I seen that. I'll have an expresso please. You did good. Anybody want to chime in on how we use our words? Words, I love words. Writing them, reading them, speaking them, spelling them. I probably should have considered a career involved with words when I was but a wee bairn, (Scottish word for child) but alas, I did not. I am making up for it now as a Blogger and a Children's Book Author and who knows, there may even be an adult book in the near future, just sayin'. Now that would be called g-dropping and it is actually historically correct in it's usage.
Did you know there is a name for words that are mispronounced or used in an incorrect context? It's called mal·a·prop·ism ˈma-lə-ˌprä-ˌpi-zəm : the usually unintentionally humorous misuse or distortion of a word or phrase especially : the use of a word sounding somewhat like the one intended but ludicrously wrong in the context " Jesus healing those leopards" is a prime example of a malapropism. One of my favourites is from a song, Slow-motion Walter, the Fire Engine Guy. Which is supposed to be Smoke on the water and fire in the sky! That one lights me up....
Growing up I was often given a bit of a ribbing and called the "Language Police" because well, I had an annoying habit of correcting people when they said or used a word or phrase incorrectly. I have spent a lifetime trying to let it go but, there is such an irrational need in me to set things straight, it's like an itch that I can't ignore. In my defence I do come by this obsession with words and the correct usage of them honestly as both my parents were ridiculously voracious readers and absolute sticklers when it came to spelling and pronounciation, ummm, pronunciation. Phew, that's better.
Here is a case in point; my family has always loved to play word games. One evening my sister, Mom and I were playing a word/spelling/definition board game. My Mom had a question on a word and she spelled it differently than the game said. We had a rather feisty discussion and carried on. When the game ended and Mom headed off to bed I said to my Sis, "you watch, tomorrow she will have a whole written explanation of that word and its origins and spelling." My sister laughed thinking I was being silly. Low and behold, the next day my Mom was up and armed with her sticky note and the Webster Dictionary answers in hand. She wasn't wrong, the word could be spelled two ways, point to Mom!. Now, can you see why I'm vehement about words? It's a genetic defect!
My Father came from Glasgow in the late 1950's sporting an accent that, to me, was very mild and yet many people would comment on his strong Scottish brogue. His sister came to Canada in the late 60's and her accent was, and still is, much more pronounced than his ever was. I don't know if that's because she lived in Scotland longer or if it is the speech centre that determines the strength of an accent or perhaps it was influenced by their surroundings and how they felt about where they were and the people associated to them. There are some fascinating articles on sociolinguistics that may be able to answer those questions, but that's for another day.
My Mom, was was born in Canada and her parents were from Hungary. They had to learn english when they arrived in Canada. Mom's experience was speaking Hungarian at home and English everywhere else, a common way for children of immigrants to grow up. My Grandpa was a very quiet man who rarely spoke and when he did his accent was so strong we could barely understand him. I often wonder if that's why he never spoke much or if he was just a quiet kinda guy? (Kinda being a lazy way of saying kind of). My Mom said he was always pretty quiet but he may not have been able to get a word in as Gran was anything but quiet. She talked, a lot, even to her plants, which they loved, and she laughed, a lot, and she made us laugh a lot every time we asked her to say third and it came out turd! What can I say...kids love poop in all it's iterations!
I do believe that my parents learned to love and appreciate "proper" english in much the same way many of us learn to love something, they were both exposed to it. Both were raised and schooled in the Catholic faith and in Catholic schools. There was a definite formality to how you comported yourself from your behaviour to your dress to how you spoke. Speaking properly, clearly and with excellent diction was a sign of a well raised and educated person, even if you weren't raised amongst the upper echelons of society. My Grandparents were working class people and my Dad grew up as a wee boy during WW2. His parents worked hard and prayed hard and played hard. It wasn't a privileged life but they made sure they brought their children up well-spoken and well-read. There was no mumbling of words in my Dad's house.
My Grandfather was a boat builder and worked in a Singer's Sewing Factory and he taught voice, mainly Opera, to kids, some of whom became Scottish National Champions. When he spoke he did so with a proper Glaswegian accent and when he sang those notes rose up rich and robust, summoned from the deepest depths of his diaphragm. The sound infiltrated every nook and cranny of a room and reverberated inside my own chest. He sang those words perfectly formed and gave those vowels and consonants their full voice, not a breath or sound wasted. Grandpa literally used words in the form of books to teach voice, but not by reading them. He would have his student lay down on their back then place a stack of books on their diaphragm. Then they had to sing the scales without having the books fall off. How's that for a novel idea...get it? Novel idea? I'll be here all week folks.
