I flipped through it now, with Blue standing near.
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You might think people would naturally know how to speak. They do not, especially according to this book. There are aspects to posture and things to know about the resonating chambers of the throat and sinus cavities that must be understood and subjected to rigorous practice.
Every word must be given its due, and every syllable, too.
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We students recited the exercises at dawn and midday and dusk. I explained this to Blue. I turned to the final page and read this aloud and in a proper Emersonian voice: Finally, by concentration of every distinctive phase, synthesized by a vital motive aroused by the message spoken, the voice becomes musical, forceful, clear, vibrant in the fulfillment of its natural function. The voice is the most potent influence of expression, the winged messenger between soul and soul.
I asked Blue to keep the book and to read it. Her own voice could be clearer, as might everyones, and, indeed, she has a great deal to say, soul to soul, in this troubled world.
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We took a break for a macaroni lunch, which I prepared, and I thought I might tell her how I happened to have the book. It was from the days when Fear Itself stalked the world, and I was young.
My father, a laborer, built the house, and we owned it free and clear. As a little girl I would recline in the summer lawn and pull little swords of grass apart to reveal their pale, sweet centers, which I would eat. Even now, I remember their smell and taste and cool touch upon the tongue. Good grass is quite healthy for you. Laconia, then as now, stretches along snowmelt lakes that we skated in winter and boated in summer. The lakes were illuminated and made dreamy and musical on spring and summer evenings by stern-wheeled party boats from which laughter and clinking glasses and the music of foxtrot bands carried far across the water.
During World War I all that joy diminished; everything was dull and waiting, and the boat docks became slowly overgrown. On a memorable summer afternoon of that time, an automobile approached beside the picket fence of our small home. I expect I sprang up from my cool recline in the grass. An automobile arriving was a great occasion, even if only a doctor on a house call few others owned motorcars. An uncle stepped forth and commenced to talk Father into taking a war job in a Massachusetts shipyard.
We soon moved away to a dreary place after selling our little house to a family who would accidentally burn it down. Just after the armistice we moved back to Laconia and rented a place while we rebuilt on the old lot, which we bought back. We found ourselves standing one November 11th morning on the frosty chest of the town cemetery. We were there to honor the fresh graves of the war dead, whose spirits were still trudging back to town from Europe for burial.
The old gentleman making the presentation to the gathered citizenry was reciting the Gettysburg Address from his weather-beaten memory.
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He struggled with ever more difficulty: It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remain-. Devotion, the crowd whispered like a call-and-response prayer. Yes, devotion to that cause for which they, they gave the last fine, the last fine The last full measure, the reply came from us all. Yes, full measure of devotion. At that point, he shrugged and smiled feebly; he couldnt remember another word. He had probably practiced for weeks and was too proud to carry a copy of the great speech, which would have been disrespectful to Lincoln, who was thought of in an almost religious aspect.
The Gettysburg Address, along with the Declaration of Independence, the Preamble to the Constitution, the names of the then fortyeight states, their capitals, the twenty-seven u. It was one of the two great books that enlightened our poor family, the other being, of course, the thesaurus. I was but eight, but my mother knew I had recently been a visitor to those pages and had memorized long passages, including Lincolns speech. She pushed me up onto the dais, and I stood beside the old man to take up his fallen torch. He took my hand as I spoke Many in the crowd could have recited it just as well, as the sea of moving lips testified.
Their grandparents, after all, had known Lincoln and the Civil War.
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And all of us there-gathered had been down a long, hard road recently and lost more than a few neighbors and family. Shared suffering and imagination and emotional security are among the ingredients of empathy, and empathy is the rock of community. We truly mourned for each others losses. My mother had lost her brother in the war and was especially low, though people tended to gather around such pain and soften it.
She first knew he was dead when I thought I saw him in uniform in our house, but could not have.
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She fainted into a chair when I told her what I had seen. In the greater stillness of those times, perhaps you could see subtler things. As a town, we were taking a collective breath now. It is in such moments together I had a white ribbon in my hair when life seems, and most assuredly is, worth all the trouble.
I wonder where that white ribbon might be now, nearly a century later. Is some piece of it now a bookmark in a forgotten attic? Are there at least a few threads of it holding tight to each other in deep forest soil somewhere? What survived that day for me was the thrill of participation, of standing up.
kinun-mobile.com/wp-content/2020-03-20/kyzyf-what-is.php My young sights were suddenly set. I knew what I wanted to do. Read Free For 30 Days. Flag for inappropriate content. Related titles. Carousel Previous Carousel Next. This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate. Jump to Page. Search inside document.
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An eBook bundle is something remarkable. This consists of a huge number of ebooks bundled together that are not easily obtainable at one solitary place.
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