"me, pro. The objectionable case of I. The personal pronoun in English has three cases, the dominative, the objectionable and the oppressive. Each is all three." ~ Ambrose Bierce

Greetings Dear Ones!

It’s been a mild winter so far and in my over-heated, granola-scented “Stitchery,” I’ve actually had the windows open quite a lot to enjoy the fresh air. The shop is finally coming along, despite all the upheaval and inertia I have had to overcome. The thread and bobbins have arrived. I’m going to set the Grand Opening for February 22nd 2020 whether I am ready or not. I can’t wait to get sewing again!

In the mean time, my next two weekends will be filled with Cooking—it’s time for the annual Pure Dead Brilliant potato marathon in the Grotonwood kitchens, where I get a hundred and twenty-five Scottish fiddlers to peel and eat their weight in potatoes by the end of the weekend. Oh, and some darn good fiddling happens too!

I’ve been so happy at the Cottonmill already— I’m in the “getting to know you phase” with my fellow tenants, which is so much fun. This vast, old building is filled with an amazing blend of old-fashioned skills and startling modernity with its artists, craftspeople, and entrepreneurs. I met a glass blower and a potter the Sunday evening I locked myself out of my studio and the main office was closed and maintenance staff off duty. The glass-blower phoned a pal on the third floor who told us how “everyone here knows how to pick the locks to get themselves back in,” information which was vaguely unsettling and reassuring at the same time. Using that information, we got in the door in seconds, with the bonus that I now have a new friend enthusiastically interested in attending my Monthly Mending Frolics! I am going to use that big conference room on the second floor to host free monthly Mending sessions where everyone can bring their clothing to repair Themselves, with access to my enormous rainbow of thread spools and my tools. (More on all this soon.)

When I met one of my neighbors down the hall, we shook hands excitedly and talked about our respective businesses and discovered that we had a lot in common. They make undergarments for people wishing to change the shape of their bodies. Within minutes, we were talking about possible collaborations. The energy coming off this person was so alive and warm and kind—so full of Creativity and Light. They took my arm and said “Come on in to our space—I want to introduce you to all of our other workers. We went down the hall and through the open door, where I saw about five other people all working away at sewing machines. They looked up and smiled at me. “What are your preferred pronouns,” my new friend asked me suddenly.

“My what?”

“What pronouns do you like?”

I paused, panicked. Why would we be talking about parts of speech at a time like this? If you must know, I thought, I like ALL pronouns. Is there such a thing as an Un-likeable pronoun?? Suddenly, I could feel the sweat running down my back. The whole class was watching me, expecting an answer. Without warning, I was back in seventh grade, with socks that refused to stay up above my scuffed oxfords, and a blue plaid pinafore that was too big for me. I had the kind of haircut (thanks, Mom!) that made strangers near public restrooms tell me “hey, Sonny, you’re in the wrong line—the men’s room is over there!” if I was not wearing a dress. After lunch each day, we had to stand by our desks reciting The Parts of Speech, while Sister Regina Caeli slapped a diagramed sentence on blackboard with her pointer. All the words in the English language are divided into nine categories called the Parts of Speech. They are Article, Noun, Adjective, Pronoun, Verb, Adverb, Preposition, Conjunction and Interjection—each with a myriad of mystifying subdivisions. Anyone who got one wrong had to remain standing. I lived in terror of not being able to name all the conjuctions or past participles. I stared at my new acquaintance beseechingly. In my flus-tration, all I could think of to recite was “Be, Am, Is, Are, Was, Were…” but I knew that was not right so I stayed silent.

They smiled patiently.

“Is it Ok to assume ‘She’ and ‘Her?’”

“Oh! For ME,” I said stupidly, getting it far too late, looking down and thinking that the combination of menopausal chin hairs and my winter wardrobe must be doing quite a number on me if people cannot figure out what gender I am!

“We don’t like to assume. We like to ask,” they explained.

“How kind,” I mumbled, humbly. I had never been asked that question before. Throughout my life, people have either assumed I was a little old lady or a young boy, no matter what age I happen to be at the time. Mostly it amuses me. I figure if one is over fifty and has built a quarter mile of split-rail fence by hand, she doesn’t have to explain herself anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I sympathize with those who have felt the sting of being mislabeled. One of my sisters recently reminded me about the time a man came to our family farm, observed us girls working, and remarked to our father “what fine sons he had,” and my dad, either not wishing to correct the gentleman or with that efficient attitude of a-little-inaccuracy-saves-tons-of-explanation, simply AGREED with him!

I never ask. I never assume either—I just don’t actually know how such information has any relevance in my conversations with customers—conversations that are basically one-on-one, tete a tete, “You and I” based. One only requires pronouns like he, she, it, when one is discussing Someone Else who is perceived as “other” to the You-or-I dyad. This is also known as Gossip in some circles and it is a Most Dangerous thing. A seamstress is, or should be a sacred counselor/confidante. We are “Women of the cloth”—we keep the Silence of a Priestess. (Please keep in mind that I distort the personal descriptions of occasional subjects of this blog so that they are “recognizeable” only in a universal, rather than specific, sense.) My work generally does not require such references, so I have no practice asking. Also, I never want to risk offending people who think the answer should be obvious.

