Wednesday, December 6, 2006
"Bring tender towards your world...
...allows you to keep your heart open." --quotation on a mug containing an illustration by Debbie Hron (illustration copyrighted 2004)
Yesterday I made an errand run to our local grocery. One of the items I needed was a bottle of dill pickle relish. In order to get to the section with this product, I had to traverse the Christmas section. Normally, I don't pay any more than peripheral attention to items in the holiday section and that attention is reserved for particularly bright or odd items. I noticed yesterday, though, that ceramic coffee mugs were on display, one of which was not only exactly the right size for my one cupper drip coffee attachment, they were on sale ten for a dollar. In addition, they were marked "Lead Free Ceramics" and "Microwave and Dishwasher Safe". I'm always looking for appropriate coffee mugs, as, the longer I have them, the more likely they are to crack or break. I was astonished at the price, so I examined the mugs carefully, assuming they must be particularly fragile (which usually means the handle is rickety or the ceramics were chipped in transit). Nothing appeared to be wrong with them. I was satisfied that, for ten cents, the mugs would be worth trying. I bought one.
I placed it in the dishwasher last night. This morning I took the cup for a trial run. Curiously, I paid no attention to the decoration on the cup until this morning while I was waiting for water to boil for my coffee. It consists of a Christmas tree resplendent with ornaments: Mostly a variety of birds, but there are also some hearts, snowmen, a vaguely Slavic European Santa (my mother collects Santas, so I'm familiar with Santa genre), a cat, a cow, a sheep, hearts, stars and a garland that looks like it was made from cranberries. Each item is distinct within its sort. Then, I noticed the quotation. Intriguing.
It gave me a strong clue as to why the mug has been so drastically discounted. Someone must have noticed the mangled English, brought it to the attention of the store staff and derided it, I decided. I love stuff like this, though, so much that I'll probably pick up another of these cups before they disappear, strictly for display purposes; maybe as a tree ornament.
Then, I looked up the definition of "tender" (although you'd think it would be pretty obvious, wouldn't you; I like to be exact, though). When used as a noun, the word has the following definitions (Oxford American Dictionaries):
Not being familiar with the artist, my assumption was that the quote originated with her and she must not be a native speaker of English. Wondering what the native language was out of which she translated (or, maybe even originated) the quote for and English speaking audience, I first searched her last name for geographic origins (noted here), then definitions, the only one of which I could find on the web here. Then, I searched the artist and found a brief biography (a link to which no longer exists: 9/30/08). Obviously well enough familiar with English, I realized, for the quote not to have originated with her, at least not this version.
I hunted for products with her name attached. It appears that she is strictly a graphic artist (although my search was not definitive) and if she illustrates words, the words are most likely not hers. I had begun to form an imaginary play of someone in China, where the cup was made, poring over a Chinese translation of one of her sayings, rendering it back into English, thus making it a third generation translation, the contemplation of which I found delightful. Probably not what happened, I realized. This quotation may very well be a Chinese standard rendered into English for publication on this cup.
At any rate, I find the translation provocative precisely because of the way it was translated. I'm surprised that I picked up an item with a quote so obviously geared toward caregiving. As well, awkward translations are my favorite, having been, myself, in years past, author of many awkward translations. For me, they offer a more exact flavor of the mind, specifically the cultural thought patterns, out of which the translation arose and invite me to rearrange and expand my own mind. This quote produced an image of someone prying open his or her heart with his or her hands, possibly exposing him or herself to pain, gently fastening fingers around a thoughtfully chosen piece of his or her heart, cradling the piece in his or her hands and delicately, vulnerably offering it to someone in need of heart-care.
This, folks, is the essence of caregiving. Ultimate Caregiving is not hands offering assistance or items to someone, it's hands offering a portion of one's heart. It's a tricky business and sometimes it smarts enough to bring tears to one's eyes. But, you know, even if the piece of heart is handled roughly by the recipient, or, perhaps, not even noticed, in the end the freshened, unobstructed heart that results is worth the trouble.
