My good friend Max Wallack and I just
collaborated on a children’s book that teaches about Alzheimer’s disease. It has been a wonderful experience,
learning about this disorder and appropriate caregiving strategies from
Max. The working title will be Why Did Grandma Put Her Underwear in the
Refrigerator? and it is due for release later in July. But don't worry about marking your calendar. I'll be writing a LOT MORE ABOUT OUR BOOK IN IMMINENT POSTS read about Max here
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| Max Wallack of, Why Did Grandma Put Her Underwear in the Refrigerator? |
The writing process never ceases to
light me up from the core. Max and
I were working together on phrases and word balance when the copy editor in me
kicked in. Max is breezy and
fun to work with, because I’ll explain why something needs work, and he finds
strategies to rewrite. Some
authors require hard edits, but I’m a teacher so the 'process' is important and Max is a process person. After a long back-and-forth over one section of the book, the final
result satisfied us both and I said to Max, ‘NOW we’re cookin’ with gas.’
And I immediately wondered how
relevant this idiom would be for him.
It wasn’t even relevant to me when I was little – hundreds of years ago –
when my father spouted it. I was in fourth grade and he had just retired, and
together we’d either complete an oil pastel painting or cover a living
room wall in new paneling. I’d
hold the panel up, he’d pound in a million finish nails.
“THERE we go, Carolyn. NOW we’re cookin with GAS!”
“We ARE?” I wondered. We had an electric stove. The only kinds of gas I was familiar
with included petro, laughing, and intestinal. But I sort of assimilated the expression through context and
never asked specific questions.
Idiomatic etymology fascinates me as
an adult, so I looked into this one. It seems gas cookers began to replace wood
burners in 1915, so that’s when the concept of ‘cooking with gas’ began. Owning
a new gas cooker would be in vogue – all the rage. The phrase itself was first linked to Bob Hope in 1939 when he began using it in his Hollywood radio
show. But it was coined by Deke
Haulgate, founder of the Haulgate College Football Ranking system, who worked for
the American Gas Association -- but that is not what today’s post is
about.
Today’s post is about chicken pox. And children. And books from which children learn.
Writing a children’s book with Max
and thinking about idioms brought to mind the many phrases young kids ‘hear’
before they learn to read. Any
parent can tell you tales of their kid’s impressions and imagery regarding
common phrases. Even the idiom An Old Wives’ Tale caused one of my kid’s to believe
that when a woman reaches a certain age, she grows a tail.
Another of my kids wondered how to
spell ‘kosh’ which he pronounced very carefully. So I could spell it. Which I did. “K O S H.” Then I noted helpfully, "The word doesn’t
exist."
“Yes it does. You know! Like, when you throw ‘kosh’ into the
wind.”
It was interesting to me that he didn’t want to know what a kosh was. He wanted to spell it, so he could use it in his fiction writing. When he was six.
It was interesting to me that he didn’t want to know what a kosh was. He wanted to spell it, so he could use it in his fiction writing. When he was six.
He did grow up to be an English
major.
Which brings me to chicken pox, which
this particular child contracted in the late 80s at summer camp. And he brought a contagious case back
to his brothers. I apologize to them in advance because I am dating myself and
them. Two of my four children would later be vaccinated for chicken pox. But before the vaccine was invented,
two of my ‘earlier kids’ erupted.
As my husband and I slathered them in
calamine and baking soda pastes (I love concocting a good witch-poultice),
tossed them into Aveeno oatmeal soaks and smeared them with Benadryl lotions, I
recalled one of those Old Wives' Tails. 'Don’t scratch or you’ll get a scar.' To this day I hear folks advising children not to scratch at a mosquito bite, lest they get a scar.
Well, as far as chicken pox goes,
scars are related to the depth of a particular ‘pock.’ That ‘old saw’ about scars comes from
the Dark Ages, before the invention of Neosporin or the microscope. So when pioneer children scratched a rash with their
microbial black fingernails, I’m sure amputation would result.
Fortunately, when my offspring
contracted mosquito bites OR chicken pox, I also slathered them in Neosporin. And
checked their nail beds with my Home-Kit Hypochondria Microscope.
Back when I had chicken pox, I was
four. This was way back in an era when humans emerged from caves speaking in grunts and Old Wives Tails, like
“Don’t scratch or you’ll get a scar,” which I definitely heard from my ancestors' mouths and which definitely
terrified me.
Before I go on, the story of my
chicken pox always makes me feel like I was the victim of child abandonment
JUST BECAUSE I erupted in a contagious body rash and, days later, was shipped off to my Aunt and Uncle.
But it wasn’t like that.
My parents both
worked for the Quaker Oats Company and there was an annual convention in
Chicago they attended for as long as I could remember. The year I contracted
chicken pox, I was recovered from the worst of it during this annual
convention. So I was packed up for my annual visit with any number of family
members I used to ‘vacation with’ for that week. This year, my calamine lotion and I got to visit my Auntie
Barbara and Uncle Phil because their kids had already had chicken pox. Anyway,
my Uncle Philip always reminded me to “Not scratch or you’ll get a scar.”
I was four and had no idea what a
‘scar’ was, but my Uncle Phil was very good at articulation. So what I heard was “a cigar.”
For some reason I knew more about
cigars than scars.
I definitely didn’t scratch my
healing pox after that. Uncle Phil
to me was a giant of a man with dark hair, brilliant eyes and behind them, vast
knowledge. If he said I would get
a cigar if I scratched, then I definitely would get a cigar – so I did not
scratch, lest each pock sprout a tiny lit cigar.
It was horrifying.
Anyway, Max and I finished our
educational children’s book about Alzheimer’s disease, Why Did Grandma Put Her Underwear in the Refrigerator? and we were really cookin
with gas, the world was our oyster, life was a bowl of cherries, and don’t
scratch or you’ll get a cigar – which will be the title of our NEXT
award-winning children’s book.
We each bring our personal passions
to the writing table. Teaching young children about Alzheimer’s disease is
Max’s passion and my honor to co-author. Ensuring pre-schoolers not envision
lit cigars popping out of old mosquito bites?? That’s mine.
