deserved it. The judge didn't think so, and his friends, those people who'd come around now and again. But I know. Yes, I know. And my sister. No one would believe me about her. They said she didn't even exist. Imagine. Well, check it out. Check my family tree, or whatever you do. I am sure to this day I know where she is, but no one cares. No one even asked. "Bash," he said. She said, "Bash away," and he did. Took her out the back door and didn't come back for a long time. Told me to stay right there. Last thing I heard for a long time was that screen door bang. I still hear it if I think about it, which I don't. Well, after seeing that, I was so scared. Like frozen I was. I know where she is. In a better place. "But sometimes when you open your mouth, that's what happens." He said life was like that. "No freedom of speech 'round here," he said. I didn't know what he was talking about. But now I do. I can say whatever I want to here. Even talk to you. I don't have to be quiet. I am not a mouse. It is better than living like that. And my sister. I am sure she knows. She is in a better place. I am sorry she's not here, but this place--she wouldn't like it. She with the short happy life. Me, I hope I have a long life. Mostly not happy so far, even before his nap--I couldn't even move, he'd get so angry. Said I was always disturbing him, makin' noise and such. But I was very quiet. Maybe I'll be OK, if this is what I got comin'. Who knows? They're gone and I'm here. And it ain't so bad. Only sometimes, when the others get to yelling and making noise, like they are crazy or angry or something. Or when those friends of his come round. But all the doors keep them away. I am safe. And he's not here to bother me. Mercy. Mercy. That's what there is sometimes in this world. But the good kind, the kind where nobody really bothers you much. Yep, him and my sister gone. Just me. I wonder what Mom thinks of all this. She probably saw it all, and she saw it all comin'. I think in some way she can rest in peace now. In good mercy, I guess you could say.
From the view of imaginative variations to come at what is, this piece offers some interesting possibilities based in part on intentional ambiguities. For example, where would this question lead one: Grounded in what is said and only that, what is the relationship between the speaker and you (mentioned twice)? and the man she lived with for eight (or more) years? Ask further questions like these, and you will get additional tentative realities, I imagine. Leading to . . . an open and comprehensive (integral?) conclusion to bank for future decision/action.]
I've told this before, but I can tell it again if you like. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything. If I had it to do over, I would. Even if things was worse than now. This is nothing compared to living with him. I didn't actually live with him. I lived at his mercy. And that finally got me. I mean I realized it. I only lived because he let me. He watched. I was under his thumb. Every minute of every day. My only safe place was the bathroom. He wouldn't come in there, trained he was, like that. But he would bang on the door if I was in there too long, longer than I should, "to take care of normal business," he said. He was like a dog, and angry. Oh, the anger. Anger and meanness. I took it for as long as I could. I think eight years is long enough. After I moved back into the house, it started. I should have left him then when it began to get bad, before even that. My sister warned me. I don't remember the first time, but early on. She finally said, "Bash the bastard in the head. The world'll be better without him." I finally got the message, but bashing seemed so brutal, or something. The word. Cruel, I guess. She said, "Show no mercy." Like him when it comes right down to it. But in the end, I got pretty angry, pretty desperate. Bash. Yes, that is what I did. Skull caved right in. I guess almost anything does with a with a hammer. "Lucky hit for a girl," he'd have said. He always said stuff like that. But this time he didn't. He can't. At that point I didn't care about nothing. Not me, not him, not my sister, not mom, not what would happen, not if he lived like a vegetable from then on or just died right there and then. Nothing. And I'm happy now. I was pretty shocked at first, but now I'm OK. At least sort of peaceful. This place is heaven compared to our old dump. Plus there's heat and TV, and it's clean. I couldn't even tidy up, he had me so scared. Like a mouse or something I was. No, he was this big cat and I felt like this tiny helpless thing. Yes, maybe a mouse. I just wanted to get away from him. Hide in the corner. But I couldn't after I decided to come back. He was always there. Always. Watched me. Talking. Never let up. My sister warned me. I guess I lost days, months. Probably most of those years. I had nothing else but to do what he said and try to avoid those hands when he got riled about something. He'd hold his arms straight down and his hands would begin to make those fists. I'd freeze up, stop whatever I was doing. Something silly. Nothing, really. I lost years, and I don't even remember stuff. It is like a blur to me. I remember when it started and when it ended, but in between? It's all fuzzy. Like his head. Like it was. He deserved it. The judge didn't think so, and his friends, those people who'd come around now and again. But I know. Yes, I know. And my sister. No one would believe me about her. They said she didn't even exist. Imagine. Well, check it out. Check my family tree, or whatever you do. I am sure to this day I know where she is, but no one cares. No one even asked. "Bash," he said. She said, "Bash away," and he did. Took her out the back door and didn't come back for a long time. Told me to stay right there. Last thing I heard for a long time was that screen door bang. I still hear it if I think about it, which I don't. Well, after seeing that, I was so scared. Like frozen I was. I know where she is. In a better place. "But sometimes when you open your mouth, that's what happens." He said life was like that. "No freedom of speech 'round here," he said. I didn't know what he was talking about. But now I do. I can say whatever I want to here. Even talk to you. I don't have to be quiet. I am not a mouse. It is better than living like that. And my sister. I am sure she knows. She is in a better place. I am sorry she's not here, but this place--she wouldn't like it. She with the short happy life. Me, I hope I have a long life. Mostly not happy so far, even before his nap--I couldn't even move, he'd get so angry. Said I was always disturbing him, makin' noise and such. But I was very quiet. Maybe I'll be OK, if this is what I got comin'. Who knows? They're gone and I'm here. And it ain't so bad. Only sometimes, when the others get to yelling and making noise, like they are crazy or angry or something. Or when those friends of his come round. But all the doors keep them away. I am safe. And he's not here to bother me. Mercy. Mercy. That's what there is sometimes in this world. But the good kind, the kind where nobody really bothers you much. Yep, him and my sister gone. Just me. I wonder what Mom thinks of all this. She probably saw it all, and she saw it all comin'. I think in some way she can rest in peace now. In good mercy, I guess you could say.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)