On the Contrary

Clip--to attach together AND take off!

Have you ever, as I have, stood in the kitchen reading a recipe that calls for  “unpeeled potatoes”? What the heck do they want you to do—peel them, or not? I have no idea!

 Or, ever wondered why the same word means adding fine particles, and removing them (“dust”)?

 

How about working “out of the office” (as many of us have done in the last two years)? Does that mean you are based IN the office, or not?

 

These and quite a few other words/phrases in our ever-delightful English language are called “contronyms”: they actually mean two contradictory things. Most of the time you can puzzle them out in the context of the sentence (note: “puzzle” refers to both a problem, and solving a problem.) But other times you “wind up” (meaning “end”, as well as “start up”) totally confused. As a wordsmith, I am confronted with these grammar choices frequently, and tend to avoid their use, in the interest of being a “transparent” writer (obvious, not invisible). Nevertheless, I am “bound” (held fast? Heading somewhere?) to goof up, to “refrain” (do again, as in music) instead of “refrain” (stop doing). 

 

Yikes.

 

No wonder I don’t make a decent effort to learn other languages! I can scarcely handle my own!!

 

BEING contrary, of course, means automatically doing or saying the opposite of what is requested or expected. That would have been young me, endlessly arguing my points with my grownups, taking a totally different stance on pretty much anything. I think I would have made a great debater, except for the fact that someone once suggested it to me, which made it a permanent no. My Nana Cunningham and her sister, my great-aunt Rose, were both schoolteachers, and harped on my doing likewise. I heard the word “pension” constantly throughout my childhood, which not surprisingly lent zero extra appeal to that career choice. How fortunate that I went my own way, spending decades of my prime earning years in touring children’s theatre, with nary a penny in the bank to show for it at the end! So there, Nana and Rose!!

 

We’re living in a very contrarian time, when our politics, our climate understanding and our health care decisions so often boil down to: THEY are Pro, therefore I am automatically Con. And while it’s good to question things, it’s ridiculous when you act against your own best interests, just because.

 

I’d love to see us as a society move beyond these knee-jerk reactions. Why, had I listened to my elders, I could have been a wealthy retired pensioner now, instead of an aging woman with a trunk of old costumes as her investment portfolio!

 

So let’s leave contronyms where they belong (in the thesaurus), and work on being a little more conciliatory and agreeable! On our “trip” through life (journey? Stumble?) things will go much more smoothly if we stop being so “unbending” (rigid, not relaxed, though it means both).

 

Glad I could clear things up.

Blog post finished (completed, not destroyed)

The Art of the Snooze

My little inspiration!

Napper? Not me, not ever. My mother could never get me to take a mid-day lie-down in my crib (even as a newborn. I must’ve had a major case of FOMO, though the only thing I’d be missing out on was yet another episode of “As the World Turns”). I didn’t attend kindergarten, but entered first grade at age four. The good nuns at Epiphany were not much for encouraging an after lunch rest, because it would take valuable time away from memorizing the Baltimore Catechism.

And so it went. Eventually my peers stayed awake all day and, later, joined me in remaining alert far, far into the night. So it was a shocker when, as a newly pregnant person, I found myself unable to get through life without a nap. These I endured as a necessary evil, even as I hated the groggy, cranky feeling of waking up with a start at two in the afternoon. As soon as the next Seyfried was born, I’d transfer all my napping focus to trying to get the BABY down instead (with no more success than Joanie had had with infant me).

 

Over the decades, I would read about this or that successful person who swore by the Power Nap, but I never indulged. My hubby, in contrast, happily and almost daily would catch 40 winks sitting bolt upright at his desk, after which he’d awaken with extra pep in his step. And, of course, various travels exposed us to Nap Culture. When I visited my friend Lisa in New Orleans, she said that many offices closed for a good chunk of the afternoon, so that workers could escape the brutal heat with a snooze under a ceiling fan. In Barcelona, we learned that the locals take “siesta” quite seriously (apparently loooong siestas, because restaurants often don’t open for dinner until 8 PM or later). This was also the case in Italy, where the afternoon “riposo” is extremely popular. Though I’ve yet to get to either country, the residents of China and Japan reportedly enjoy their “wushui” or their “inemuri.” 

 

Within the last few years, my sleep schedule has changed quite a bit. I now am up before the birds, and well before sunrise. By early afternoon, I can’t keep my eyes open. Enter the brief, restorative, wonderful nap! I find myself looking forward to climbing into bed (I even have a daybed in my home office), reading one paragraph of a book and then drifting away to Dreamland. I remind myself of my Nana Cunningham, who absolutely treasured her daily nap (as a child, I thought she was nuts. I know better now). 

 

The world can turn without my active participation for a few minutes daily; arguably all will go MORE smoothly if I bow out for a bit. And life is waiting for me, to pick up where I left off, but now I tackle the remains of the day feeling refreshed. 

 

Yay, naps! How does anyone manage without them? 

