Many posts are simmering. I will complain in this one about how youth is wasted on the young.
I have been SOO discouraged from encounters with teens lately. One was complaining about how school is useless and boring, how it is so ridiculous that they are learning about World War II. "It's over," she argued with annoyed indignance. "It's done, it's in the past. It isn't happening now, so why would we need to learn it? " *rolls eyes*
I was so blown away I was speechless to even argue with her. Why? Goodness sakes, where do I begin? There are so many reasons. The utter disrespect and cluelessness as to the pain and suffering of so many people, and the people who put themselves in the line of fire for someone else so she could be leading this comfortable affluent life. The self-absorbed world of these teens, while I will likely get comments saying, oh they all are that way, you were too, or whatever, is making me nuts. Ya, Girl, you're right. Who needs education. Pffh.
I talked to another guy who recently became active, we shall say, with his girlfriend, and was kinda proud of it. His cocky demeanor nearly made me vomit. HE was not spared the earful of my first individual. He was willingly oblivious to emotional and spiritual impact on either of them or any potential physical repercussions. Throwing away precious gifts of purity. A completely topsy turvy value system to my perspective. No no, this short term physical thing is TOTALLY worth potential parenthood, disease, emotional disability and spiritual corruption! Sure, why not! Sounds great. Who needs God, who needs health or wholeness.
Then there is the plethora of little people (who am I to talk, I know :P) I see on Facebook, people I know in our community here, who play with sin. Walk the tightrope, dabble in this or that, and then come and play church. I am not even sure if they know what they are doing. I feel certain they don't understand severity or implications of their actions. SO much is bound up inside me when I see this. I am successfully containing all manner of screams, running over and shaking them and falling on the floor with tears, begging them to heed wisdom. That's what I'm doing on the inside.
I've also had more MS activity lately, which very effectively drives the point home to me of the tremendous value of the strength and energy (and TIME) in youth. That it is cluelessly taken for granted and wasted on video games and flirting with sin is just bringing me to the edge of psychosis.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
so, waddya wanna know?
I have a lot of questions about what is appropriate to actually be including on this globally public format. (unless you happen to live in a restricted access country)
The issue of information availability is seeing increasing attention as it becomess increasingly problemmatic .
I have friends who hide pretty well nothing in their blogs and/or online profiles, save bedroom details, and some who don't even disclose the names of their children, assigning them a letter or fake name. They keep things pretty anonymous.
I just realized in thinking about it, that if one wanted, they could follow the link trail and learn:
all about my daily life and schedule,
religious beliefs, church affiliations,
how much and what supplements I take,
how and when I've had any MS exacerbations
what books I read, have read, plan on reading and what I thought about them,
mine and all my family member's names, birthdates and ages,
plenty of pictures of me and my family and some of my house,
most all my likes, dislikes and hobbies,
favourite games and hobbies of my children and family,
my group of friends and associates,
you name it.
The only thing that was not right out there was my phone number and address which one sec: yes, I checked, they are available on Canada 411. Everything but the street address.
That's kinda freaky. I love being able to share all my intimate thoughts with my friends who are not local to my area, (that would be, uh, pretty much ALL of you), and just venting my feelings in general. However, I'm starting to have a little paranoia about the readily available nature of it all, to anyone less friendly. Not just blogging, although it discloses a lot, but also on social network site profiles. Hmph. What to do.
The issue of information availability is seeing increasing attention as it becomess increasingly problemmatic .
I have friends who hide pretty well nothing in their blogs and/or online profiles, save bedroom details, and some who don't even disclose the names of their children, assigning them a letter or fake name. They keep things pretty anonymous.
I just realized in thinking about it, that if one wanted, they could follow the link trail and learn:
all about my daily life and schedule,
religious beliefs, church affiliations,
how much and what supplements I take,
how and when I've had any MS exacerbations
what books I read, have read, plan on reading and what I thought about them,
mine and all my family member's names, birthdates and ages,
plenty of pictures of me and my family and some of my house,
most all my likes, dislikes and hobbies,
favourite games and hobbies of my children and family,
my group of friends and associates,
you name it.
The only thing that was not right out there was my phone number and address which one sec: yes, I checked, they are available on Canada 411. Everything but the street address.
That's kinda freaky. I love being able to share all my intimate thoughts with my friends who are not local to my area, (that would be, uh, pretty much ALL of you), and just venting my feelings in general. However, I'm starting to have a little paranoia about the readily available nature of it all, to anyone less friendly. Not just blogging, although it discloses a lot, but also on social network site profiles. Hmph. What to do.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
love/hate relationship
with these 2 websites.
Play Blogger is a real-time slideshow of whatever photos people upload to their blogs. So it can be anything. At all. Sometimes it is boring, but other times it is riveting. I find myself living vicariously through other people's lives, their travels and trip pictures, restaurant plates, you name it.
