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Birthdays, Everyday Life, Making Conversations, Parents, The Ethel Cotton Course In Conversation
“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.” — Leonardo da Vinci
It was a good party, small in number but lively in conversation, as seven gathered to celebrate my mother-in-law’s seventy-fifth birthday.
As college football and holiday movie talk got traded around the table, I wondered of the changes witnessed by Janice over the last seventy-five years. I wondered about her glad times and what she was most proud of.
And looking around our table, I also began to wonder how birthdays were observed in the year she was born.
Janice is a big believer in keeping life simple. She didn’t want a big fuss made on her account. What she wanted was a simple birthday meal; and while we honored her request, I imagine a Sunday birthday dinner seventy-five years ago would have been a more elaborate affair.
Certainly, they would have dined using cloth napkins rather than paper; and china rather than Chinet®. And surely Sunday dress has become more casual in Janice’s lifetime, as at least half of us were wearing faded blue jeans to mark this special occasion. It made me wonder whether table conversation had also become simpler over time.
I knew I had a book at home that could answer my question. Published the same year as Janice’s birth, the 1935 edition of The Ethel Cotton Course of Conversation is bulky, containing twelve lengthy lessons. Lesson Nine offered the information I was seeking — five rules to observe for conversation at home:
1. …Discuss topics only of interest to all.
2. Introduce a subject of special interest to one member of the family and see if you can succeed in getting the others to take part.
3. Try to discover what each has done of particular interest during the day.
4. When callers are present, share a joy, not a sorrow, except to ask for advice.
5. Ask a leading question of each person present to permit [each] to express themselves.
It appears good conversation, seventy-five years ago, was not such a simple affair.
an everyday life 
Remember Sunday dinners when you lived in the city and came down to Granny’s . Lots of times Mary Sue and Ann came with you. I might have Teresa there. Everyone was always welcome on Sunday’s. Granny used to tell how after church they might get together with 2 or 3 families and have a picnic. Everyone brought what they had already cooked.
Jane,
I do recall your friends being there — Judy, Kay from Meeker, Theresa of course. Did I just name your bridesmaids?
I sort of remember bringing Ann but not Mary Sue.
But it WAS good to bring whoever we wanted without need of asking. There was always plenty of food and life at Granny’s was casual and accepting.
I like the story of these impromptu picnics. It’s one I’ve never heard before.
Did they eat at church or go to a park or one of the party’s homes? Sounds fun — a party without planning.
Janell
I guess they went to someone’s yard or pond and went fishing. Your Mother used to say that was where she learned to make pimento cheese. My bridesmaids were Kay, Teresa and Cheryl (whose husband is a doctor and doesn’t communicate with any of us peons anymore.) Judy E. didn’t go the church then so she never came home with me.
Jane,
I love the thought of them just going wherever — and that Mom learned to make pimento cheese from these informal gatherings.
I’d forgotten about Cheyrl. She was tall, wasn’t she? It’s easy to lose connections — but age is a great leveling field — perhaps Cheryl may be more receptive to friendship these days.
Janell
I like the quotation from daVinci. I suspect he and Coco Chanel would have gotten on famously.
Reading over the guidelines for good conversation, what strikes me is the focus on inclusion, comfort and “the other”. Whether it’s at Starbucks or the dinner table, a party or an informal gathering, so much of what passes for conversation today can be boiled down to “look at me”. There’s a reason so many folks grin at the well known punchline: “But enough about me. What do you think about me?”
I especially enjoyed the caution to discuss joys rather than sorrows if a stranger was in the group. I have the feeling the point was to save the guest embarassment.
There’s a certain modesty to the advice I very much like. Many of those old-fashioned techniques would work today, if they were given half a chance.
Linda,
The course is at least 200 pages long, which tells me that folks 75 years ago took the art of conversation seriously.
I love to listen to another person’s story. It’s such a privilege and joy that they should trust me with it. Yet, in a world of digital communication and soundbites — Twitters and Texting and email and even blogs — I wonder how conversation will change over the course of our lives? What a great tragedy it would be to not hear the sound of another’s voice…
Janell