My Mom's Gran was a cook in a palace in Budapest and that's where my Gran learned to cook. My Grandpa was a Czech Army defector. He was a Hungarian born in Czechoslovakia and was conscripted at 18 years old. He walked away, yes, he literally just kept walking until he found a boat to Canada. On his arrival to this welcoming country he was placed on a farm in Saskatchewan and eventually owned his own farm and then moved to Edmonton where he became a Cobbler and owned a shoe shop. Side bar, I actually used to wear the ice skates he made for my Mom when she was a young lady. He had a sign that hung over the shop's cash counter that said, "Too soon old, too late smart." (He would pronounce it shmart). Perhaps those were the only words he needed to say, without him actually having to say them.
Anyway, back to the farm. One day, his buddies decided it was time for him to get married and they posted a "Looking for a Bride" ad in the Hungarian newspaper in Hungary. My Gran answered the ad and they wrote each other for two years. Grandpa proposed, sent her passage and here I am 88 years later writing about it. That ad had words that spoke to my Gran. They were the words that gave her the courage to reach out in response. The letters they wrote each other were words that allowed them to get to know each other and begin their life together from half a world away. Those letters led them to marry, to build a life and a family. Those words, "Looking for a Bride," set them on a path that lasted 52 years together and created a legacy that is worthy of never being forgotten.
Here's another story. My Great Grandpa on my Mom's side went to fight the Russians in WW1. He was captured, sent to Siberia, was gone for 20 plus years, married and raised a whole other family in Russia, left them and returned to my Gran and her family in Hungary. These are the stories that Hollywood movies are made from. True stories of incredible lives that are our past and unless we use our words to tell our children those stories and they tell their children in perpetuity, those stories will die with us. If we do not keep records it all gets lost. All those words keep our history alive. They teach us where we come from, who we come from, how we got here and what we can learn from their experiences. Folklore or the passing down of our stories, art, expression, memories and traditions are a part of every culture. We speak and write the stories, the songs, the artwork, the customs, binding the threads together, weaving figurative blankets, or in the case of quilting, literal blankets, that tell the tales and the truths, connecting us through the generations.
Words are spoken, written, sang, sung, quoted, tagged. Words describe, they cut, they heal, they confuse, they explain, they teach. Words have been etched into memory, "I Have A Dream," by Martin Luther King Jr. "This is our finest hour," by Winston Churchill. "To be or not to be," by William Shakespeare. "I do not like them Sam I Am, I do not like green eggs and ham," by Dr. Seuss. Words can make a person or break a person. Words bind us together in contracts of the law and of the heart. Words are not just letters or characters on a page. They are alive, they have a meaning, a pulse, a heart, a soul, they bore deep and hang on long past the book has been closed or the music has faded away...
Words mean literacy and when we are literate we have the ability and freedom to make decisions for ourselves. There is power and choice with literacy. Having choice means having the competence and capability to lift ourselves from the poorest and most dire of circumstances. We can vote and actively participate in making important decisions for the broader community. We can become whatever we desire without limitations. Literacy ends cycles of inequality in gender, race, religion and nationality. It reduces inequities regarding access to education, property, health care and employment. It lowers crime rates, it teaches people that they can advocate for themselves, for their rights and avoid human rights abuses.
When I started writing and illustrating my children's books it was because I've always wanted to become an Author and I truly want to contribute to literacy. My hope, one day, is that my books end up in children's libraries and schools all over the world. I know they are not the clever books that made famous the likes of Robert Munsch or Beatrix Potter or A.A. Milne. They are just simple kids books that tell little stories with quirky characters and colourful pictures. They rhyme. They teach tolerance. They are fun and easy and different and they don't need to be world famous, I would just love them to be around the world, in the hands of children and even illiterate adults. I am working towards having companies, charities and organizations or even individuals purchase and donate them to schools and libraries where they are most in need, and the majority of the proceeds from those books sales will go to my purchasing books for schools and libraries where they are most in need. It's a literacy reading circle that perpetuates itself. My word, how great would that be?
This blog is getting a little wordy and if I don't stop now I'll just keep writing because I don't ever seem to run out of words. If I'm not vocalizing I'm writing and there just never seems to be an end to the things I'd like to say, in voice or on paper. That is a privilege that is not lost on me as I know there are those who exist in this world, right now, who have no voice and are lost with no words. I cannot imagine a world without words or never having the freedom to express mine. Sadly, maddeningly, our words are being drowned and misconstrued and abused and deflated and redacted and buried. It is 2023 and we are still incomprehensibly dealing with blatant intolerances and injustices. We have been fighting the good fight since words began and we must continue that fight, not with hate, not with fear, not with violence, but with our words.
Love, Kiki
xoxo
'The pen is mightier than the sword." --- Edward Bulwer - Lytton
Helen Morren, my Mom. An afternoon at the local bookstore, The Bookman.
My books are sold here. There is also a resident cat named Beatrix. We love her.
You can see all of my children's books on my website www.konnectwithkiki.com
They are available for purchase, print on demand, on Amazon.
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