Irish KC is as it sounds kinda. It is the blog of a Dubliner who lived in KC for 8 years, and wrote humorously about the differences between the 2 places. Having a connection on both ends, I find it riotously funny. And stupidly time consuming. I know I am setting myself up for everyone to say, "well, Jenni, you are clearly spending too much time online," after my last post.
Ya, well, shut up.
Poor Niamh is a little confused. Although toilet sounds like toy, it is indeed, not. *Sigh* so for now I will scrub the thing every day, at least, with touch ups in between. For those times when I or someone else forgets to close the bathroom door.
Play Blogger is a real-time slideshow of whatever photos people upload to their blogs. So it can be anything. At all. Sometimes it is boring, but other times it is riveting. I find myself living vicariously through other people's lives, their travels and trip pictures, restaurant plates, you name it.
Irish KC is as it sounds kinda. It is the blog of a Dubliner who lived in KC for 8 years, and wrote humorously about the differences between the 2 places. Having a connection on both ends, I find it riotously funny. And stupidly time consuming. I know I am setting myself up for everyone to say, "well, Jenni, you are clearly spending too much time online," after my last post.
Ya, well, shut up.
Poor Niamh is a little confused. Although toilet sounds like toy, it is indeed, not. *Sigh* so for now I will scrub the thing every day, at least, with touch ups in between. For those times when I or someone else forgets to close the bathroom door.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
techno world part 2
I remember renting VCRs. We only became the owners of one when I was maybe in grade 6. We would go to our local grocery store and rent a couple videos and the silver monster of a VCR for the weekend of movies.
You had to be kind and rewind, because pushing play didn't automatically start you at the beginning.
If you jogged with your walkman, you might get a bruise on your thigh from it slapping against your leg, and you couldn't even attempt in with the discman, because it would do nothing but skip, and you would be lucky if you could get through one whole cd without having to change the batteries anyway.
Why do we have less time with all these supposedly time saving "conveniences"?
Why, with so many more means of communication, do we truly connect less, and have less community?
The discrepancy between what they did in the old days compared to what I do today is mind blowing to me. I personally know a lady who raised 13 kids, had an alcoholic husband (safely assume, not a big help around the house or with the kids), no indoor plumbing, grew and ground their own flour for the bread that she baked, you name it. She says she built a big wooden box into which she would throw the children when she had to make the trek out to the well for a bucket of water, so they could only hurt each other and nothing else while she was gone.
How in the world did she manage? I can't comprehend accomplishing that much every day.
Of course she didn't blog. But I really don't spend that much time blogging. Once or twice a week max, 30 minutes-ish. Sometimes I go a couple weeks.
I don't have to scrub my laundry on a board, or spend an hour or more hanging it out to dry. What/Who/Where is the real time bandit? Where does the guilt fall for the great Black Hole of Time?
I am looking into it. I'll let you know what I come up with. I just started a good book (made of paper) that will help me with this at least a little bit.
Input?
You had to be kind and rewind, because pushing play didn't automatically start you at the beginning.
If you jogged with your walkman, you might get a bruise on your thigh from it slapping against your leg, and you couldn't even attempt in with the discman, because it would do nothing but skip, and you would be lucky if you could get through one whole cd without having to change the batteries anyway.
I remember the days PG (pre-Google), going to the library when you had to do a paper, looking through the card catalogue, then searching the rows of shelves for the number of the book you found, on the paper card. A book, made with paper, and a reference number scotch taped to the bottom of the side binding. Be quiet, go sit down and read a while only to find this book talks about your topic, but only aspects totally unhelpful to your specific paper. Rinse, repeat: like ten times.
Now it's just - Google it. You only have to ferret out your search results, scan a few irrelevant web pages. But you don't get to hold and smell any books in this process.
Speaking of doing a paper, I remember how completely shell-shocked I was when. in university, I learned I couldn't hand in hand-written papers anymore!!!! What? You're kidding, right? How can they possibly say that? What is happening to this techno world. How can I do that. I don't even own a typewriter... hmph.
I was talking to a friend recently who was shocked that my mom didn't have Internet. "How does she get pictures of Niamh?" she queried, full of concern, and slightly confused. I told her I print them out, and mail them to her. In a paper envelope. "Oh. Right."
-------------------------------------------------
I have another speech brewing. It will likely never come to fruition as I will never find answers I'm satisfied with sharing. Right now it is just these questions:Why do we have less time with all these supposedly time saving "conveniences"?
Why, with so many more means of communication, do we truly connect less, and have less community?
The discrepancy between what they did in the old days compared to what I do today is mind blowing to me. I personally know a lady who raised 13 kids, had an alcoholic husband (safely assume, not a big help around the house or with the kids), no indoor plumbing, grew and ground their own flour for the bread that she baked, you name it. She says she built a big wooden box into which she would throw the children when she had to make the trek out to the well for a bucket of water, so they could only hurt each other and nothing else while she was gone.
