31 January, 2007
17 January, 2007
Provenance and effervescent
My brother is two years younger than me and, for as long as I can remember, he's been smarter than me. Which, now, is really cool. But when you're little, it's kind of embarrassing.
Recently my brother used the word "provenance" in reference to my grandfather's organ that he was helping me move into our new house. I have no idea what he's talking about. "Don't you watch the 'Antiques Roadshow'?" he asks. Well, I do sometimes, but I somehow tend to tune out words that I don't know the meaning of. So then my brother decides to help me improve my vocabulary by encouraging me to use the word in conversation to help me remember. Seein's how it sounds so French, and I'm all about learning French, you would think that I could remember this word. But I don't. I have a really hard time remembering the word whenever I find some opportunity to use it in a sentence. And I see the word all the time now, so I don't know how I missed it before. As an example, here is an article on Wikipedia about a really interesting painting by Jan van Eyck, and the article has a section on Provenance.
And for our other French word of the day, we're going to learn the word effervescent.
When I was in the hospital, and sick from the pain medication, I asked them to take me off the IV and bring me pills for pain instead. This, of course, was not an easy conversation for me to have in French. But that night, the nurse brings me a pill in a foil wrapper, and when I open it, the thing is the size of a 2 euro coin, which makes it bigger than a quarter and smaller than those old 50 cent pieces that I used to see sometimes with Eisenhower on them. I can hardly swallow a regular-sized aspirin, so how am I going to swallow this? I can the nurse back and ask her if I can bite the pill, and I make biting motions with my mouth. "No, no, no -- effervescent."
I look on the package that was there in my lap, and sure enough, written plain as day, is the word effervescent. I should have tried to read the instructions. I shouldn't have assumed that I wouldn't understand the French written there. The nurse asks if I understand effervescent. I tell her that I understand, and I put the pill in my cup of water to prove it to her. She asks me what the word is in English, and I tell her a bold-face lie, "Je ne sais pas" --- I don't know.
Sometimes I have serious doubts about my ability to learn French when I have so much trouble with the English.
ttfn
Recently my brother used the word "provenance" in reference to my grandfather's organ that he was helping me move into our new house. I have no idea what he's talking about. "Don't you watch the 'Antiques Roadshow'?" he asks. Well, I do sometimes, but I somehow tend to tune out words that I don't know the meaning of. So then my brother decides to help me improve my vocabulary by encouraging me to use the word in conversation to help me remember. Seein's how it sounds so French, and I'm all about learning French, you would think that I could remember this word. But I don't. I have a really hard time remembering the word whenever I find some opportunity to use it in a sentence. And I see the word all the time now, so I don't know how I missed it before. As an example, here is an article on Wikipedia about a really interesting painting by Jan van Eyck, and the article has a section on Provenance.
And for our other French word of the day, we're going to learn the word effervescent.
When I was in the hospital, and sick from the pain medication, I asked them to take me off the IV and bring me pills for pain instead. This, of course, was not an easy conversation for me to have in French. But that night, the nurse brings me a pill in a foil wrapper, and when I open it, the thing is the size of a 2 euro coin, which makes it bigger than a quarter and smaller than those old 50 cent pieces that I used to see sometimes with Eisenhower on them. I can hardly swallow a regular-sized aspirin, so how am I going to swallow this? I can the nurse back and ask her if I can bite the pill, and I make biting motions with my mouth. "No, no, no -- effervescent."
I look on the package that was there in my lap, and sure enough, written plain as day, is the word effervescent. I should have tried to read the instructions. I shouldn't have assumed that I wouldn't understand the French written there. The nurse asks if I understand effervescent. I tell her that I understand, and I put the pill in my cup of water to prove it to her. She asks me what the word is in English, and I tell her a bold-face lie, "Je ne sais pas" --- I don't know.
Sometimes I have serious doubts about my ability to learn French when I have so much trouble with the English.
ttfn
14 January, 2007
No Handies in America
My brother and sister bought me an MP3 player for Christmas, and I'm working on downloading my 100 free songs that came with it. I think I'm going to try to find some of the songs that I would hear on the bus in Luxembourg. I would never buy the CD for some of these people. But I'm thinking that I would like to have a copy of my theme song from Luxembourg --- "So You Had a Bad Day" by Daniel Powter.
I always assumed that I could be the last person in America to own an MP3 player or a cell phone. (And no, dearest brother and sister, this isn't a plea for you to buy me a cell phone.) It's amazing to me how many web sites and businesses and friends want my cell phone number. They look at you like you've just spit on them when you say you don't have a cell phone.
In Luxembourg, no one understands the phrase "cell phone." To most of the people in Luxembourg, they are "mobiles" or "mobile phones." Except the British. They will understand when you say "mobile," but the term they prefer is "handie." It took me a while to catch onto this phrase. I wasn't sure how to respond the first time I heard, "Well don't you have your handie on you?" I gradually got used to this term, and when we got back to the States, I had to be careful to not to say something like, "Did you remember to turn off the handie?"
