Pencils: I Dreamt of You Last Night

                                             Source: yellowtrace.com.au via Lillian on Pinterest

Pencils

by Ezzy G. Languzzi

An army of pencils
Surrounded my bed
Was it all just a dream?
Was it all in my head?
Unfurled like a carpet
A rainbow of colors
This army of pencils
Made way for the others

They invaded my thoughts
Permeated my being
Sharpened and crying,
We hear you breathing!

Oh, no you don't, I said.
You're no gift, but a curse
You come when you want
Go, now
Disperse!

In a stupor I battled
Weary and tired
Until I'd pushed every-single-last-one
Into a fire

What's In Your Name?

Source: iStock Photo

I've been carrying around this Wall Street Journal article scribbled on a scrap piece of paper for almost a week.

Dr. Chopp, Meet Congressman Weiner:

What's in a Name? For Some, an Identity to Live Up to -- or Down To

When I first read the headline ... yeah *rolls eyes* ... I thought, "No more Weiner! Please." I'd had just about enough of this guy's nonsense in the news. But I gave the writers a chance and read past the first couple of short paragraphs.

The article draws an interesting connection between occupations (some might say behavior, too) and people's names -- a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy.

As I read the names of an attorney ("Sue Yoo") and urologist ("Dr. Chopp"), I pondered my own. My-annoying-when-pronounced-in-English-name. Had I missed a "calling," some interesting career opportunity because I'd been too busy cringing every time I heard it?

"But Esmeralda ... it's so beautiful."

Yes, in Spanish, "Esmeralda," or "Emerald," rolls off the tongue. In English -- well -- it comes out like a fur ball. Like a malady in need of a cure.

Maybe I feel this way because every teacher I ever had from K-8 butchered it during roll-call. Or perhaps it's because the only other "Esmeraldas" I'd ever heard named were from film or TV, e.g. Samantha's nervous aunt on BEWITCHED, or the gypsy who got dragged up a tower by a hunchback.

Yup. All gems.

Trust me, there's a reason why the first time somebody called me "Ezzy," I latched on to it like a barnacle to the hull of ship.

If what this article suggests is true, should I have been a miner?  A gemologist? A museum curator or art collector? Hmmmmm ... what should somebody named after a precious stone do for their life's work?

In case you're wondering, I can't stand the sound of "Ezzy" in Spanish, either.

Are you in an occupation, or behave in a way that's "fitting" of your name?

Is There a Connection Between Language and Personality?

Do we think and feel differently in different languages?

Am I Nuts?

For those of you who are bilingual (or multilingual), are you aware of a difference in how you express yourself, depending on the language you choose? For example, are you more playful, serious, careful or humorous, when writing in one language versus another?

I know it probably seems like an odd question, but I've started to wonder about the relationship between language and personality, since I started exercising "Esmeralda," the Spanish side of my brain.

In my case, I've noticed a few things. For example, the Spanish side of my brain is irreverent and playful. She wants to poke fun at things. Other times, her emotions cut deeper than anything she could express in English words. She wants to open her heart.

Something else ... this girl, Esmeralda, keeps wanting to push my pen places the English side wouldn't normally go. How's that?

It's as though my Spanish mind is set to the age of the little girl who allowed herself to get swallowed up by English, and so many other things. Sounds strange. I know. Whatever the explanation, I'm both intrigued and a little afraid by it. We'll see where Ezzy and Esmeralda go. : )

Do you think it's possible to think and feel differently in different languages? If so, how much of this difference do you think has to do with a language's cultural origin?

HOW DO I LOVE THEE? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Every year on Valentine's Day, I remember English poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning's love sonnet "How Do I Love Thee?" for it's simplicity and intensity.

I'd be withholding information if I didn't also tell you that it's one I chose to memorize and recite at a junior high school assembly long before I understood the true meaning of its verse.

I hope you enjoy this expression of pure love.

Do you have a favorite love poem? Better yet, do you write them? If you do, I invite you to post one in the comments. Wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day! *hugs*

HOW DO I LOVE THEE?

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, -- I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God Choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.