I just read this funny post by JlSathre.http://open.salon.com/blog/jlsathre/2012/01/28/theres_little_comfort_in_growing_old.I read I read, Jlsathre, avidly , due to her humorous writing, and because I want to think there exists a thing like a good lawyer. Harrumph!
Anyway, as I await more juicy nuggets, via pm and phone, about the NY meetup, Jlsathre’s post inspired me to share a tiny snippet of my mother's magnificent
abusive relationship with the English Language.
A short history: My mother was born in Hungary. Then, when she was five, the Germans, removed her by force to Austria(labor camp where we must presume she did baby labor,) rather than Aushwitz.Then she was “transported” to Germany(Bergen Belsen Concentration camp.) After she was liberated , she and her surviving family were sent to some sort of refugee camp in Orly, France, where she tells me they spent about a half a year.
So, by the age of seven, she learned to speak Hungarian, German, and some French. Then, she and her family moved to Israel, where she stayed till she was twenty one. At first, my grandmother couldn’t cope with all her kids, and trying to recover from what went down with those Nazis, so my mother was placed in an orphanage.In that orphanage, she would be bunkmates with the future Miss Isreal, and then celebrity(Gila Golan). I always found that story awful because my mother was such a great beauty though this available photo doesn't do her justice:
She never knew it, because of course, she compared herself to Gila Golan :
Aside of the future Ms. Israel, She would also live with tons of Russian and Polish girls, who were completely orphaned. And, so my mother spoke fluent Russian and Polish too, for awhile.She came to Toronto, Canada at 21, and then went to America, to escape her frightful aunt Bookie.( Hungarians have silly names!)
So, as you can see English would become my mothers fifth language. She immediately set out to learning it by reading gossip magazines and watching the news . By the time I came around ,when she was 30, she was well on her way to slaughtering my mother tongue.
Firstly, my mother is incredibly unversed in any dirty talk. Of course, I prefer it this way. She now has fun with cursing since the TROUBLES but growing up the entirety of any cursing was that I heard my father say “shit” once, and that was it. But this refreshing innocence has its downfalls.There was a time where my mother was either having hot-flashes or some bad response to a bad medicine called, Bay-Col.
My mother would tell doctors and us and anyone who would listen, “ I am so Vet. Feel me” Over and over again, “ I am so Vet. Feel me.” My mother pronounces every w as if it were a V, but it’s clear what she’s saying. After gesturing to her forehead she would say the “feel me.” See, she was sweating.
Screaming “ Mommy you can’t keep telling people you are wet,” was out of the question as it would necessitate me having to explain things I refused to discuss. It got out of hand , when a particular doctor looked horrified, so I had to sit her down, one strange day, and say,
“Mommy. I am just telling you. I am just telling you. You need to say I am sweating. You can’t keep saying, “ I am wet and that others should feel you." That word is used in different ways. Dirty Mommy. Dirty.Trust me.”
I don’t want to know why, but she quickly understood , and now she says
" I am svetting," when she sweats.
That wasn’t a malaprop, but she gives new meaning to malapropisms. I once compiled a list of them, but I can’t find it. The one I remember just now is the time she was getting a small payment from Germany for the INCONVENIENCES, and she told the guy on the phone, “ I better get it in one .... sum lump.”
Momma a short time before the TROUBLES
And, a recent pic of her non nemesis