So Much Love in This Room

This is My Brave Philly 2018

Last night I was a guest on a Philly arts podcast, talking about my second production of This is My Brave, the show I’d helped bring to the city four years ago. We are doing it again, in October, and now’s the time to publicize. We’ll end up casting 10 people who will share their true stories of mental illness onstage through comedy, poetry, song, dance, and essays. On the podcast I was joined by my friend and fellow producer Denita (there are four of us women on the Brave production team, including Lauren and Jenny). As we talked, the podcast host twice commented, “There is so much love in this room.” And it was true. I am really proud of Denita, who open-heartedly shares her mental health journey, and delighted to partner with her on this new venture. 

 

But this wasn’t the only room filled with love in my day. My intrepid Tuesday morning Bible study crew was with me as we continued plowing through the books of Kings in the Old Testament. These are hard stories, bloody battles and coups and rampant unfaithfulness to the God of Israel, who seems a more than a little cranky while meting out justice/punishment. I always remind the class that we have to read through the lens of the original storytellers, who had a view of the Almighty that was quite different than what we understand today. The best part of the morning for me, though, is talking about our lives during our study, and the prayer time at the end, and today was no exception. We’re all struggling with different challenges, but the genuine affection we share is helping to see us through. 

 

Every day, we enter different rooms, right? Bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens. Classrooms and office spaces and public transportation hubs. And we step in, not knowing what we will encounter. Yesterday, my Julie waited an hour on a Brooklyn subway platform, delayed because a gunman was terrorizing a car full of people down the line. Where was the love in THAT room? 

 

It was clearly visible. People helped one another until medical aid could arrive, those brusque New Yorkers gently caring, refusing to let violence rule the day. And similar scenes are playing out in Ukraine--people risking all to rescue others. Trying not to let evil control the narrative. Allowing love to fill the room.

 

And so, my friends, as we wrestle with our mental health, as we grapple with the difficult books of our faith and share our personal stories, as we minister to one another in terrifying times: let us not forget to make room for love. When we do that, we are truly shining with the image of God that we are.

 

My Bible study friends Nancy and Jim introduced me to this song, yesterday morning, and it is the perfect way to frame this day, a day of challenge and pain. And, always, love.

 

Wishing you so much love, in all of your rooms.

 

 

Lark of the Covenant

  

At Lark

Last Thursday, Steve and I had a delightful dinner with Patrick and Ashlyn at Lark, a super-elegant new restaurant in Bala Cynwyd. Lark’s owner/chef, Nick Elmi, is a Top Chef winner and James Beard Award finalist; his eatery is the real deal. We enjoyed an incredible spread that included (among other dishes) braised escargots, broiled octopus, mushroom and foie gras ravioli, and Basque cheesecake for dessert. 

 The best part? Dinner was free!

 

Well, not exactly, but we basically paid zero out of pocket. I’ve been writing essays for a food website this past year, and decided to write one based on a Patrick salad creation. I shared about Pat’s youth (a sports guy who rarely showed interest in cooking, he eventually became a fabulous chef in several restaurants.) Since the recipe was supplied by my son, it was only fair that he get half the fee for the article. In typical fashion, though, he wouldn’t accept the money. After a few back-and-forths, we decided to spend the check together on a special meal. 

 

The only thing not covered was the tip, and Patrick insisted on reimbursing me via Venmo. When I received the transfer, I noticed that he’d written as a note “Lark of the Covenant.” 

At last!!!! All those years of religious education paid off!!! Pat was making a clever reference to “Ark of the Covenant”, the chest housing the stone tablets with the Ten Commandments. As my Bible Study group is currently immersed in the Old Testament, I’ve had a refresher course on the Ark, from Moses through David and beyond. 

 

I was one proud mom, and texted him to that effect. As pride inevitably goeth before a fall, I soon discovered that my child’s familiarity was mostly based, not on church learning, but on Indiana Jones (Raiders of the Lost Ark)! Oops! 

 

It did get me thinking about knowledge acquisition in general, and Scripture smarts in particular. I have spent a lot of time over the years selecting the best children’s Bibles, and Sunday School and VBS curriculum, for the little ones at Christ’s Lutheran. Yet come Confirmation class (6th- 9th grades), they still tend to look blankly at me when asked even some basic info. How could it be that this stuff doesn’t stick?

 

I’ve learned to manage my expectations, and nowadays I focus on the core message of the Bible: we have a God who loves us beyond all telling, and who just asks that we love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Further details (what does “prodigal” mean? How long did the Israelites wander? Who betrayed Jesus?), though important, are really icing on the spiritual cake. And if the kiddos accidentally learn some Scripture through pop culture, does it really matter? 

 

So it’s down from the high horse for me. Patrick, and the rest of my brood, are wonderful, loving and giving people. They may never win at Bible Jeopardy, but honestly? I believe they’re just fine with the Lord.

Photo by Igor Rodriguez on Unsplash