I overheard some of the British ladies talking about my lack of a handie after church one day when we were still in Luxembourg. The one lady was feeling very sorry for me that I didn't have one. Her companion said, "Apparently, they don't really believe in handies in America." So somewhere in Luxembourg there is a group of British ladies who think that the only Americans who use mobile phones are in the movies --- that "real" Americans don't have mobile phones.
It's always amazing to me what a little bit of cultural exchange can do to clear up misconceptions of foreign cultures. :-)
ttfn
I always assumed that I could be the last person in America to own an MP3 player or a cell phone. (And no, dearest brother and sister, this isn't a plea for you to buy me a cell phone.) It's amazing to me how many web sites and businesses and friends want my cell phone number. They look at you like you've just spit on them when you say you don't have a cell phone.
In Luxembourg, no one understands the phrase "cell phone." To most of the people in Luxembourg, they are "mobiles" or "mobile phones." Except the British. They will understand when you say "mobile," but the term they prefer is "handie." It took me a while to catch onto this phrase. I wasn't sure how to respond the first time I heard, "Well don't you have your handie on you?" I gradually got used to this term, and when we got back to the States, I had to be careful to not to say something like, "Did you remember to turn off the handie?"
I overheard some of the British ladies talking about my lack of a handie after church one day when we were still in Luxembourg. The one lady was feeling very sorry for me that I didn't have one. Her companion said, "Apparently, they don't really believe in handies in America." So somewhere in Luxembourg there is a group of British ladies who think that the only Americans who use mobile phones are in the movies --- that "real" Americans don't have mobile phones.
It's always amazing to me what a little bit of cultural exchange can do to clear up misconceptions of foreign cultures. :-)
ttfn
04 January, 2007
Nationality in The English Patient
The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje is set at the end of World War II in an Italian villa that temporarily houses four very different people: the mysterious English patient of the title, burned beyond recognition; Hana, an exhausted army nurse from Canada; David Caravaggio, an Italian friend of Hana's father; and Kip, an Indian sapper with the British military sent to the area to clear the mines and unexploded bombs left behind by the Germans.
It's a story about books and literature and how they affect out lives. As much as I've been reading since I've been home full-time, I really appreciate that idea.
It's also a story about nationality. The title character in the book wants to create an identity that is completely separate from nationality. He works in the desert with a team of people from different countries, and nationality doesn't get in the way of friendship for these men. To him, his family and his nationality become completely irrelevant. In the desert, and again at the Italian villa, he finds an oasis where he can connect to others without his family's identity and his nationality getting in the way. This is also true for Kip who has found it possible to get along in English society when he finds the right people, people who judge him for want he can do instead of the color of his skin. However, the war shatters the ideas that you can be separate from your nationality. As much as everyone is trying to get away from who they really are, they realize that they can't do that forever.
It's also a story about nationality, and trying to escape from bad circumstances (essentially, in this case, what happened in the war). As someone who moved overseas and understands bad circumstances (though not as bad as their circumstances during the war), I understand the power of nationality in a foreign country. You really **can't** get away from who you are and how you were raised, and it becomes very clear when you are living in a foreign country.
I won't recommend this book to the kids until they are older. I don't think my kids have read enough literature yet to understand everything. Ondaatje draws from several works of literature such as Anna Karenina and Kim, and knowing the plots of these other books really helps to understand what is happening in The English Patient. It's also good to read The Histories by Herodotus first, and two of my kids have read him already. But when the kids are older, I think that they'll understand this book and what it says about nationality.
I do recommend this book, especially for people who love literature. And I especially recommend it if you've seen the movie. Call me a nerd, but the book is much better than the movie.
ttfn
It's a story about books and literature and how they affect out lives. As much as I've been reading since I've been home full-time, I really appreciate that idea.
It's also a story about nationality. The title character in the book wants to create an identity that is completely separate from nationality. He works in the desert with a team of people from different countries, and nationality doesn't get in the way of friendship for these men. To him, his family and his nationality become completely irrelevant. In the desert, and again at the Italian villa, he finds an oasis where he can connect to others without his family's identity and his nationality getting in the way. This is also true for Kip who has found it possible to get along in English society when he finds the right people, people who judge him for want he can do instead of the color of his skin. However, the war shatters the ideas that you can be separate from your nationality. As much as everyone is trying to get away from who they really are, they realize that they can't do that forever.
It's also a story about nationality, and trying to escape from bad circumstances (essentially, in this case, what happened in the war). As someone who moved overseas and understands bad circumstances (though not as bad as their circumstances during the war), I understand the power of nationality in a foreign country. You really **can't** get away from who you are and how you were raised, and it becomes very clear when you are living in a foreign country.
I won't recommend this book to the kids until they are older. I don't think my kids have read enough literature yet to understand everything. Ondaatje draws from several works of literature such as Anna Karenina and Kim, and knowing the plots of these other books really helps to understand what is happening in The English Patient. It's also good to read The Histories by Herodotus first, and two of my kids have read him already. But when the kids are older, I think that they'll understand this book and what it says about nationality.
I do recommend this book, especially for people who love literature. And I especially recommend it if you've seen the movie. Call me a nerd, but the book is much better than the movie.
ttfn
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