Jan

An Idiom Abroad

by Joyce McGreevy on January 3, 2017

The statue of the Duke of Wellington in Glasgow shows that Scotland's fashions go beyond the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Trafficking in high fashion, Glasgow style.
The Duke of Wellington monument at the Gallery of Modern Art.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Wordplay Stitch in Time

Sew, a funny thing happened on the way to a textile exhibition. One morning in Glasgow, I stopped at a café to write. The assignment: draft a column about the wordplay of clothing idioms.

I’m no smarty pants, but I hoped to leave readers in stitches so I put on my thinking cap, booted up my laptop, and buckled down to work. As cellphone users aired their dirty linen in public, I felt hampered and wished they would put a sock in it.

Then the barista buttonholed me with a shirty question.

“Wherever do you writers get your material?” he asked starchly.

His remark needled me, but surely I could pin down a sharp reply. A stitch in time saves nine, but darn it, the next ten minutes unraveled as I hemmed and hawed.

Awkward silence cloaked the café. You could have heard a pin drop.

A 17th century glove from Glasgow's Burrell Collection inspires off-the-cuff wordplay and other clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

The gloves were off. I grasped for an off-the-cuff remark.
A 17th century glove, Burrell Collection, Glasgow.
© Joyce McGreevy

The Truth Can Be Crewel

The truth is, we writers fly by the seat of our pants, sometimes crafting stories from whole cloth, sometimes hanging on by a thread. We spin a good yarn, yet often feel as if we’re pulling the wool over our own eyes.

I considered embroidering the truth, as if I always had a trick up my sleeve. But my tongue was tied, so I zipped my lip. I was skirting the issue, and in Scotland one can get kilt for such things.

Seeing that I hadn’t a notion, my questioner dropped the topic like a missed stitch. Hat in hand, I weaved uncertainly into the fog that blanketed the city of Glasgow.

A Queen's Park street in Glasgow leads to a textile exhibition that inspires the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Before me loomed a patchwork of city streets. I knitted my brow, feeling crotchety.
© Joyce McGreevy

Haberdasher-ing Down the Road

The road unspooled before me, shimmering in patches, as veils of cloud cover gradually lifted. With a few quid burning a hole in my pocket, I threaded my way through Pollok Country Park. There I saw people surging toward the museum that housed the Burrell Collection.

The Hornby Portico in Glasgow leads to a textile exhibition, a visual reminder of clothing idioms' wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A coat of arms crowns the site of strategic textile maneuvers.
The Hornby Portico, 16th century, Glasgow.
© Joyce McGreevy

As a traveler on a shoestring budget, I seek out pockets of inspiration that won’t cost the shirt off my back. Like museums, where I feel as comfortable as an old shoe.

So in I darted.

There it was—a textile exhibition perfectly tailored to the situation: Gilt and Silk: Early 17^th Century Costume.

Oh, I see: This was truly a stitch in time.

A 17th century petticoat at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland reminds us that a stitch in time is more than wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

How do you order remnants of chronological events? In sequins, of course.
Detail from a 17th century petticoat, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

Material Witness

I realize textile exhibitions bore the pants off some people. But I grew up in a close-knit family where a head for style went hand in glove with an eye for art. We’ve always cottoned to costume displays and would go at the drop of a hat.

Turns out it was final curtain for the Burrell Collection. The museum was about to bolt its doors until 2020, allowing renovators to roll up their sleeves and gussy up the place.

In other words, this textile exhibition was no dress rehearsal.

Silver and gold embroidery at a textile exhibition in Glasgow reflect the gilt-y pleasures of wordplay and clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Taking a shine to silver and gold threads made me feel gilt-y.
© Joyce McGreevy

Cloth Encounters

Intent on bobbin’ my head at as many items as possible, I zigzagged from display to display.

Some of the clothing knocked my socks off.

Like a woman’s waistcoat made of linen and polychrome silk. The snug little bodice brought new meaning to tightening one’s belt. Ah, but those silver-gilt threads in a pattern of flowers and foliage had me wearing my heart on my sleeve.

