So much to do. So little time.

Dear Mr. President,

How are you? I am fine. Your desk is a busy and important place so I submit this modest proposal in hope that you will find it worthy of attention and action. The slow erosion of the American way of life is a crisis even though more dramatic events get lots of immediate attention. This progressive and growing degradation has reached a critical stage requiring your action at the highest level. I can only do so much and your partnership in this restorative effort will be happily accepted.

Of course I am speaking of the decline in spelling proficiency. Even though a few bright youngsters can spell “onomatopoeia” and the “spell check” program provides automated assistance on computers, the general level of proper spelling has reached unacceptable levels. This is not just about “humus” versus “hummus”. This defines the limits of understanding and is essential to clear communication at every level. Imagine your generals attempting to implement their national security mission under the impression that spelling is not important. Bombs may fall in the wrong place! At the wrong time! On the wrong people! Transposing letters can be just as egregious as transposing numbers, for heavens sake! This is an urgent matter, and I don't wish to shout, but it requires Executive action. Never mind the Congress.

It seems to me it is time to create a new cabinet position. The Secretary of Orthography would be responsible for the enforcement and implementation of good spelling. We need an enforceable code to encourage achievers and to discourage backsliders. If ever there were a need for government to do what people on their own cannot, then this is it. Tax incentives are one reward, as are window or bumper stickers officially proclaiming proficiency. A check written for “six hunnit and fiddy” dollars ought not to be honored by any FDIC bank. Public signs with poor spelling ought to be recognized by federal labels of disapproval.

The Secretary of Orthography may also want to institute a Bureau of Syntax for similar purposes in order to stem this tidal wave of down-dumbing, but that is looking ahead perhaps too far. And don't get me started on table manners!

Kisses all around, Celeste B.

On multiculturalism

Isn’t multiculturalism fun? We have so many interesting and diverse arrivals coming to our towns. It is fascinating to watch the interactions and I daresay occasional collision! In the little town of Euphoria, SC, where I grew up we had a wonderful Italian family, the Lambruscos. They brought such flavor and accent to the community it was as if they were cooking just for us all the time, which was only part of the story since Mr. L. was a garage mechanic. Mrs. L., on the other hand, was a wonderful cook and gained the reputation for bringing the essence of foreign food to our town. Her magical tomato sauce, which she shared unstintingly, prompted Mr. Peach, the grocer, to stock actual pasta varieties for the first time.
It happened that the Lambruscos began to receive unwelcome notices from the Internal Revenue. It didn’t take long for the mailman to be persuaded, with the assistance of Mr. L. and various other town folk that these unpleasant envelopes addressed to the Lambrunos at his box were undeliverable as written since there were no such persons of that name at that address. This allowed Mr. L. time enough to get his affairs in order with my Daddy’s help and to make a fair presentation before the great powers of taxation.
When Momma was annoyed with us as children, she called us little “pipsissewas”. We assumed that this was meant as a mean and derogatory label. It had a slightly sinister Indian sound to our ears and vaguely reminded us of the victims of child sacrifice. Only later did we learn that it describes a lovely native woodland flower and that the effect of the pronounced sound of the word was the only important part.
Mr. Thistledown was the kind Englishman who had a management position at the local mill. The enchanting Mrs. Flowerdew was the accomplished headmistress of my boarding school, looked upon with great affection as an immigrant of high accomplishment. Mr. Olazabal was our Spanish teacher and Mrs. Klemencik was our Latin teacher, which led to many amusements of the teenaged-girl variety. Where would we be without the refreshing influx of new names and faces and talents? It is my feeling that the America of today would be much poorer with less diversity and that dreadful creeping xenophobia is a serious impediment to our social evolution. It takes generations for acceptance to take hold. The funny unfamiliarity with names gradually devolves from being a joke to being a sign of ignorance. In the mean time we stumble along as best we can to apply the lessons of phonics to completely foreign letter combinations without giving it a second thought. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. The good sports put up with it and we can all laugh. Cheers,
Celeste