The LA Press Club Awards Ellen Snortland Journalist & Columnist Of The Year

They like me, they really like me!

The 66th SoCal Journalism Awards were held last night at DTLA’s fabled Millenium Biltmore Hotel; virtually everyone involved in print, broadcast and online journalism was there. I was up for four awards, winning “Best Print Columnist under 50,000 circulation” and … the Big One: “Journalist of the Year!” Here’s what the judges wrote regarding the Journalist of the Year award:

“With a sardonic sense of humor for some articles and poignant observations in others, Snortland’s pieces make for compelling reading.”

Nice! As for the columns, I submitted three; the award for Best Columnist is based on all of them. I am going to post all three, starting with the one below. Here’s what the judges wrote:

“Columnists have to engage a reader no matter the topic and also grant access to their own lives in ways that are not always easy. These columns, ranging from trans children telling their parents to Barbie through the eyes of an older woman to the awkward and hilarious family holidays, Ellen Snortland engaged and granted access with excellence. I finished reading her columns and felt like I had just talked to an old friend.”

A Holiday Party We’ll Never Forget

Warning: you may experience offspring discomfort

“You’re doing that gravy wrong,” Audrey said as she stood behind me, perusing the turkey pan drippings on the stove while the roux was bubbling. The smells of roast turkey filled our home. Taken aback, I ignored the kitchen intruder, a farshtunkene (it’s Yiddish — look it up!) kid, maybe in her late 20s. “I’ve always done gravy like this,” I said without looking at her as she left the kitchen to join the others in the dining room. I was down to the finish line of preparing a complex meal and was too jangled to engage.

Once seated at the table, one of our other guests began an anecdote about Boxing Day, to which Audrey said, “You’ve already told that story.” Indeed they had, over the appetizers. Everyone around the table froze. I said, “It’s a blessing that we have a conversation monitor here tonight.” It’s not the best retort, but a response nonetheless. Audrey is conventionally attractive and still lives with her folks. She would not look out of place in an Amish buggy, wearing a head scarf and modest long sleeves.

This happened at last year’s annual Boxing Day party, which we happily reinstated after two years off due to the pandemic. Our guest list included some relatively new friends we wanted to get to know better. The couple’s woman emailed and asked if they could bring their daughter, Audrey. “Of course,” I wrote back. Little did I know then that “Audrey” would soon become a codeword for my husband and me when we were around inappropriate social behavior. I still catch Ken’s eye, and we simultaneously mouth “Audrey” as we witness someone who, at the very least, is not reading the room or giving unsolicited, strange advice, and at the furthest end of the spectrum, they have even removed clothing. More on that later.

Back to Boxing Day. Audrey interrupted another guest’s sharing about their trip to Greece to lecture everyone on the latest studies about crows. Don’t get me wrong, I adore crows, but what they have to do with Greece still eludes me. Audrey then decamped to the living room alone.

My neuro-divergent radar started pinging the second Audrey walked in the door. She couldn’t look directly at anyone and barely said, “Hello.” For those of you who don’t know, neuro-divergent is the more respectful way of saying that someone is likely on the autistic spectrum. Audrey was a riveting example of how someone can almost derail a social event by not knowing social cues or having a basic grasp of etiquette.

Speaking of revised terminology, we’ve also learned about Dr. Asperger’s Nazi pedigree, so many of us no longer use “Asperger’s” to label high-functioning autism. Dr. Asperger remains a controversial figure: some argue we should cancel him, while others say he saved kids from the death camps by denoting them as “keepers.” One shudders to even think about it.

Which brings me to Audrey’s parents. They knew Audrey would be socially “different,” yet they said nothing beforehand. I don’t have a problem with “different” since I have neuro-divergence on both sides of my family. I’ve witnessed meltdowns, altercations, and frozen reactions between neuro-divergent and their impacted “normies” most of my life. I’ve dealt with a sister who, upon hearing of my impending marriage with my third husband, said, “I don’t understand what people see in you.” She is clearly on the spectrum and has no filter. It wasn’t until the last 20 years that we realized autism has many forms and expressions and is as individual as, well, individuals are.

Should Audrey’s parents have told me, “By the way, Audrey is off her meds right now and may have some surprising behaviors”? Maybe. The parents had no way of knowing I’d be accepting of their offspring, so I understand their non-disclosure.

What is the etiquette of bringing a guest with questionable behaviors to someone’s home? I remember a Thanksgiving when our married friends brought the husband’s brother. The husband took me aside and said, “We feel terrible for Tom and can’t stand the idea of his being alone on Thanksgiving. He drinks too much and cries a lot. It’s not personal.” Sure enough, Tom (not his real name) was well in his cups and weeping. He excused himself and sat on the front porch for the rest of the meal as he rocked in our rocker, drank, smoked and sobbed. I’m grateful that he wasn’t a mean drunk. I’m also thankful our friend gave me a “heads-up” about Tom.

The topper of our Boxing Day was that Audrey also drank a lot. We went into the living room for dessert, and there she was… shirtless. Unsure how to respond, we all pretended that the empress wore plenty of clothes. Truthfully, a bra and trousers are sufficient; the “what the heck?!” factor is what threw everyone. I doubt her parents knew what to say to her or us. I would have been a better host had I received a pre-emptive notice of possible Audrey-isms. And no, I wouldn’t have wanted them to leave her home for Boxing Day.

Fortunately, my gravy was just right, even without Audrey’s coaching.

Ellen Snortland teaches creative writing online and has a few rare openings in her classes. To get more information regarding tuition and schedule, she can be reached here.