A 17th century noblewoman's waistcoat at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland threads the needle between clothing idioms' wordplay and their source. (Image @ Joyce McGreevy)

Wealthy noblewomen had a vested interest in waistcoats.
A 17th century waistcoat, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

Satin’s Handiwork

Some items left me hot under the collar. Like the outfit worn by the little boy in this painting.

A medieval ruff, as depicted in a painting in Glasgow, Scotland, inspires the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Seems like ruff circumstances for a little kid.
Detail from a painting by unknown artist, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

I guess M’Lord Senior was a stuffed shirt. And M’Lady had a bee in her bonnet about handling play-clothes with kid gloves.

Meanwhile, another area was bursting at the seams.

Museum-goers had fanned out around the highlight of the show—a crimson silk satin petticoat. You can bet your boots that showcasing this extremely rare article was a feather in the cap of the museum’s director.

Thus did the hours unfold. I stared at historical fashion like it was going out of style.

A 17th century textile exhibition in Glasgow provides rich material for clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Nothing’s petty about a 17th century petticoat. The layered look was big back then.
© Joyce McGreevy

Nothing Old Hat Under the Sun

Finally, it was time to throw in the towel. With a new experience under my belt, I felt once again ready to toss my hat into the ring. (As a freelancer, I wear many hats in order to line my pockets while pulling myself up by my own bootstraps, as I refuse to ride another’s coattails.)

So I returned to work and tied up a few loose ends.

A 17th century cap at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland is "a tip of the hat" to clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Hat trick: This embroidered cloth became a close-fitting cap.
© Joyce McGreevy

True, I still hadn’t answered the question of where writers get their material. Not every mystery can be sewn up in a neat little package.

But by following a stitch in time at the textile exhibition and collaring a few clothing idioms, I’d reconnected with the fabric of life. And my guess is, there’s a pattern in there somewhere.

A detail of a 17th century cap at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland "puts a cap on" clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Animals on caps symbolized the senses. H’ats all, folks!
© Joyce McGreevy

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Joyce McGreevy 4 Comments

Scotland/The World's Art & Design/Wordplay

Nov

Have You a Party Piece?

by Joyce McGreevy on November 14, 2016

Kiaran O'Donnell and Rick Chelew play guitar at a small gathering, carrying on the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Sharing our gifts turns strangers into friends; Kiaran O’Donnell and Rick Chelew had just met.
© Joyce McGreevy

What an Irish Tradition
Can Teach Us Today

It was known as the party piece, a “bit of an auld song” or spoken word. Would we have called it an Irish tradition? Probably not. As students in Galway, sharing songs, stories, and poems was just something we did on Saturday nights.

But the tradition goes back centuries, notes Irish historian P.W. Joyce. Ancient Irish sagas depict hospitality to travelers as a social virtue, and guests reciprocated with music or spoken word. “Like the Homeric Greeks, the Irish were excessively fond of hearing tales and poetry recited . . . Every intelligent person was expected to know a reasonable number.”

Thus it continued, into my “ancient” college days. Go on now, give us your party piece, friends would say as we lingered after one-burner suppers served on coffee tables. “Mountains of Mourne” was a favorite.

Musicians at a jam session in pub in Galway, Ireland reflect the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image by Damián Bakarcic)

If you visit Ireland, bring along a song or a story to share.
“Jam Session in Galway Pub, Ireland” by Damián Bakarcic, CC-BY-NC-4.0

A Poem

Reciting a poem went over well, too. Back then, practically everyone I knew, student or not, had a few verses filed away in the old memory bank. Had I the heavens embroidered cloths . . .

It wasn’t like you hunkered down at a desk to memorize them, mind. You’d simply hear something and if it touched a chord, you’d hold onto it, the way a magpie works shiny foil into its bower.

Hikers on a scenic road in Ireland become a metaphor for the Irish tradition of sharing stories, songs, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Life’s rockiest road is navigable when we share it in stories, songs, and poems.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Story

Some party pieces were stories. The best were scraps of real experience that had been well embellished. Lace-edged in mystery. Beribboned with bright hyperbole. The beadwork of everyday dialogue polished into priceless gems with every retelling.

Oh, you could cut yourself on that wit, someone would say. It’s the way he tells ’em, someone would chime in.

