I vividly remember during on the first weeks of Spanish class when my teacher tried to explain the meaning of the word pasear. I remember this because she said there was no equivalent in English. I felt indignant, as if she were indicating a feeling of superiority due to our -- all English language speakers -- lack of vocabulary. Maybe she did feel superior, I don't think that's the case, but I just will put the possibility out there. I like the word pasear and, no, I have never figured out a good English equivalent. The closest may be "stroll" but that's not quite it either. Then again, there are words in English that are succinct which have to be translated by a phrase in Spanish. Coming to this final realization took me some time.
I no longer think of differences in language as a good-bad/better-worse contrast. However, I don't think I'm alone in this feeble attempt to rate or value languages. Different languages are cool and interesting, might I say, necessary, because of the differences. If I could just plop Spanish words over English words to express myself then there would be nothing exciting about learning a new language or figuring out how language reflects culture. Pasear also has one of my favorite characteristics of Spanish, the -ear ending. You can change nouns into verbs by adding -ear. In this case paseo becomes pasear. Chisme (gossip) becomes chismear. And even Google becomes googlear or guglear. You want to know why? There was no word for Google in Spanish. Nanny nanny boo boo, Spanish language. Now it is time for me to rescind what I said in the previous paragraph. I obviously am still making languages compete!
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I heard Sue Monk Kidd interviewed on the Kojo Nnamdi Show. Luckily my library had her new book The Invention of Wings so I got to jump from the impressions from the interview right into the novel. The novel is built around the story of Sarah and Angelina Grimké but also builds space for the voice of Sarah's slave, Hetty "Handful" Grimké. The story is well crafted, ends with a fairy tale ending of what we wish had happened. Monk keeps the essence the history while weaving in conversations and possibilities. Most powerful for me was the story behind the story in the author's note where she calls attention to Judy Chicago's** assertion that "women's achievements [have] been repeatedly erased through history." I grew up around tales of the abolitionist movement and never heard of these sisters who were both early female abolitionists and feminists. They were well known in their time. They were left out in the retelling of history. If our girls and women need models to follow, research show us that the greater the number of role models exists the more likely girls will choose certain paths*, we need representation of all of our different selves represented in our history.. *I can't find the study, but I read one where there are greater number of female engineers there were greater numbers of girls who were interested in science and math and not just daughters of the engineers. Also in one of Malcolm Gladwell's books, I think it was The Tipping Point, he writes about when a certain percentage of college graduates is reached in a low income neighborhood then greater school success is a correlated consequence. Role models matter. This means erasing role models has consequences. ** For even more on Judy Chicago Immigration or what to do about the influx of illegal immigrants. Here are my two cents. Most Americans have never had to deal with our immigration system. Which means when they rant against either side of the problem, they don't know what kind of red tape we are talking about. I promise you it is most unwelcoming even for those with fairly straight-forward cases. How do I know? I married someone and dealt with getting my own residency papers in his country and then getting his in the US.
Let's talk first about immigration overseas. When I worked and lived in Panama I met a lot of illegal immigrants -- all of them American. If you want to meet a bunch of entitled brats, go to another country and look for Americans who are working overseas. There are many who are there legally. But those who aren't are always complaining about how difficult and unfair the system is. Really, they do. Do they try to learn the culture and language of their host country? Some do, some don't. A lot of time is spent complaining about the new culture and finding fault in it. I just think it is a two way street. In addition, in the US I have met a lot of third plus generation people who talk about their ancestors who apparently all learned English when they got to the States and all came here legally. Let's set something straight here. They didn't all learn English. Some did, some didn't. Many settled in immigrant communities and maintained their culture as much as they could including language. Also, not all of them came here legally and, guess what, it was EASIER to come here legally then. It wasn't easy, it was easier once you got here to be considered legal even if life itself was very difficult. My husband entered the US legally. We had a relatively easy immigration process. However, once we went to our appointment two hours away from where we live and they told us that the quota of people allowed in that day was up. We were there on time for the appointment, on the day of our appointment, but we had to reschedule. We went the next time and they had given us an appointment on a date they weren't actually open. This meant we had to make this round trip of four hours three times. Why? His fingerprints had expired. This is the kind of unnecessary hoops you jump through when you deal with immigration. My story is the least of the indignities that I have heard heaped on people who have done everything correctly in the immigration process. They can make you do whatever they want with no repercussions because there is no incentive for efficiency and transparency. Why do people come here illegally? I can only imagine it is because the legal path is too fraught with impossibility. Sure, we don't want a free for all, but as long as there are desperate situations, people will seek to come through our borders. If there is a certain death of hope at home, people risk all for hope. In the future, we will call them heroes. I don't really have a solution. I just know that the current system obviously doesn't serve anyone who actually has to use it. Try it sometime and see. I dare you. Before I became a mom I thought that somehow I would magically acquire a knack and desire to do crafts with any children I might have. Even though I was not nor ever have been a particularly crafty person, I thought I would figure it out, want to youtube it, get a book from the library, or something. I guess I thought it just came with the genetics of momdom. What was I thinking?
