Author Archive
ANY LANGUAGE BUT MY OWN
In responding to my previous blog, Terry and Leelah raised questions that inspire me to write about one of my gripes.
No, I don’t know the language used in Portugal. They are kind of enough – and happy enough, I guess, to have English-speaking guests – that they post signs in English, and often speak English.
Once I was pretty good at German, so in Austria and Germany I can understand the signage, and often what people are saying if they speak to me with enunciation one would use for a young child.
At one point I did study French – in fact, at many points – and with a lot of help I managed to pass the French exam on which my Ph.D. depended. (The German exam was easy.)
So what’s my gripe? Americans and their linguistic provincialism. That’s OK in a way. We aren’t nestled among countries that speak other languages, so it’s understandable that we don’t emphasize foreign languages in our schools where we could learn them easily when the brain is ready in our young years. It’s also understandable that our schools are beginning now to offer foreign languages. We are, obviously, becoming one world whether people like it or not.
What gripes me is the feeling on the part of some people that immigrants and visitors to the states “should” speak English – a demand we don’t put on ourselves when we travel. As a matter of fact, I make a point to thank people in other countries who speak to me in English.
Provincialism? One of my web friends identified herself as Norwegian. Her English is impeccable. In fact, she does most of her writing – at least what I see – in English. So I assumed she lived in Minnesota where the descendants of immigrants proudly declare themselves to be Norwegians, or Swedes, or Germans, or what have you. Bu no, she really is Norwegian.
These days I hear and see interviews on the media with people from all over the world. Guess what! They speak English. I often wonder if people listening appreciate that fact. What a gift to us that they speak our language.
OK, so this isn’t the well-organized piece I’d like to be writing, but I hope you get my drift.
One last story. My father who moved to the States from Sweden when he was 19 wouldn’t teach me Swedish. Why? Because he had suffered so much disdain for his Swedish accent. As a matter of fact, he went to college with two primary goals, one of which was to learn to speak English without an accent. And he did. The only piece left was a remnant of the delightful Scandinavian lilt. What is it about language snobbery that prevents our appreciating the skill and knowledge of multilingual folks?
Oh, I guess this is a p.s. It was in Bulgaria that we found very few (if any) signs in English. I’ll have my story in a later blog on how this affected our time there. Suffice it to say, the message is they aren’t yet crazy about entertaining English-speaking visitors. I guess that makes sense too – a country proudly re-establishing its heritage after years under the Ottoman empire and then Communist rule.
I’m told that when I write a letter of complaint, I should end it with a bit on what I want the recipient to do. So, what do I want us to do? At the very least, to appreciate the value of other languages as well as our own, to treat both with respect, and to do a better job than I have of learning languages other than English.
Time out for some photos. This time it’s Portugal which we visited July 16-20, 2013. I had no idea what a great and modern place we were destined to enjoy, and yet a wealth of history and beauty. This is just a sampling of what we saw. Remember, my photos are taken just for me to reminisce about where we’ve been. But I hope this will give you some of the feel.
First of all, take a look at the header. I was fascinated with the minimalist landscape — isolated trees, orderly rows of plantings. This photo I managed to get (out of many tries) from the moving car.
I’ve already blogged — with photos — about our first day in Portugal, so this is moving on to subsequent days. First to Silves with the Monchique Mountain and the beautiful clear waters.
And St. Vincent’s Lighthouse, Europe’s most southwestern point.
Next I waited while Doug clambered about the Moorish Castle.
So on to Beja where we spent a long time seeking the tourist office to help us find the castle. Finally another tourist who had a map from his hotel was able to direct us to the tourist office. Guess where it was — yup! at the castle. We got there just as it was about to close for lunch. Closing for lunch was a pretty common event in Portugal. Fortunately the cafe’s were open for lunch, for which I was always ready.
But we did get to see it after lunch. Again I mostly waited and explored at ground level while Doug clambered over the ramparts. (That little speck — well, bigger if you click on the photo — in the bright shirt and white hat is Doug.)