Three women taking tea and trading stories at Glebe Gardens Café, Co. Cork, reflect the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing stories, songs, and poems. (Image © Rick Chelew)

Sharing anecdotes and laughter at Glebe Gardens Café, Co. Cork.
© Rick Chelew

A Moment

Here’s what a party piece was not about: Narcissism.

Your moment would not go viral. The technology that transformed selves into selfies was still decades away. We didn’t take photos or make recordings.

As student renters, we didn’t even have landline telephones.

Yet we always knew where the gatherings were. The “sociable” network functioned by way of knocks at the door, the tea kettle kept at the ready for impromptu visits and invitations.

A decorative teapot in Galway, Ireland symbolizes the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A few cups of tea can flower into a gathering.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Welcome

Meanwhile, back at the party, a newcomer from the States might hesitate on being asked to sing.

Sure, it doesn’t matter if you’ve a voice like an old crow, someone would tell her. We’ll all join in, another might add encouragingly.

Oh, I see: Sharing a party piece wasn’t about competing to see who was the most talented. It was about willingness to participate, to add some ingredient of your own to the stone soup of the evening.

A "face in the crowd" in Dublin, Ireland and a gift-wrapped building evoke the need for the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Sharing the gift of our experience creates connection.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Joy

So when someone began to sing “My Lagan Love” or “Bye, Bye, Blackbird,” it didn’t matter a whit if there was more rasp than lilt. The melody came through clearly via memories the singer stirred in us.

The greater joy was in being there together, none of us ready yet to call it a night.

A glowing fireplace in Dublin, Ireland sets the scene for the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A cozy fireplace in Dublin sets the scene for music and storytelling.
© Joyce McGreevy

Your Presence Is Requested

Today, even amid the multi-modal distractions that are as ubiquitous in Ireland as everywhere else on the planet, the Irish tradition of the party piece lives on.

A lot of the sharing now finds its way online. But at heart it’s still about presence—passing the tokens of our shared humanity from person to person.

Not fame. Not showing off. Not monetizing an experience. But about giving whatever you’ve got and showing up to honor what others give, too, be it heartfelt or hilarious, wise or whimsical.

A dog eyeing treats in a Dublin parlor evokes the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems, including shaggy dog stories. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A shaggy dog story makes a great party piece.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Wish

So here is my wish for you: One evening may you find yourself in a home where musical instruments are as much a part of the furnishings as crockery and sofa cushions. May there be apple tart and good company.

A homemade apple tart in Galway goes well with the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Our gifts are sweetest when they are shared.
© Joyce McGreevy

At some point, the piano or fiddle will sound, and the concertina and tin whistle will come out of their cases. But nobody’s forming a band, only forging a bond.

The tales begin telling themselves. The poems, memories, and songs emerge, like shy ponies crossing a field.

Two friendly Irish horses symbolize subtle aspects of the Irish tradition of the party piece, sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

They have come gladly out of the willows/To welcome my friend and me…
From James Wright’s poem “A Blessing”
© Joyce McGreevy

Somebody volunteers a song about love, by turns joyful and poignant. When they falter—whether from forgetting the words, or remembering the past—a neighboring singer takes up the thread.

Kieran O'Donnell and Rick Chelew play guitar together, carrying on the Irish tradition of sharing songs, stories, and poems. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Our individual songs, stories, and poems share a common chord.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Gathering

The song goes around and around, until every voice has been gathered in. There’s room for everyone.

Call it an Irish tradition, though we were never so formal as all that. We were just doing our party pieces. Finding our human commonalities by sharing songs, stories, and poems. What party piece might you share when next you gather with family, friends, and friends-to-be?

Read the cited poems in their entirety here and here.

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Joyce McGreevy 13 Comments

Cultural Heritage & Traditions/Ireland/Language & Culture

Oct

Twode to a Changing Culture

by Meredith Mullins on October 3, 2016

Emoji emotion
© Tigatelu/iStock

The Language of Social Media

Who says a story can’t be told in 140-character tweets? Here’s a tweeted ode (a twode?) to a changing culture . . .

