Showing posts with label My Schism with Ism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Schism with Ism. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

What's in a name? Especially, Petra?


While born in Elmshorn, Germany in 1951, I was given the name Petra, a common German name. My father, a Yugoslavian who had been stationed in Hamburg, Germany while in the British Army, met and married my mother on her family's small farm in Elmshorn, approximately a half hour away from Hamburg.

Well, as noted in My Schism with Ism personal essay, https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8726764980990457648#editor/target=post;postID=901407424762703361;onPublishedMenu=posts;onClosedMenu=posts;postNum=1;src=postname "Not normally affable to narcissism...," I find it interesting to look back at the somewhat slow and bewildering journey in discovering and accepting my name. 

In 1952, my parents, myself at a year old, and my brother with whom my mother was pregnant, left Germany to begin a new life in America..

Those cheeks are a dead giveaway that I had been born on a farm.
 
My siblings who followed each year thereafter are Jaroslav, Joel, Mielan, Linda, then Jane in 1964. My brother had the most difficult time with his very Slavic name though he'd already been nicknamed Jerry by us.  Joel became Joey, and Mielan, Mickey.  As our neighborhood had been very Italian, as well as Irish and Jewish and since Milan was a familiar Italian city, he didn't receive the onslaught of name jokes. Linda and Jane had the least difficult time as they were typical American names, although Linda was shortened for my mother's, Gerlinda. 

Back to Petra. I often complained to my family and closest friends on how much I wished for a more familiar name.  I personally knew no one with that name.  My mother reminded me that there were many in Germany, but I had no relatives by that name, nor pen pals. 
 
In school I'd been complimented regularly by my teachers who were proud to have such a wonderful student, but a boy who sat in front of me in my 4th and 5th grade homerooms and had been left back three times and three sizes too tall and mature for his desk, would tease me daily when he'd turn with his usual greeting, "Morning Petrified;" a word I'd learned was to turn something to stone.  Ugh!  It was getting worse, not better. 

I consider myself more spiritual now, but then, I learned from the Bible, the disciple Peter, was the rock, but, yet, no connection to my name was made.  It was in the 8th grade on my first day of school, my homeroom teacher had each of us introduce ourselves to our new classmates, which pretty much contained most students from previous years.  When she came to me, she made the declaration which would change my life. "Did you know, class, Petra is the feminine of Peter?  A beautiful name, Petra." Stunned, I smiled back at her, and thought, Thank you! You don't know how much that means to me! And felt lighter and freer from the spiritual name prison I'd made for myself.  It's getting better.

I then began to research the name, Petra.  My first encounter was with Webster's dictionary definition: rock, of Greek origin. And a city by the name of Petra in the country of Jordan.  I scoured through our encyclopedia Britannica, and beheld some of the most beautiful and intriguing pictures of this very important ancient city which is now one of The Seven Wonders of the World.  I no longer felt the name, Petra, so obscure, and reveled in it for the first time.

Yet, I hadn't met another human with the name, and to make my suggested trip to Germany just to seek out other Petras was silly, but I was serious.  "I'll just have to fly there on my own, Mutti." "One day," she replied.

Then it finally happened. I was about 22 years old when I began working in Manhattan.  Down the hall from my office was another office.  As a door opened and a woman called out to another who was heading for the elevators, "Petra, I'll meet you there in 10 minutes."  As we stood near one another, "Did I hear correctly?  Your name is Petra?"  "Yes," she said. "Why?" "Because  my name is Petra and you're the first Petra I've met in my 22 years of life." "Really?  Why don't you join Diane and me for lunch." "Great."  Once we got started, we couldn't stop.  We shared our different backgrounds, she of Spanish descent (and found it's a very Spanish name), and remained friends until she married and moved out-of-state.

And since, there have been no shortage of Petra sightings. 

The Petra Doll


Made in Germany, der Kurs (of course)! And a cheeky
imitation of the Barbie doll.  Were my sister I surprised and amused when we saw it sitting on a flea market table in New Hope, PA.  I never owned a Barbie doll, and I wasn't about to start with a Petra doll!  But they're out there...






Petra, the band,
is an American music group regarded as a pioneer of the Christian rock and contemporary Christian music genres. Formed in 1972, the band took its name from the Greek word for "rock". Though they disbanded formally in 2006, incarnations of Petra have played reunion shows in the years since and released an album in November 2010. In 2013, the band returned from retirement with a new drummer Cristian Borneo and recorded a new song titled "Holy is Your Name", as well as going back on tour.


The Coloring Song, Petra

PETRA KELLY (Quick Facts)

ABOUT
German politician who helped found Germany's Green Party and was awarded the Right Livelihood Award in 1982.
PETRA FELKE (Quick Facts)

PETRA ECCLESTONE


I Am On the Rock, Petra

A few of my favorite songs which truly represent what and who I am.