Over the years I admit that I did get some books from the library, I have even looked online. The result? Usually the realization that I was missing some craft go-to product that any self-respecting mom/craft person would have around the house. And, that's as far as I generally get. There are a few things I do know how to do. Cut a snowflake. Even I have paper and scissors. I sit here thinking, hoping to come up with another example. I take that back. There is one thing I know how to do: cut a snowflake. Oh, I thought of another one. I can make a mean friendship bracelet. Oh yeah! A few weeks ago, my aunt -- who has crafting skills that easily surpass mine -- showed up with a long expired jar of peanut butter. She couldn't stand the idea of throwing it away and thought I could make peanut butter bird feeders with my daughter. There was an "ah-ha" moment and a potential theory. Is crafting the logical end result of a (potential) hoarder? Just a thought, I won't be offended if you disagree. Now I have this expired peanut butter. I actually have a lot of pine trees across the street from my house. I didn't have any twine, but I do have some yarn. The peanut butter didn't taste rancid, the wildlife should be safe. We hung the offerings from trees and bushes in our yard. I have a feeling the only bird that is going to enjoy our offering is a hairy gray squirrel-bird. More importantly though, I may have planted a false memory in my daughter's mind that she and I did crafts when she was little. My family has skin that seems to get every skin thing possible - fungus things, strange red things and most commonly, eczema. Did you know that eczema means "very dry skin?" This makes me wish I had become a doctor. How cool to state the obvious by giving it a different name and getting paid for it. Yeah, that would be almost as good as being a sports' announcer and getting paid to say, "Well, X team just has to make more baskets than team Y to win this game." No $@#$%% kidding. Anyway, back to the dry skin. We have tried a lot of different products with varying degrees of success. One day my aunt suggested coconut oil. I looked in the skin cream aisle and found a measly amount of coconut oil skin cream for a relatively high price. Then I moved into a food aisle and discovered Lou Ana Pure Coconut Oil. It actually works pretty well. Never tried it for cooking. I love re-purposing! When I was little, my siblings and I had lice. With that very strong insecticide that has been banned for agricultural use, we defeated those little buggers. Last summer when we were struck with lice (no, not my siblings this time), I was not deterred and stayed calm. Once again evil insecticide to the rescue. What I had not realized was that since that prior lice experience these critters have gotten resistant. What is one to do? Once again, back to the food aisle. It turns out several hours of mayonnaise (not the low fat kind) in said lice ridden hair does the trick. And no, I did not waste Hellmann's on the lice, I just went for the generic brand. The lice are not label conscious.
A few weeks ago my grandmother showed me a box of letters. "Those are letters from your grandfather." These would be letters that he wrote her during his time overseas during World War II. I don't know much about his time there, but I do know part of his job was driving an ambulance. This often meant deciding which bodies to pick up, deciding if injured soldier could be saved from his wounds. The letters are there. I have not read them. Maybe I should while she is still alive, and I can still ask her questions. This week I finished the project of typing up my fellow Peace Corps volunteer's letters. Well, finished is not entirely correct because I just found another one to type up. There are bound to be others. All in all worthwhile just to spend some time remembering. She had also made sketches in some of the letters. These I scanned and added to the text. And this project has led to another. Now I am sorting through files of letters that I received during that time.