GAS. “Greetings and salutations” (or is it “Got a second?”) It could go either way. #AreYouConfused?

The language of social media is a universe of its own—a rapidly changing organism.

It’s a dialect of abbreviations, acronyms, emojis, emoticons, and haiku-like prose.

cat texting, showing the language of social media and changing cultures. (Image © Leo Kostik/iStock.)

I am not a maestro of text or tweet. #FullDisclosure

The internet is rife with cats and pudgy-fingered babies who can compose more dexterously and faster than I can.

I text with one finger, one hand. #TextWhileNoOneIsWatching

Those smartphone keys are tiny. #OKforDonaldTrumpHands

Interior Of Coffee Shop With Customers Using Digital Devices, showing the language of social media and cultural changes. (Image © Monkey Business Images/iStock.)

Millennials seem to have been born with inherent talent in this arena #SocialMediaEvolution

The new device-oriented generation also has an umbilical cord to the internet. #StepAwayfromthePhoneandSeetheWorld

A smartphone is almost always in hand. Eyes down. Thumbs ablaze. Missing nothing in the text world. Missing many things elsewhere.

A dangerously distracting language. #PleaseBeCareful

No one should text and drive. There are laws. But it’s also dangerous to ride a bike or walk while texting.

Businessman on bicycle texting, showing the language of social media and cultural changes. (Image © Shironosov/iStock.)

To address the scourge of mobile phone addicts, a few countries have set up experimental pedestrian texting lanes in city streets.

In theory, the texters then walk at their own risk and regular walkers have obstacle-free paths.

Textwalkers rarely find these lanes, however, because they’re too busy texting. #Oxymoron

Text walking lane showing the language of social media and cultural change. (Image © Stefano Visigor/iStock.)

The social media language is diverse and dynamic—across generations and across cultures. GAC

It’s challenging to understand the phrases that become just abbreviations in texting. 2M2H IOMH IWAWO

Once an abbreviation or acronym becomes too popular (e.g., when parents start using it), it is destined to change. #LOL

Even punctuation is changing. Periods are disappearing because they are no longer needed.

It’s obvious when an instant message has ended. It’s over. The end. Period. (Er . . . I mean . . . no period) Send.

According to a NY Times Article, when a period is used in a text, it means something different. It is a point of emphasis. #PunctuationWeapon.

OK. or Fine. rather than OK or Fine means Enough. Stop. Alrightalready. I have no more to say. It implies annoyance. #Snark

iPhone with text message, showing the language of social media and changing culture. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

Perhaps to balance the demise of the period, overpunctuation has emerged for dramatic effect, as in “I had fun!!!!!!!!!!”

Visual additions now pepper texts and chats. Emoticons and emojis heighten the emotional impact of a message.

Emoticons are a creative use of type to show a facial expression. For example, a show of happiness: :) or :-) or (ˆ_ˆ)

The expressions can vary across cultures.

Western emoticons are usually read with head tilted to the side. Asian emoticons are read horizontally: Winking face: ;) or (ˆ_~)

Emoticons for happy face, showing the language of social media and cultural changes. (Image © OIC.)

Emojis originated in Japan, where the word translates to pictographs.

They come in a range of emotions and tones and can usually be added through a special character set on the device.

emojis on iPhone, showing the language of social media and changing culture. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

Since the language of social media has become a common one, I know I have to adjust to the new brevity of thought.

Yes, it’s difficult to bare one’s soul or wax poetic in a 140-character tweet or a text message that’s read in 5 seconds.

The challenge is to grab attention, to inspire, to stimulate, to provoke . . . to connect in this new world of text and tweet.

OIC. Oh, I see. It can be done. But I don’t want to forget how beautiful the other world can be.

Emoticon with smart phone, showing the language of social media and cultural change. (Image © Yayayoyo/iStock.)

Inspired by Jennifer Egan’s “Black Box,” fiction in tweets, originally published in the New Yorker.

An acronym key:

GAC: Get a clue
2M2H: Too much to handle
IOMH: In over my head
IWAWO: I want a way out
LOL: Laughing out loud OR Lots of love

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

Meredith Mullins Comments

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An Idiom Abroad