At our next stop — the museum — I picked up a strange but, I think, hauntingly lovely – photo. “Hauntingly” because the photo did things the original didn’t. What I photographed had a green patina. What my photo saw was some lovely color.
And on to Evora. If I remember correctly, that’s the place where we saw so many beautiful cork items. I would have loved to buy one of handbags, but the price and size were too much to deal with in the pocketbook and the suitcase. Anyway, the Roman Ruins were an interesting sight.
But more interesting by far was the Chapel of the Bones affiliated with St. Francis church. The sign told it like it is. “we bones that are here. We are waiting for yours.” Indeed, the structure consists of bones.
And the tiled stations of the cross. Everywhere in Portugal there was beautiful tile.
In St. Francis Church itself I managed to get a photo of the madonna, with her heart pierced by pain.
Finally on to Sintra with its Pena National Park.
And another Moorish Castle. Again the beautiful tile.
Next time I blog about the trip it will be Austria.
- No matter what happens, you’re not a victim. It’s up to you to determine your response.
- Embrace your life’s purpose. Make your own unique contribution that turns your environment into a better place and fulfills you.
- Make the reality your reality.
- Don’t be distracted by the overwhelmingly negative news around you. Instead, read The Intelligent Optimist.
- Don’t look back too often. Keep yourself open to today’s new opportunities.
- Listen to your friends and loved ones, but don’t become dependent on what others think of you.
- Be grateful for everything life has given you and for every step forward you can take.
- Make sure you laugh often. Don’t take yourself too seriously.
Page 77, The Intelligent Optimist, vol 11, Issue 3, May/June 2013
I hope these bullet points stir up stories for yourselves and to share here with the rest of us.
I’ve been relying lately on the “Don’t be distracted by the negative news…” point. I remember taking a journalism course in High School where I learned that good, happy events rarely make news.That’s even more true today when news is mostly done in sound bites where bad news seems to fit easily. The good tends to be on-going, not fitting into one or two sentences.
The suggestion made by the Intelligent Optimist to read itself is more than just marketing. It’s one place to retreat and focus on the positive changes occurring in the world that sometimes seems overwhelmingly dangerous and destructive.
So, I’ve been listening to music more and watching TV news less – giving my brain a break.
I have permission to share the following with you. I love the way this client finds ways to summarize her experiences. Telling me she has fertilizer in her shoes, she sent me the following e-mail rejoicing in the growth she is experiencing. I have, of course, modified it some to protect her identity.
I love that she has ceased fearing that dangerous word “power.” Too often people see power as “power over” rather than inner power experienced.
Dear Mona,
For the first time in my life, I feel the stirrings of empowerment –a very nice feeling! I’ve always had mixed emotions about the term empowerment. From a [very conservative] background, in which a woman is constantly taught to be submissive, to a mother who preached humility for woman and berated women with careers, to observing some women in business who lost all femininity and became very unpleasant pseudo men in the name of empowerment.
For me, being empowered is being pleasant, not a pleaser. It means having a personal plan and the guts to stick with the plan, as well as the guts to re-evaluate and change the plan if necessary. It’s doing the right thing, but not if the cost of doing the right thing violates my personal code of ethics. It’s making amends when needed, but also standing up for myself. It’s holding on, but also knowing when to let go….
And it’s still a work in progress…..for the rest of my life!
Thank you for listening!
I’d be so happy to hear comments from you who have had the aha experience of discovering the powerful meaning of “power.”
By the way, the header is a photo from our June trip to Santa Fe. No wonder Georgia O’Keefe loved to paint those beautiful colors.
Remember the old movies where the family gathered around the person in crisis, suffering high fever and approaching death? Usually there was a happy ending when the fever “broke” and the patient recovered.
Crisis: I’ve lived through so many in my lifetime. Oh, I’m not referring to pneumonia, or even personal crises. I’m referring to national and international crises. Like waiting in the New Haven, Connecticut railroad station for my boyfriend to meet me. My thoughts? We’ll never get married. I’ll never get to graduate school. We’ll all die when the atomic bomb drops on us. No, the 1950s were not a calm, peaceful time.
