Our priest retired a couple of months ago and so it’s fallen to us, the vestry, to organize a search for a replacement. I’ve been helping to write the text of the profile that shares information about our church; and this profile will go online and, in that way, it’ll reach priests who might be interested in serving here in Marble Falls.
This hasn’t been a difficult job. In fact, because I love to write, I’ve enjoyed it. As I was raised methodist, I’m not versed in the traditions and vocabulary of the episcopal church, and the other members of the profile committee were helpful in advising me. As expected, my phrasing, word choice, and intentions were weighed and commented on. But one suggestion disturbed me on a visceral level: in reference to our fellowship meals, a woman thought I should reword with something along the line of—and then we fill our bellies with delicious food.
I took pause at “bellies,” which is a perfectly acceptable word, but its presence on my screen disturbed me. The woman used it naturally and comfortably; but it’s not a word I use and it’s not a word I like; and I don’t know why I would feel disdain toward those simple two syllables. Do I harbor a weird inhibition when it comes to naming body parts? The word brings to mind ticklish babies; or the unnaturally hard bellies of old men. Maybe the reason I wouldn’t consider using it in the profile is because its evocation, stemming from my specific personal experience, is alien to the context. It’s a puzzle.
My bizarre reaction to “bellies” started me thinking about how, at times, I’ve used a word, or heard a word used, that was completely inappropriate in one setting, but hey, move across the country, and its meaning is totally different.
In Scotland, I once lunched with a group of American women—five of us from Texas, the other from the east coast. When the easterner called one of the Texans a twat, the table went silent.
“What?” she asked as, horrified, she looked around the table. “What did I say?”
“What do you think twat means?” I asked.
“You know, a goofnut, a fool.”
“In Texas it’s indecent and insulting,” from another woman. “Polite people don’t use it.”
“What does it mean in Texas?”
The woman next to her leaned over and whispered the meaning into her ear.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Where I’m from it’s a family word. Growing up, we called each other that all the time.”
I imagine brothers and sisters playing tag in their yard, shouting “Twat!” at one another so loudly that they could be heard half a mile away. How delightfully funny!
Another time, at Mahjong, I called another woman a pill. She grew silent and a minute or so later I noticed that she was near tears. We others at the table gazed at one another in confusion.
“What’s the matter?” one of the women asked.
“Jenny called me a pill,” she said, giving me a mean squint.
“What does pill mean to you?” I asked her.
“My mother called me that when she was mad at me because I was being rude and embarrassing. It was always followed by a hard spanking.”
This woman was originally from New Jersey; and yes, she was always overly dramatic in her reactions. Nevertheless, the same situation—a word’s meaning depending on its time zone.
“My mother called me that when I was being mischievous and cute,” I told her.
How befuddling. Speaking of befuddled, here’s a word story with another slant:
Years ago a British friend told me she had found the perfect whore chair.
“Whore chair?” I asked, thinking I must’ve heard wrong.
“No, Jenny, a whore chair.”
“Whore chair? You found a whore chair? A chair for a whore to sit in?”
She figures it out and is irritated by my ignorance; also, it’s likely that this was the first time in her life someone hadn’t been able to understand her perfect Home Counties accent.
“A hall chair, Jenny, a hall chair,” she said, putting a mean-spirited accent on “hall” and exaggerating the Texas accent.
To this day, no matter how hard I try, and I have tried, I can’t make the word whore sound like hall.
As I have no pertinent picture, I thought I'd show this baby quilt I made for my nephew and his wife. I fear there was too much black--but babies like color, right?