My Way, Frank Sinatra (my decision in caring for my elderly parents)


Non, je ne regrette rien, Edith Piaf (in matters of love and life)


A Hard Rains Are Gonna Fall, Bob Dylan (for life and the environment)


Knockin' on Heaven's Door, Bob Dylan (how I felt after coming out of a 3 day/night coma, 1987)


One Step Into the Light, The Moody Blues (my mantra after the coma)


As Time Goes By, Casablanca (written by Herman Hupfield)  (dedicated to wonderful friendships)



Sunday, October 6, 2013

MY SCHISM WITH ISM, a personal essay




"Formalism, by being an 'ism' kills form by hugging it to death." Peter Viereck, American Poet/Writer.

In my opinion, ism is the most powerful word in the English language in its ability to transform an ordinary word into the extraordinary. Consider absolute to absolutism or person versus personalism. In my life, isms impelled a gamut of emotions and circumstances ranging from paranoia to pleasure, and instability to success.

                                                               ~~~~~~~

Fascism loomed before I was born. During WWII, my father, then an athletic 16-year-old, had been captured by the Nazis during their invasion of Yugoslavia, imprisoned in a labor camp in Germany, and at the end of the war, freed by British forces. For years thereafter, my family was subjected to his waves of neuroticism.  "Nazism is an acronym for the National Armed Zealots in the Slaughter of Mankind,"or some version of that, he'd rant.

I was born in the wake of McCarthyism when my parents emigrated to the United States. In our search for Americanism, my siblings and I ducked and covered from communism and nuclear fallout. I prayed catechism would allay my fears of an apocalypse, only to conclude after having been born in sin which would evoke God's wrath to condemn me to burn in hell eternally, that religious fundamentalism was a euphemism for sadism.

I sought solace in aestheticism, and felt blessed when I found Emily. "Wild Nights - Wild Nights!" I wished were mine, but plagiarism weighed heavily on my consciousness thanks to my English teacher's fanaticism regarding the subject. "Perhaps she'd been incarcerated for same?" I often wondered. Surely, it was no coincidence she took the class on a field trip to our local prison to watch the cell doors slam shut. "From all the Jails the Boys and Girls ecstatically leap..."

I threw in my pen and replaced it with a brush of Cubism, Pointillism, too. In my Junior year of high school, I explored eroticism, not with boys but by painting noses in every conceivable position. When a friend asked about one in particular, I replied, "Isn't it obvious? World peace through nudism."

In the 1960's, hipsterism surfaced. Through Allen Ginsberg's poems of freedom and Bob Dylan's songs of protest along with Dr. Martin Luther King's and the Beatles' chants of love and peace, plus a pinch of Timothy Leary's "turn on, tune in, drop out," revolution was in the air.  Many chose activism over pacifism. I, along with my college sisters, protested the Vietnam War with love-ins and flowers, while striving for equality in feminism. That I could choose whether to burn my bra may now seem trivial, but considering I could finally declare my cup size with some degree of certainty, was truly liberating.

Violence grew domestically, some resorting to militantism in fighting against racism. The line between occultism and amoralism grew faint as the fallout of the sixties rendered hundreds following gurus and teenagers starring in porn flicks. Just as quickly as they were shacking up, couples were breaking up; marriages seemingly coming to a standstill. Colloquialisms alluding to sexism and chauvinism were exchanged between heterosexuals while homosexualism strove for its own identity.

By the time I married, my generation turned its attention to pragmatism and materialism. Should a woman wait until after a career to have children? A house before children? Become a millionaire before children? Buy mutual funds or government bonds? Open an IRA or a CD? What awards...excuse me, returns could I expect if I'd invest in one thousand shares of MTV stocks? Just a few blue chips off the old block of capitalism.

While factories belched wealth in the production of computers and Nikes worldwide, globalism was reduced to a simplism by Bell Atlantic's "We're all connected." Environmentalism burst forth with urgency to the realism of acid rain, irradiated foods, and global warming. Greenpeace was on the march and I joined in, aghast as rain forests fell prey to expansionism.

Not normally affable to narcissism, I admit to Petraisms which affirm endearments which Gracie Allen could only have understood.  Gracie: "George, wasn't the Phil Risutto delicious?" Cigar in hand, George: "You mean the shrimp risotto?" Yes, George, the Phil Risutto with Pataki mushrooms." "Say good night, Gracie." "Good night."

But to quote a Yogism, "it ain't over til it's over," realizes the journey can be excruciating. My divorce was less painful than the tortuous political climate between conservatism and liberalism. Constitutionalism tolerates freedom of speech and expression, not indifference to the poor and inequality. Has altruism become an anachronism? Or is humanitarianism, merely, just another ism.


Copyright 2011
Petra Michelle