Korea: My boyfriend (a different one) sent letters home as he served in the “action” that never was officially a war. Always, at least once in a letter, he’d say, “Christ, we’ll all be killed.” It was a kind of mantra, I think, to ward off death.
The Cuban missile crisis. Now I had children for whose safety I feared. Sleepless nights of worry, even though I knew my worry had no power to stop “it.” – whatever “it” might turn out to be.
The 60s – Oh, the 60s. Now I look back and see the amazing changes that have happened – and the ones that haven’t. This could be a whole long blog all by itself recounting the changes in women’s lives, for example. (A subject on which I have more authority to speak than on racial changes.) Women lawyers, doctors, pharmacists, mail carriers, news reporters, commercial pilots, fire-fighters. police officers, – even chiefs of police. Women still earning less than men for jobs of equal value — not as far behind as they used to be. But I’ll save all that for another time.
The Iraq thing: Definitely kept me awake, watching powerless as that terrible period developed leaving behind an aftermath for which decades will find us paying the price.
OK. You get the idea. Now, of course, we are in another crisis. No – make that plural — crises. Technical advances changing the way we make a living – or don’t. “Global Weirding” and the related rejection of science. The rush to violence and the growing reactions against it.
I feel like I’m living in a maelstrom. And I feel like I’ve felt like this before. And I know that while I’m/we’re in it, we’re too close to see the effect it’s having on our evolution as a people, a nation, and a world. Even as a universe.
So, what’s this all about? I have learned to wait and see. Do what I can. Act as I believe is right and moral – knowing that some people think I’ve “got” it, and others believe I’m way off the mark – and that none of us individually has much power to stem the tide. But watching in awe as public opinion is making itself known. Ten years from now, maybe less, where we are heading will make sense in retrospect.
Someday the fever will break. The patient won’t die, but things will never be the same as they were. Change will happen, maybe for the better in the long run. And maybe more quickly than we expect. Just look at what’s happened to gay marriage. Maybe even our current rush to violence will “break” as more peaceful solutions prevail.
In the meantime, I’ll listen to music sometimes, instead of watching the daily din of news which will, of course, be bad, because the good stuff doesn’t make news. I’ll assume I and my world will be around long enough for “Mrs. Job” to find a new home and a new name, and even begin to make some money again.
And I’ll read the good news in my two favorite “positive-focusing” magazines: YES and ODE And wait for the day when the news media will be presenting some good news in spite of themselves.
It’s been a while since I returned, and I still don’t have all my photos arranged and accounted for, but I do have enough to start sharing my trip with you. So please first join me in Portugal.
Traveling often yields surprises, and Portugal was one of them. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t know what a luxurious place I was about to discover. Oh, maybe not all of Portugal, but certainly where we were staying. Now that I’m home, I googled Algarve which is the area we were in. I discovered it’s the most popular tourist destination in Portugal and one of the most popular in Europe. I also read that it’s the richest region in Portugal, after Lisbon and Madeira.
We had a timeshare week at Vilar do Golf— the most luxurious of the resorts we stayed in during our four weeks. It’s the closest thing to perfection I can remember enjoying. Not only did we each have our own room with a private bath, but the kitchen was supplied with everything one might want, including microwave, dishwasher, oven, an ample supply of glassware — some displayed in an attractive cabinet in the dining area — flatware, dinnerware, and — most special of all — a washer and dryer. Funny how it’s the little things that matter. They also supplied a drying rack on which I dried the laundry on the deck. I felt like I was playing house. (Actually every place we stayed in Europe supplied such a rack.)
There were other wonderful things people might enjoy at the resort. When we travel, however, we tend not to use the pools, exercise rooms, and other special places because our days are too filled with sightseeing.
But we certainly did enjoy the Bobby Jones restaurant the evening we arrived, tired and hungry. To tell the truth, I can’t remember what I ordered to eat, but I do remember ordering red wine. The server just told me he’d choose for me — a portuguese wine, of course. I’m not a connoisseur, but I do know what I like, and I liked that. In fact, I loved the way their wines were served with enthusiasm and pride wherever we ate in Portugal – usually selected for me by the server.
