Dec

Life Lessons Tied Up In a Bow

by Janine Boylan on December 10, 2012

sneakers, showing life lessons on how to tie your shoes

What I Learned from Tying My Shoes

I absolutely would not watch.

I was only about four years old, but I remember it like it was yesterday. For months, my mom had been trying to teach me a basic life lesson: how to tie my shoes. I, however, absolutely DID NOT want to learn from her.

Whenever she tied my shoes, Mom would tell me to watch. Instead, I would twist my head as far around as possible and cover my ears while still strategically keeping my shoes where my mom could tie them. I was completely and utterly annoyed that she wanted to teach me to tie my shoes.

One day, tired of her persistent requests, I thought of a way to end it for once and all. I tied my own shoes. Then I announced that she could stop trying to teach me.

Fast forward many years to my own four-year-old daughter. Not wanting to force feed shoe-tying, I would encourage my daughter to try to tie her shoes, but I never told her to watch me. She seemed to be making no progress with this life lesson, but I was patient.

One day my mom and my daughter were laughing and chatting in the back seat of the car as I drove along. About five minutes into the ride, my daughter joyfully exclaimed, “Look, Grandma taught me to tie my shoes.”

That’s not how I remember learning.

But, fine, at least my daughter knew how to tie her shoes now.

Fast forward again to the present. My daughter and I were watching Ted Talks and came across a video by Terry Moore on the correct way to tie shoes.

If the video does not display, watch it here.

As the video ended, my daughter said, matter-of-factly, “That’s how Grandma taught me to tie shoes.”

Oh, I see. I guess I should have let my mom teach me after all.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Janine Boylan Comments

Life Lessons

Dec

Creative Inspiration in a Paris Bookstore

by Meredith Mullins on December 6, 2012

Creative inspiration from Shakespeare and Company, a Paris bookstore

Shakespeare and Company Bookstore in Paris
© Meredith Mullins

Paying Tribute to Shakespeare and Company and George Whitman

“Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise.”

As you climb the sunken wooden stairs to the second floor of Shakespeare and Company bookstore, close enough to feel the vibrations of the Notre Dame belltower just across the Seine, you are confronted with a carefully lettered moment of philosophy . . . and a reminder of how owner George Whitman lived his life.

There are plenty of stories about the wild-haired and eccentric George and about the legacy of creative inspiration at Shakespeare and Company—the most famous English-language bookstore in Paris (and perhaps the world).

Whitman’s Inspiration

Most people would agree that George lived life exactly how he wanted. He created his bookstore in 1951, and it soon became a literary haven and creative inspiration for some of the best expat and visiting writers of the time (including Lawrence Durrell, Samuel Beckett, Allen Ginsberg, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, William Burroughs, Jack Kerouac, Gregory Corso, Anaïs Nin, Henry Miller, James Baldwin).

He supported writers and readers with access to English-language books and good conversation, hosted readings and book launches, and gave writers a kick in the pants when they needed it.

Creative inspiration from inscription above Shakespeare and Company door

Shakespeare and Company 2nd Floor
© Meredith Mullins

He lent books, cared little about money, had a tyrannical temper, but most of all was a socialist at heart, with a generous spirit at his core. He called Shakespeare and Company “a socialist Utopia disguised as a bookstore.”

He had a beautiful daughter when he was 68 (who now runs the shop, with charisma and charm), and he enjoyed the company of friends and admirers (young and old) until he died. He cut his hair by setting fire to it (easier and faster, he said). Every Sunday, he hosted conversation and tea in his top floor apartment and often held impromptu gatherings on the terrace outside the shop.

Even at his 97th birthday party, he sat in a throne-like easy chair amidst his friends and admirers and read the paper (his favorite pastime), oblivious to the hoopla around him.

George Whitman's 97th Birthday Party at Shakespeare and Company, a Paris bookstore offering creative inspiration

George Whitman at his 97th Birthday Party
© Meredith Mullins

Inside the Legendary Bookstore

The hard benches in the antiquarian room and other cubbyholes throughout the maze of books became beds for more than 50,000 aspiring writers and rambling adventurers over the years, although this “open house” came with rules.

You had to write something before being allowed in.

You had to read a book a day.

And you had to work a few hours in the shop.

Mostly, you had to think—keep your mind alive and curious.

Creative inspiration from Shakespeare and Company steps saying Live for Humanity

OIC: Live for Humanity
© Meredith Mullins

The labyrinthian store winds its way around many messages that lead to Oh, I see moments:

The time-layered steps to the back rooms deliver the subtle inspiration “Live for Humanity,” if you happen to be looking down as you step up.

The wishing well—a place for coins tossed with hopes and dreams— says “Give what you can, take what you need.”