Yesterday I made an errand run to our local grocery. One of the items I needed was a bottle of dill pickle relish. In order to get to the section with this product, I had to traverse the Christmas section. Normally, I don't pay any more than peripheral attention to items in the holiday section and that attention is reserved for particularly bright or odd items. I noticed yesterday, though, that ceramic coffee mugs were on display, one of which was not only exactly the right size for my one cupper drip coffee attachment, they were on sale ten for a dollar. In addition, they were marked "Lead Free Ceramics" and "Microwave and Dishwasher Safe". I'm always looking for appropriate coffee mugs, as, the longer I have them, the more likely they are to crack or break. I was astonished at the price, so I examined the mugs carefully, assuming they must be particularly fragile (which usually means the handle is rickety or the ceramics were chipped in transit). Nothing appeared to be wrong with them. I was satisfied that, for ten cents, the mugs would be worth trying. I bought one.
I placed it in the dishwasher last night. This morning I took the cup for a trial run. Curiously, I paid no attention to the decoration on the cup until this morning while I was waiting for water to boil for my coffee. It consists of a Christmas tree resplendent with ornaments: Mostly a variety of birds, but there are also some hearts, snowmen, a vaguely Slavic European Santa (my mother collects Santas, so I'm familiar with Santa genre), a cat, a cow, a sheep, hearts, stars and a garland that looks like it was made from cranberries. Each item is distinct within its sort. Then, I noticed the quotation. Intriguing.
It gave me a strong clue as to why the mug has been so drastically discounted. Someone must have noticed the mangled English, brought it to the attention of the store staff and derided it, I decided. I love stuff like this, though, so much that I'll probably pick up another of these cups before they disappear, strictly for display purposes; maybe as a tree ornament.
Then, I looked up the definition of "tender" (although you'd think it would be pretty obvious, wouldn't you; I like to be exact, though). When used as a noun, the word has the following definitions (Oxford American Dictionaries):
- an offer to carry out work, supply goods or buy land, shares, or another asset at a stated fixed price;
- a person who looks after someone else or a machine or place;
- a boat used to ferry people and supplies to and from a ship;
- a railcar coupled to a steam locomotive to carry fuel and water.
Not being familiar with the artist, my assumption was that the quote originated with her and she must not be a native speaker of English. Wondering what the native language was out of which she translated (or, maybe even originated) the quote for and English speaking audience, I first searched her last name for geographic origins (noted here), then definitions, the only one of which I could find on the web here. Then, I searched the artist and found a brief biography (a link to which no longer exists: 9/30/08). Obviously well enough familiar with English, I realized, for the quote not to have originated with her, at least not this version.
I hunted for products with her name attached. It appears that she is strictly a graphic artist (although my search was not definitive) and if she illustrates words, the words are most likely not hers. I had begun to form an imaginary play of someone in China, where the cup was made, poring over a Chinese translation of one of her sayings, rendering it back into English, thus making it a third generation translation, the contemplation of which I found delightful. Probably not what happened, I realized. This quotation may very well be a Chinese standard rendered into English for publication on this cup.
At any rate, I find the translation provocative precisely because of the way it was translated. I'm surprised that I picked up an item with a quote so obviously geared toward caregiving. As well, awkward translations are my favorite, having been, myself, in years past, author of many awkward translations. For me, they offer a more exact flavor of the mind, specifically the cultural thought patterns, out of which the translation arose and invite me to rearrange and expand my own mind. This quote produced an image of someone prying open his or her heart with his or her hands, possibly exposing him or herself to pain, gently fastening fingers around a thoughtfully chosen piece of his or her heart, cradling the piece in his or her hands and delicately, vulnerably offering it to someone in need of heart-care.
This, folks, is the essence of caregiving. Ultimate Caregiving is not hands offering assistance or items to someone, it's hands offering a portion of one's heart. It's a tricky business and sometimes it smarts enough to bring tears to one's eyes. But, you know, even if the piece of heart is handled roughly by the recipient, or, perhaps, not even noticed, in the end the freshened, unobstructed heart that results is worth the trouble.
