Imprinting - Twilight

I was unfamiliar with the term ‘imprinting’ when I read the Twilight series of novels by Stephenie Meyer. I understood it to be a strong infatuation, but it was more than that in the story setting of a supernatural fantasy world. I wanted to know what the teenaged and young adults were reading and raving about. This was a long time ago, when my daughter was fourteen or fifteen years old. The film versions quickly hit the cinema and helped to raise the profile of lead actor, Robert Pattinson. He was an attractive vampire.

Quoting from online information,

“In Twilight, imprinting is a supernatural, involuntary soulmate bond that occurs exclusively among the Quileute shape-shifters. Where a wolf first phases, they may instantly imprint on someone, completely overriding their own free will and severing previous attachments.”

Character Jacob, a wolf, attempts to explain imprinting to character, Bella, wife of vampire. He has previously been in love with Bella, but now is imprinting on her new born daughter, Renesmee,

“It’s not like love at first sight, really it’s more like…gravity moves…suddenly. It’s not the earth holding you here anymore. She does. You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that’s a protector, or a lover, or a friend.”

 The books gave me an insight into what some impressionable teenagers were reading and watching. As usual with me, I preferred the novels to the films. Imprinting, up to now, isn’t a word in my regular use.

I thought of imprinting as being a family likeness, the way we take after our parents in looks and traits. I met a little girl years ago when I first worked in a school. She was four or five years old and an absolute carbon copy of a girl I had known when I was a child in another town. Many years passed and the little girl was grown up when I discovered that her mother was the girl from my childhood.

I found this poem,

 Imprinting Stare

I sit upon the earthen floor,
Staring up at my first vision.
My true emotion revealed.
But as I imprint,
I am torn away
My delicate eyes burnt beyond the
Purpose of pain.

I am the butterfly,
Waiting to pervade the shell of my cocoon.
I am the spider,
Waiting with omnipotent patience,
To drink my fill.
I am the serpent,
Cursed with the destiny to slide among
The lowest beings.

But most of all,
I am Human,
Blessed with emotion, Cursed with Heartache,
I learn, live and love.
I am Man.
And I shall arise again.

Stuart Logan.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Charm - In Search of Charm

‘In Search of Charm’ by Mary Young. This book should have been returned to Palatine Secondary School library in 1970. Oops, my mistake, but now that I’ve dug it out from one of my many bookcases, I think I’ll read it again and see how the world has changed fifty odd years on. At school, we were encouraged to walk properly upright, shoulders back, no slouching. Deportment included doing this carrying a book on our heads. This was the sort of thing covered in the book. I remember learning the correct way to open and close a door when entering or exiting a room. I also remember that it was considered acceptable to smoke on a train, but not on a bus, and certainly not outside on the street. This was all aimed at girls becoming ladies. I’ve no idea what the boys did, if anything. They continued to charge about like apes.

I was an impressionable fifteen year old in 1970. I idolised Twiggy, though all I had in common with her was incredibly skinny legs and an eye for fashion. I didn’t have her gorgeous face, still don’t. I was a young lady, behaving mostly in a lady-like manner. I loved my trips to stay with family in London which would always include a visit to Carnaby Street where I would look for something delicate and floaty to wear. And beads, they were my signature accessory.

It’s obvious to me now, as a mature, hopefully lady-like woman, that I grew up in a time when girls were being trained, if that’s the right description, to become good wives. My aunt told me that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. I get by, but I’m not the Cordon Bleu that she once was. Luckily, I married a man who is an excellent cook and perfectly capable of making a delicious meal. Presenting ourselves as easy on the eye by looking nicely groomed was important, too. Um, for self-esteem, first.

A friend of my mother’s had a fascinating charm bracelet that gave me such joy to look at. It was gold and stuffed with many charms. Something had a folded ten-shilling note inside, something else a pound note. I’d never remember it all, but I loved looking at it and finding things I’d previously missed. It must have been worth a small fortune and it must have been really heavy. Just something that has stuck in my memory.

I expect that re-reading ‘In Search of Charm’ will fill me with horror. Women are equal. We can come out of the kitchen. I had my own mortgage when I was single.

I chose this poem because I liked it.  

The Charm

Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air,
Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair,
Then thrice three times tie up this true love’s knot,
And murmur soft ‘She will, or she will not.’
Go burn these pois’nous weeds in yon blue fire,
These screech-owl’s feathers and this prickling briar,
This cypress gathered at a dead man’s grave,
That all my fears and cares an end may have.
Then come, you fairies! Dance with me a round;
Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound.
In vain are all the charms I can devise:
She hath an art to break them with her eyes.

Thomas Campion (1567 – 1620)

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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