In the old shop, we would say “that customer with the (fill in the blank) wedding gown/black sport coat/unitard….” We would skip the “he/she” “him/her” and just refer to them by their clothing. I suppose it might have been kinder, cleaner, and definitely more “woke” to just ASK the customers what they preferred when we had to talk about them behind their backs, but we never did. There wasn’t the need. The nouns we used to help identify a person were not Pro (or con), they were just the relevant nouns to the garments and bodies. I revel in the fact that some bodies are noticeably “strong” and well-muscled, and others are delicately boned or softer. In this industry, which is NOT a competitive sports federation (though it can feel like that at times!), who really gives a Rip if some apples have stems and others do not?

“Who’s SHE then? The Cat’s mother?” a friend used to say whenever I used the word ‘she’ in front of someone who was present. Like when there were three of us and I called the other one ‘she.’ I learned never to refer to anyone in the third person pronoun form while he or she was present. It’s not polite. (Frankly, it’s not polite when “she” is not there either!)

After I left their workspace and returned down the hall to my own, I reflected on my original interpretation of my new neighbor’s question. What are my preferred pronouns? I went through all the pronouns (I can remember them when I am not stressed!) There are personal subject pronouns (I, you, he, she, it, we, they), personal object pronouns (me, you, him, her, it, us, you, them) demonstrative pronouns (this, that, these, those), interrogative pronouns (who, whom, which, whose, that), relative pronouns, indefinite pronouns (anybody/anyone), reflexive and intensive pronouns (myself, yourself, itself etc…). They tend to come in batches of four: like “they, them, theirs, and themselves” I tried to determine if I have any favorites. I do. They are WE, US, OUR and anything that emphasizes inter-connection and collectivity. I know a lot of people now refer to themselves as they/them but that feels distant, cold, isolated or excluded from me/mine. It grates on my sense of “number” that an individual cannot be a group. And yet, aren’t we each a “collective” of sorts? My wise inner “matriarchal tree sprite,” inner Child, inner Sinner, and Prudence concur. Oops. No, Prudence does NOT concur. Sister Regina with her pointer and Tight-lipped Prudence insist that a pronoun always reflects the number of its antecedent: "they" does not refer to one person, no matter how many personalities she or he has, or how anxious we may be to avoid gender turmoil. I might just be sentenced to some sentencing for that.

I love how in certain parts of the British isles, people call each other by their name plus “our,” such as “our Michael” (see, Poppet? I told you I would work him into a blog one day!) and “our Sheila.” “Our” is definitely a Possessive pronoun but it feels more inclusive.

I was talking to a fiddler about this recently. She had a good point. Pronouns exist as linguistic shortcuts. Instead of saying the full name or title every sentence, we have devised these ways of referring to each other and ourselves in smaller, more compact syllables. Maybe some of us just don’t fit into smaller. Maybe, we need (and deserve) all expansive, lush description we require, for people to identify us properly. Maybe we need to be called “The Fiddler,” “The dancer” “The Sewer” (and by that, I mean “one-who-sews” not the place the potty empties into!). We need Bigger Nouns, not personal pronouns.

Or MaybeVerbs might be the answer! Ulysses S. Grant, Civil War General, said “The fact is I think I am a verb instead of a personal pronoun. A verb is anything that signifies to be; to do; or to suffer. I signify all three.” Grammar is what snares us—that science of qualitative interpolation of something Living. Language must evolve to conform to Life, to the qualities, differentiations, nuances and inherent rhythmic structures of the symbolism we mean to convey. At least English nouns are relatively genderless. In other languages, there is a gender for everything from a ship (feminine) to a garden (masculine) (What?? Yes, a garden is “masculine”! Take that, Eve!) In olden times, like when Beowulf was written, people were described as a noun-verb hyphenated unit like “Earth-stepper.” I love this. My mind goes wild with the possibilities—Fiber-Artist, Fashion-Fitter, Scrap-Slapper. John Fowles had it so right in The French Lieutenant’s Woman: “I say "her," but the pronoun is one of the most terrifying masks man has invented; what came to Charles was not a pronoun, but eyes, looks, the line of the hair over a temple, a nimble step, a sleeping face.”
If only we could all see each other in such detail—with such grace. In the meantime, if I need shortcuts, I will continue to use genderless pronouns, like "dear," "darling," and “hon”—like some kind of granny or waitress slinging hash in a truck stop. Because YOU are so Dear and Darling to ME, mine, myself. As for me, as an old friend liked to say, “You can call me anything as long as it’s not late for dinner!”

Have a wonderful week, My Darlings! Keep up your Good Work!

YOURS aye,

Nancy

Key-Seeker, Day-Dreamer, and…