Over the last few weeks I have heard of two people who have been diagnosed with cancer. One is a dear friend’s father who has not been given long to live. My mate sent me an email saying she couldn’t talk right then but would ring later. She rang and I was speechless. Apart from saying I’m sorry, she started crying and I did too. Absolutely no comfort to the poor thing.
The other was a dogwalking friend whom I don’t know very well. I got out of the car to walk Moll early this morning and there was Olga, looking very pale. I asked if she was all right and she said, “I’ve had some bad news.”
I asked what it was, and she said, “well, you know I’ve had breast cancer and had both breasts removed.”
“No,” I said, my heart sinking.
“I heard yesterday that they’ve found more cancer and it’s spread.” She looked at me uncomprehendingly. “I’m flabbergasted. I didn’t ask the right questions and I can’t believe it.”
I gave her a big hug and said I was so sorry – what stupid words, meaningless, trite and worthless. And I cursed the lack of words – but what do you say? Our language is like food nowadays; there’s too much choice, we overuse the ones that are bad for us and don’t select high quality ones of real meaning. We use takeaway words that are pre-selected, bantered by the media and served in the chiller department, easy to grab, easy to use. Mixed metaphors? You'd be mixed if you were served up cancer.
When it comes to a disaster, we don’t have the right ones to hand. Or we’ve forgotten how to use them.
Or perhaps a cuddle is better than words?
Showing posts with label lovely words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lovely words. Show all posts
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Burlesque
Burlesque - try it - the word rolls out like a long red carpet, rich and majestic.
A lovely sounding word I think that sounds much better than stripper. Much more mysterious.
The other night, when I didn’t go to see Atonement, we met in a bar called Toast near the arts centre where the film was being shown. In a corner of the room was a small built up stage covered in black cloth and strewn with fake red rose petals.
‘What the hell’s that for?’ I asked, innocent that I am.
‘It’s a Burlesque night,’ I was told.
Consulting with the others, we weren’t quite what burlesque involved but thought that it meant striptease, maybe the odd bawdy song.
After a few minutes someone came in wearing a bright red jacket, belted tight around her waist. Her hair (I think it was a her) was dyed blonde, in a ponytail, and from the rear view I could see shapely legs in black stockings with seams up the back, and six inch high heeled black shoes.
When she turned round – well, you could have swept the floor with her eyelashes. I was quite riveted. And then she disappeared. And shortly after that we had to go.
I told Himself about this and he smiled, his mind evidently on other things. ‘I’m sure it was a good night,’ he said. ‘Nothing like a bit of singing and dancing.’
I looked at him, amazed at what he’d just said. ‘I don’t think there’s much singing and dancing,’ I said, and stared at him.
He looked at me then and obviously clicked. ‘Oh - perhaps we ought to go and have a look,’ he said.
So that’s our entertainment for next week then.
And now for a quote that has absolutely nothing to do with the above but I’ve just been sent it. Goes along with what I was saying yesterday about friends.
Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all
right out, just as they are -- chaff and grain together -- certain that a
faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with
the breath of kindness blow the rest away.
George Eliot (pen name of Mary Ann Evans), novelist (1819-1880)
A lovely sounding word I think that sounds much better than stripper. Much more mysterious.
The other night, when I didn’t go to see Atonement, we met in a bar called Toast near the arts centre where the film was being shown. In a corner of the room was a small built up stage covered in black cloth and strewn with fake red rose petals.
‘What the hell’s that for?’ I asked, innocent that I am.
‘It’s a Burlesque night,’ I was told.
Consulting with the others, we weren’t quite what burlesque involved but thought that it meant striptease, maybe the odd bawdy song.
After a few minutes someone came in wearing a bright red jacket, belted tight around her waist. Her hair (I think it was a her) was dyed blonde, in a ponytail, and from the rear view I could see shapely legs in black stockings with seams up the back, and six inch high heeled black shoes.
When she turned round – well, you could have swept the floor with her eyelashes. I was quite riveted. And then she disappeared. And shortly after that we had to go.
I told Himself about this and he smiled, his mind evidently on other things. ‘I’m sure it was a good night,’ he said. ‘Nothing like a bit of singing and dancing.’
I looked at him, amazed at what he’d just said. ‘I don’t think there’s much singing and dancing,’ I said, and stared at him.
He looked at me then and obviously clicked. ‘Oh - perhaps we ought to go and have a look,’ he said.
So that’s our entertainment for next week then.
And now for a quote that has absolutely nothing to do with the above but I’ve just been sent it. Goes along with what I was saying yesterday about friends.
Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person,
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all
right out, just as they are -- chaff and grain together -- certain that a
faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with
the breath of kindness blow the rest away.
George Eliot (pen name of Mary Ann Evans), novelist (1819-1880)
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