Bobby Jones is apparently a popular local restaurant, not there just to serve residents at Vilar do Golf. An impressive building at the end of an elegant and beautifully lighted path it provided live music and, as I recall, a floor for dancing. We just ate, but I’m sure it would be fun for anyone who might be getting ideas from what I’m saying here.
Now for a few photos. Our first day out we first explored the beach.
And crossed the bridge to the island.
On the way I spotted someone apparently capturing his dinner. If all went as it should when I updated this blog, he should also be found as today’s header.
There was a touch of whimsey along the way as well, just before a restaurant where we couldn’t be served because it requires either a long wait or reservations. (I didn’t get a photo of it, but it was a first inkling that this was a very popular place.)
On the island our first sight was something that felt like being in Cambodia. Remember? But there were no entrepreneurs selling their home-made or -grown wares. In fact, a much more luxurious feel. (That’s Doug way to the right of the photo. If he had taken such a photo he would have shopped the person out of it. I, on the other hand, take photos — beautiful or not — to chronicle where I’ve been.)
And where we went after this stop was to take a look at the shops. If I hadn’t already got the sense that we were in a pretty wealthy area I would have caught on here.) Yes, I’m emerging from one shopping area and heading for another.
As for shopping, you may remember that I chronicled my Asia/Pacific adventures by photographing the markets and noting the contrasts as the journey moved on. Here’s another contrast for you. The market we visited in our explorations the first day in the Algarve.
And there you have our first day in Portugal. I had expected to do the week in Portugal in just one blog post, but I got carried away, I guess.
I’ll be back with more.
Two nights ago I rejoiced that I had finished my part in copyediting half of “Mrs Job” in preparation for her reappearance under a new name and with a new cover. Now, I thought, I can get back to the photos from my recent four weeks in Europe until I get the second half from the editor and, after I finish it quickly, Mrs. Job will be on the way to her attractive new identity.
You would have been seeing a blog entry today with photos and travel descriptions.
But then the publisher e-mailed the sad news to me. They had run into a financial problem that made it impossible to go on, so Mrs. Job would not be published by them after all. My initial reaction was – rather healthily, I think – to feel sad for me. Then I thought about what it meant for them and e-mailed a sympathy note recognizing how devastating it must be to lose their dream.
So I gave myself the evening to mope, and scheduled today to think about Mrs. Job’s future now that she has basically been evicted from two homes. Well, not quite evicted. In January, 2012, I terminated her agreement with iUniverse to sign the contract with TM Publishing. The process has been slow, but their intention to follow through was genuine. And I can’t say she’s been evicted. More accurately, she never did get to close on her new home.
At any rate, I’m now starting the search anew. Any help you can offer with names of potential agents or publishers, or even just plain good ideas, will be gratefully considered.
In the meantime, while I was enjoying my mope last evening, I remembered Saturday’s rally for immigration reform at the Guardian Angels Church. Over 300 people were there, singing, listening, hoping, and being moved to tears by the stories of people who had suffered under our current system. Especially hard to see were the young people whose parents had been torn away from them.
So, no, Mona! You are so lucky to have the problems you have. Get off the stick and open yourself to creative thinking!
And open to the possibility that someone reading this might have help to offer.
I’ve just returned from four weeks in Europe: Portugal, Austria, France, and Bulgaria. I’ll be sharing stories and photos beginning in a few days. Right now I’m busy getting my photos labeled and organized while finding time to continue the editing of Mrs. Job — whoever she is to become.
Just one initial comment for my fellow inhabitants of Minnesota. All four of those countries impressed me with their roads — black, smooth, clear white lines. Not a single pot hole.
On the other hand, no place had the competence and clarity of signage that we enjoy here. Not even in their native languages.
I’ve met some wonderful people, enjoyed some amazing adventures, sights, and stirring emotions. And I’m anxious to share all that with you.
I’ll be back.
