Saturday, February 26, 2011

It's not not awards

Thanks this week to the two lovely ladies who blog, respectively, at:
 this writer's life, and
 Ramblings From Yet Another Stranger On The Bus.

I usually deflect awards as the list of conditions for receipt often read like the instructions for flat-pack furniture. And the awards don't colour coordinate with my blog. Oh, and "passing them on" conjures imagery of contagious disease. But, aside from all of that, I appreciate people letting me know they like my blog - that means a lot to me - and it's a nice opportunity for me to note one or two blogs that deserve a mention.

Also, back in October, I said I would take part in a quiz from Patteran's Pages - I hadn't forgotten, Dick, but I hope this will do instead, at least for now.

Both awards ask me to list seven things about myself:

1. I had my first newspaper article published when I was fifteen.

2. I sometimes wake myself up laughing in my sleep and I once had a giggling fit for forty minutes, non-stop.

3. I don't believe you have to find a husband to lose your father's name.

4. My great great grandparents on my maternal grandpa's side were Irish and fled an Gorta Mór.

5. I was Mary in my primary school nativity and the angel Gabriel was my cousin, although I didn't find out until after I left school. My teacher told her she would have made a better Mary. I was deeply hurt (I'd auditioned and everything, and still remember the song!).

6. I was the first girl to wear trousers at my high school (and got summoned to the deputy Head's office for my audacity).

7. I was once dragged by my ear to explain what I thought was funny about The Lord's Prayer - it was this:

For The Love Of God, What's That Up Your Sleeve?

Bless me, mam, for I have sneezed, a snail slick
of snot shot out, top speed, hauled up my arm
and dried shiny hard like a graphite thick
drawing, rubbed, over worked by childish palm

to glossy grey like slates in the rain. And
I tried to explain when Betty dragged me
by the ear but she couldn't understand,
I'd got my head hung so they couldn't see

the candles dripping from my nose, sticking
to my hair, and so she hauled me up on
stage: full view. They all thought I was laughing
as my sniffs increased in speed and not one

explanation could I give standing there
for “what's so funny about the Lord's Prayer?”

And to the nominations; considering these awards are doing the rounds, and the whole six degrees of separation thing, I'll just note a couple of blogs I enjoy reading for kinship as well as content:

Sara Crowley's A Salted - for real and raw writing with no mincing of words.

Lori Tiron-Pandit's Daily Writing - for searching questions and creativity.

Helen Caldwell's My Writing Life - for a store-house of writing related info.

We should all wish for sisters like them.

And thanks again to Leslie and Teresa for nominating me - you are both the human equivalents of home, for different reasons; I want you to know I'd nominate you right back!


Elisabeth said...

Wonderful post here, Rachel. I too remember a time when it w considered disgusting to wear trousers as a girl. How times change.

Rachel Fenton said...

Isn't it a ridicuouls attitude, Elisabeth? Shock horror - trousers, of all things! Thanks!

Anonymous said...

A more than adequate response, Rachel. An intriguing choice. And the poem communicates excruciatingly the farce that attends so many childhood agonies. Those days in which adults exposed children to ridicule! So much damage done within the very place that should have been providing security and nurture.

steven said...

rachel - you do deserve awards and i like how you managed the process of acceptance! thankyou also for the links to blogs you in turn admire! steven

Rachel Fenton said...

Hey, Dick - thanks. Yeah, school was not my favourite place - primary school was worse than secondary though, and that took some doing!

Rachel Fenton said...

Steven, you never have a bad word to say - the world will be a better place for you teaching its children. Thank you - you make me smile.

Lori said...

So you have some traumas from school? How come you were the first girl to wear trousers? When did you go to school, the previous century? :)

You are so nice, Rachel, to write those words about my blog. It's a big thing to me. Thank you.

Kass said...

Now here's someone who knows how to handle an award! Well done, you clever soul.

Leslie Morgan said...

Oh, you who were feeling "bashful" performed this piece of silliness so beautifully! I bow at the altar, Rae. Really.

In my last year of high school, the school had determined young women could wear trousers to school ONLY as part of a matched suit (trousers and jacket). I jumped right into that. My physiology teacher had a deeply rooted problem with young women in slacks, apparently. He gave me a terrible, undeserved grade and it was in this period of time I learned to "argue to the rule" in defending someone (myself). I always felt the real deal was that this man knew he was unreliable in the presence of young ladies in pants.

Playing on one of your seven: I believe you don't have to lose your father's name when you find a husband.

It pleases me you wrote this!

Rachel Fenton said...

Lori, "previous century" is spot on! I find your use of the question mark quite, mmm, what's the word I'm looking for?


Rachel Fenton said...

I draw the line at air kissing, Kass!

Rachel Fenton said...

Les - I'm glad you have just the right knife for my sentences.

"I always felt the real deal was that this man knew he was unreliable in the presence of young ladies in pants." Similarly, this sentence of yours is a loaded banana!

Anonymous said...

Rachel, I'm touched :) And well done on your awards. You deserve them.

What on earth got you giggling for 40 minutes? I bet that was a good abs workout.

Rachel Fenton said...

Hey, Helen - really glad I found your blog.

It doesn't take much to set me off - but most often it will be someone else's funny reaction to something - a little shared moment of daftness - then the continuation of the joke with a glance. That sort or childish naughtiness.

You deserve the awards, too!