My mom wrote to me weekly, usually on the blue international fold over itself paper. My older brother wrote exclusively on the back of some other paper, sometimes writing over whatever had been originally printed on the paper. Then there are the typed letters as my friends discovered new fonts in the early years of the desktop computer. I feel like I am holding onto memories and a piece of personal histories, pieces of which that if and when I reread the letters, I will know more intimately than their authors if they even remember anymore. In contrast, just this week was my birthday. So far I have received one card in the mail. Two phone calls leading up to the day. One phone call on the day and another the day after. My family and one colleague at work wished me a Happy Birthday in person. I think there was an email, maybe two, not counting the one from my car insurance company... And all the rest of my well wishers used Facebook. This is not a complaint, it is a contrast. No longer am I left holding a tangible record to store away in a box in some closet. Instead I am more likely to delete these messages or archive them in the seemingly endless space somewhere out there. My FB greetings came from people who would have in the past sent me a note and from others I would never still be in touch with if it weren't for social media. I dutifully went through each greeting and clicked "like." I think that is what you are supposed to do. Showing my age here once again; don't know the social norms of this internet thing. Then to the people with whom I don't have regular contact, I wrote a short message back. Which in some cases resulted in them writing me immediately. Nice but also yikes. Do I write back? Right away? Tomorrow? They can see I am on line, will they be insulted if I ignore them? Yesterday I wrote two letters. One, a condolence card to a friend. I don't think I am ready for that to be left to an email exchange. The other was to my nephew. I sent him a note and enclosed a piece of his artwork that my father sent me when he (my nephew) was two years old. I think 30 days are up, or should be. Conclusion? This is not an area where I show a lot of grit. However, creativity for short cuts? Oh, yeah. I did do something most days through the 30 days which is actually unusual for me. A small victory there. And I discovered a few things along the way.
I can plank longer in the evening than in the morning. Planking makes me get hot. (think temperature, not sex) Rest days actually do something. After a rest day, I could often push past a previous limit. Being able to read the timing device while I plank is very helpful. Saying the "ABCs" is the scope of my mental abilities while planking. Life can be broken down into 5 second intervals. Am I now miraculously lithe and strong? No. 30 days are still only 30 days. The future will tell whether I have set something in motion that I will continue. How do things look on the scale? Well, I have not lost any more, but I have also not gained back what I initially lost. The other day it was snowing and someone asked me how to say "blizzard" in Spanish. Having learned Spanish in a tropical climate it did not trip on my tongue. I looked it up and "tormenta de nieve" is what I found. Storm of snow? Not very sexy. I guess blizzards are just not a big part of life in the world of Spanish. If the question had been about rain, then I would have had lots of words. It is not that there are not words for winter things in Spanish, I just don't know them.
Veraguas -- mildew, also a name of a province in Panama. Moho -- mold Aguacero -- downpour Llovizna -- drizzle Neblina -- fog And there are even words you learn that are byproducts of the weather... Paraguas -- umbrella Zanja -- ditch (for the run-off) Alcantarilla -- ditch specifically on side of road for run-off Empapado -- drenched Anyway, you get the idea. Environment shapes language and also I have found it is important to have language for your environment. When I went to Panama my Spanish skills were limited so I did not have language to say things in Spanish. More difficult was when I did not have a word for something in Spanish or English. A kind of tree, simply a tree because it did not know the name. The birds were just birds since they were all new species for me. Life around us takes on a different focus when we have the names for things. I still don't know the names for all of the trees and birds in Panama or in the US, but learning a few brings give me a different lens with which to look at nature. Thinking about the words I know for winter when compared to the language I have for rain, I wonder about other vacuums I must have in all areas of my vocabulary and, by my logic, my experiences. |
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