It’s ironic I know, but I am finding hope in the fact that we’ve been here before as a nation. The same problems bug us – different faces – same issues, having led us not to resolutions, but rather to more of the same. Why hopeful? I’ll be darned if I know. It should leave me feeling even more distressed, verging on despair. I guess it’s the fact that the things we live through have meaning only with the perspective of time, so I perceive myself (and you) living in the maelstrom, out of which will come who knows what. And the fact that my father died in bed at age 86. The world had not collapsed entirely during his journey.
OK, let me give that first paragraph some perspective. As I think I have mentioned, I am working on the fictionalized biography of my father, born in 1890, emigrated from Sweden to the United States in 1909. I have several sources to draw on for specific information about him, but I’m also searching sites to give me background on the times in which he lived.
One book that has delighted me with useful, and, in some cases nostalgic, information, is David E. Kyvig’s “Daily Life in the United States: 1920 – 1940.” There’s lots to comment on, but my focus here is the recognition that “Oh my goodness. We’ve been here before.” Weather changes creating financial havoc (the dust bowl). The great depression; the poorest suffering most, long before the fall of the stock market hit the upper percent. Government intrusion into personal life with the Volstead Act, created by the very people who argued against government intrusion. (In my mind equivalent to the current incursion into people’s reproductive rights by those who argue against government control). The unanticipated negative results of banning alcohol – ie. Rampant law-breaking and mob violence. How interesting to see that which was once part of the culture becoming “illegal.” Was there an element of anti-immigrant sentiment? It apparently did destroy the French restaurant business, for example. Technological advances leading to job loss and ultimate creation of new jobs.
Questions whether this time the period of creating replacement jobs will happen quickly enough to save the middle class.
So, why be hopeful? It’s some crazy twist of my own psychology, I guess. Sometimes I advise folks that it’s better to give up hope than to keep on wishing for that which cannot happen. Maybe that’s it. I’m not ready to give up wishing that things will get better if we keep on trying.
With this entry, my Asia/Pacific excursion comes to an end. And a very powerful end it is!
Our last stop was in Nagasaki, the site that was devastated by the second dropping of the atomic bomb. Only by chance was Nagasaki destroyed, having been the back-up target when weather prevented hitting the initial choice.
The header tells the first part of the story… the total devastation of what was a prison with people in it. All that was left were those rows of melted and twisted material. Here’s the complete photo.
And here’s a photo of the nearby monument erected over ground zero.
If that “prison” photo doesn’t send chills and warnings, I don’t know what might. That’s the devastation side of the experience at the Peace Park.
Now for a series of photos illustrating the other side of the story. The peace park is a monument to the desire for non-violent resolutions to conflict. I couldn’t help but be sensitized to the nuances of forgiveness. At no point in the park or the museum, or the words of the tour guide, did anyone say anything like “When the US dropped the bomb.” In all cases it was “When the bomb dropped.” That simple turn of phrase makes it what they want it to be – a lesson to be learned.
The Peace Park is beautiful and peaceful — except for the tourists, that is. I would have loved to go back for a quiet period with no one taking photos of family and friends in front of the various statues. It almost seemed like desecration. But that’s what tourists do, and I’m sure most were also appreciating the potential serenity of the Park with the powerful message of love and peace.
Many countries (if not all) have contributed statues to the park. Here are some that I managed to photograph with no tourists in front of them.
And finally the visit to the museum, including a wall laying out in a straightforward, factual way the process of arriving at the decision to use the bomb. Again, the message was clearly couched in “When the bomb dropped,” not, as might have been, “When they dropped the bomb on us.”
The photo below marks the entrance to the museum
I found myself pleased to see Eisenhower’s opinion regarding its use. He was not alone in his opinion.
And now for the bookend. I have no photos to show, but I was at Los Alamos, New Mexico, last week — seeing where it began. A moving experience, in effect wrapping the whole thing up in one emotional package. I won’t bore you with going into a discussion of my reactions, but I will say the thoughts and emotions did roil.
This whole experience has only served to strengthen my commitment to restorative practices.
Thanks for joining me on this Asia/Pacific journey.