Outside the store, George told his story on a chalkboard that says, “Some people call me the Don Quixote of the Latin Quarter because my head is so far up in the clouds that I can imagine all of us are angels in paradise.”

Whitman’s Legacy

George’s birthday is next week (December 12). He would have been 99 this year. He passed away last year, two days after his 98th birthday.

“I may disappear leaving no forwarding address, but for all you know I may still be walking among you on my vagabond journey around the world.”

Creative inspiration from Sylvia and George Whitman at Shakespeare and Company

George Whitman and his daughter Sylvia (2008)
© Meredith Mullins

George left more than a personal legacy of individuality and dedication to an ideal. He left an inspiration for living life with generosity and meaning. He believed we have certain inalienable rights: friends, paper pages, the smell of library (and liberty), and the incredible journeys that thoughtful conversation and good writing can take us on.

Long live bookstores that give life to the written word, inspire thoughtful conversation, and embrace the creative spirit.

Long live the idea that strangers may be angels in disguise.

Long live the legacy of George Whitman.

Happy Birthday, George! Thank you for so many OIC moments. May you walk among us for a long time to come.

One of my favorite YouTube videos of all time is George “cutting his hair” with a candle, accompanied by his own poetry (“the good, the beautiful, the true” . . . and, of course, the smell of burning hair).

Read the George Whitman obituary in the NY Times from December 2011.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Meredith Mullins Comments

France (Paris)/Literary World

Dec

Teaching in Japan: A Cultural Encounter with Language

by Janine Boylan on December 3, 2012

The letter J symbolizing a cultural encounter with language while teaching in Japan (Image courtesy of Thinkstock)

What sound does the letter J make?

This Lesson Brought to U by the Letter J

After over a dozen years of formal “foreign language” instruction, I should be able to communicate in a language besides English with ease. But I can’t.

Sure, I have managed enough language to have ridiculous conversations like trying to explain, in Russian, why some Americans drink green beer on St. Patrick’s Day. And I’ve been able to ask, in Japanese, where to find baking soda in a grocery store. Unfortunately, those may be my greatest language accomplishments.

More typically, my cultural encounters with language seem to involve a lot of very puzzled looks.

The Sound of the Letter J

Fortunately, I do feel pretty comfortable with English. In fact I felt comfortable enough with it that I took a job teaching English in Japan. In my school, I was the only native English speaker. The other teachers had grown up speaking primarily Japanese, but they were quite fluent in English (thank goodness—they could answer all the questions I had about living in Japan).

So I felt confident when one of the other teachers asked me a phonics question: What sound does the letter j make?

I knew that there wasn’t an exact transferrable sound in the Japanese language so I could understand why there was a question about it. But, then again, this was someone teaching English, so why was she asking me this?

She explained that the school supervisor had told the teachers that the letter j makes the sound “joo” (rhymes with shoe), and they should not be teaching that the letter j makes the sound “juh.”

No, I explained, j says “juh.”

By this time, a group of teachers had formed around me. One cocked her head as if to challenge me, “Are you sure?”

In this cultural encounter, my confidence flickered. But, no, I knew the letter j was pronounced “juh.”

The Sound of Respect and Honor

The teacher circle scattered, but the whispers remained like ghosts. For several days, one or another teacher would graciously ask me again about the letter j and how to pronounce it. If the truth is questioned long enough, you begin to doubt it. Was I wrong?

Then, as if by magic, the questions suddenly disappeared. The letter j magically and confidently had the sound “juh.”

I’ll never know exactly what happened to make this change. I assume it was the work of the teachers. And, looking back, now I see that it wasn’t phonics or language that was the issue.

The unspoken issue in this situation was the Japanese value of respect and honor.

Questioning the supervisor’s knowledge might make him lose face, which may be one of the worst infractions in the Japanese culture. The situation needed to be handled tactfully so that the teachers could teach the correct lesson and the supervisor would not be embarrassed. The teachers knew this and must have handled it accordingly.

They also, wisely, did not take the headstrong American girl (me) directly to the supervisor to explain what sound the letter made. Instead, they continued to gently question me until the truth became clear—even though I felt like their motive was to change my mind about it!

At the Heart of Communication

I learned that a critical part of communicating in any language is learning what’s behind the words—the culture, the ideas, the traditions. Memorizing the sounds the letters make and how to form verb tenses is the easiest part of communication.

Although the j linguistic cultural encounter happened in another country in another language, this “Oh, I see” moment often helps me in my daily attempts to communicate. It’s important to consider not only what is being said, but what isn’t being said.

And, by the way, finding baking soda in a Japanese grocery store is a piece of cake.

Comment on this post below.

Image of the letter J courtesy of Thinkstock

Janine Boylan 2 Comments

Cultural Encounters/Japan/Language & Culture

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