FANDANGO
Here's a little thing I wrote in response to a dare to write something which included these three words: (1) parsing, (2) honorifica and (3) fandango.
You try it!! In any case, the subject matter is true and I didn't even change the names because Maryanne should be proud of herself for being not only the smartest girl in class but also the one with the Palmer perfect penmanship.
So here goes ...
Growing up in a Catholic elementary school in the 1960s was “interesting”, positively speaking. At that time the teachers were mostly nuns dressed in habits which made them a bit frightening with their heads engulfed in white, stiff halos. That additional stiff thing that hugged their tiny Adam's apple in a chokehold made the blood look like it was being squeezed out of their necks. The biggest rosary you ever saw dangled tantalizingly like a prayer wrapped around their black shrouded waists inviting all the children to touch it reverently in their tiny miracle expectant hands. You never saw any bangs trying to escape below the band of white that covered the nuns' foreheads. What age were they? You couldn't tell if their hair was gray, red, or shaven under all that stuff. Only their penitent faces peered out of this virginal veil to teach us the catechism of the day.
Two things stood out for me in the classroom. One was learning words in order to beat Maryanne Lowendick at the end of the week Spelling Bee. The other was learning The Palmer Method of writing. Maryanne was also the best in the handwriting division, and I tried very hard to be vigilant in my workbook, practicing my a's, b's, and c's to be as letter-perfect as my competitor's penmanship.
I have to admit though that I came pretty close to perfection in parsing sentences. The lines which deviated from the subject/verb/object became an abstract art form on the blackboard looking like arteries and veins coursing through the English language. How satisfying it was to turn around and face Maryanne. Top that!
But as Monday turned into Tuesday which inevitably turned into Friday, the pressure would build toward the anticipated words which would eventually come out of Sister Mary Francis' mouth, “O.K. Class it's time for The Spelling Bee. Put all your desks against the wall and get in a circle”. We dutifully pushed our wooden seats outwards and stood up next to our classmates ready to spell the words put before us. One by one the defeated individuals sat back in their seats, leaving Maryanne and me to face one another across the room.
She began to deafen our ears with the honorificabilitudinitatibus of her spelling genius. Feeling a bit faint, I stood my ground and hoped that I could last as long as Maryanne. Fortunately, the teacher did not tell us that we also had to use the designated word spelled in a sentence, or I would have been a goner when she turned to me and yelled, “Fandango!”
(c) nancy 7.10.2009
Here's a little thing I wrote in response to a dare to write something which included these three words: (1) parsing, (2) honorifica and (3) fandango.
You try it!! In any case, the subject matter is true and I didn't even change the names because Maryanne should be proud of herself for being not only the smartest girl in class but also the one with the Palmer perfect penmanship.
So here goes ...
Growing up in a Catholic elementary school in the 1960s was “interesting”, positively speaking. At that time the teachers were mostly nuns dressed in habits which made them a bit frightening with their heads engulfed in white, stiff halos. That additional stiff thing that hugged their tiny Adam's apple in a chokehold made the blood look like it was being squeezed out of their necks. The biggest rosary you ever saw dangled tantalizingly like a prayer wrapped around their black shrouded waists inviting all the children to touch it reverently in their tiny miracle expectant hands. You never saw any bangs trying to escape below the band of white that covered the nuns' foreheads. What age were they? You couldn't tell if their hair was gray, red, or shaven under all that stuff. Only their penitent faces peered out of this virginal veil to teach us the catechism of the day.
Two things stood out for me in the classroom. One was learning words in order to beat Maryanne Lowendick at the end of the week Spelling Bee. The other was learning The Palmer Method of writing. Maryanne was also the best in the handwriting division, and I tried very hard to be vigilant in my workbook, practicing my a's, b's, and c's to be as letter-perfect as my competitor's penmanship.
I have to admit though that I came pretty close to perfection in parsing sentences. The lines which deviated from the subject/verb/object became an abstract art form on the blackboard looking like arteries and veins coursing through the English language. How satisfying it was to turn around and face Maryanne. Top that!
But as Monday turned into Tuesday which inevitably turned into Friday, the pressure would build toward the anticipated words which would eventually come out of Sister Mary Francis' mouth, “O.K. Class it's time for The Spelling Bee. Put all your desks against the wall and get in a circle”. We dutifully pushed our wooden seats outwards and stood up next to our classmates ready to spell the words put before us. One by one the defeated individuals sat back in their seats, leaving Maryanne and me to face one another across the room.
She began to deafen our ears with the honorificabilitudinitatibus of her spelling genius. Feeling a bit faint, I stood my ground and hoped that I could last as long as Maryanne. Fortunately, the teacher did not tell us that we also had to use the designated word spelled in a sentence, or I would have been a goner when she turned to me and yelled, “Fandango!”
(c) nancy 7.10.2009
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