How in the world did she manage? I can't comprehend accomplishing that much every day.
Of course she didn't blog. But I really don't spend that much time blogging. Once or twice a week max, 30 minutes-ish. Sometimes I go a couple weeks.
I don't have to scrub my laundry on a board, or spend an hour or more hanging it out to dry. What/Who/Where is the real time bandit? Where does the guilt fall for the great Black Hole of Time?
I am looking into it. I'll let you know what I come up with. I just started a good book (made of paper) that will help me with this at least a little bit.
Input?
Sunday, March 23, 2008
and I just thought He was tidy
Ooooh, but it is so much more than that.
I just came to a better understanding of a verse (a dull way of saying, I got goosebumps and tingles in my tummy) through some cultural information that would have been common knowledge to the people of Jesus' day.
The verse is John 20: 6-7. It is describing the time after Jesus rose from the dead, and a couple disciples came to the tomb, and this is what they found:
6 Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb; and he saw the linen cloths lying there, 7 and the handkerchief that had been around His head, not lying with the linen cloths, but folded together in a place by itself.
I believe that everything in the Bible is there for a reason- that God is purposeful and doesn't include anything just to fill space. So why did He bother to mention that the handkerchief was folded and separate? And why didn't Jesus just let it drop to the ground in a pile when He got up, or toss it in with the others?
WELL, it was the custom in that day, for servants to wait for the Master's cue before touching anything on the table. Don't clear anything til he is good and done. If he tossed his hanky down in a heap and left the table, that meant he's all done.
However, if He left the hankerchief folded, that meant
I just came to a better understanding of a verse (a dull way of saying, I got goosebumps and tingles in my tummy) through some cultural information that would have been common knowledge to the people of Jesus' day.
The verse is John 20: 6-7. It is describing the time after Jesus rose from the dead, and a couple disciples came to the tomb, and this is what they found:
6 Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb; and he saw the linen cloths lying there, 7 and the handkerchief that had been around His head, not lying with the linen cloths, but folded together in a place by itself.
I believe that everything in the Bible is there for a reason- that God is purposeful and doesn't include anything just to fill space. So why did He bother to mention that the handkerchief was folded and separate? And why didn't Jesus just let it drop to the ground in a pile when He got up, or toss it in with the others?
WELL, it was the custom in that day, for servants to wait for the Master's cue before touching anything on the table. Don't clear anything til he is good and done. If he tossed his hanky down in a heap and left the table, that meant he's all done.
However, if He left the hankerchief folded, that meant
He was coming back.
Friday, March 21, 2008
techno world
I've been reflecting lately on the techno explosion.
When I was in high school, nobody I knew of had a cellphone unless you were Posh Spice. If you were cool you might have a pager. I did, of course. Cause _I_ was cool!
I did not have an email address until after I graduated high school and got a job. My boss signed me up for the hotmail I still have. I didn't even know what email or the internet was. I remember hearing about the internet on the news and being suspicious of this new weird thing.
It's of the Devil, Massy!
Aahh, the days when you could count the number of emails in my inbox(s). Now there's also the social networking sites I'm embarrassed to admit to, Facebook and Myspace, even Goodreads. That's where you pretend to be intellectual and literate. At least I do, maybe other people really are.
I have already confessed to still using a walkman. Oh, and a 3.5" floppy disc.
I saw a really funny cartoon that was a cassette dressed up like Darth Vader and it said,
"Ipod, I am your FAther."
About half the people my age I know are at least moderately computer competent, being able to do some light programming. The other half laugh and say, I'm not good with computers! hehe
I know very few of my parents' generation who can program even enough to post a layout on their blog or myspace page. If they know what those are.
I know NO one of the younger generation who can't do that stuff. They all have cell phones, ipods, laptops, jump drives, and whatever else I don't even know exists.
I sound like my grandmother. (read with gravelly voice) "When I was a child, we played tag outside til the streetlights came on. We didn't spend time on the computer or check our email cause we didn't HAVE email or know how to turn on a computer. "
Since when am I old??
When I was in high school, nobody I knew of had a cellphone unless you were Posh Spice. If you were cool you might have a pager. I did, of course. Cause _I_ was cool!
I did not have an email address until after I graduated high school and got a job. My boss signed me up for the hotmail I still have. I didn't even know what email or the internet was. I remember hearing about the internet on the news and being suspicious of this new weird thing.
It's of the Devil, Massy!
Aahh, the days when you could count the number of emails in my inbox(s). Now there's also the social networking sites I'm embarrassed to admit to, Facebook and Myspace, even Goodreads. That's where you pretend to be intellectual and literate. At least I do, maybe other people really are.
I have already confessed to still using a walkman. Oh, and a 3.5" floppy disc.
I saw a really funny cartoon that was a cassette dressed up like Darth Vader and it said,
"Ipod, I am your FAther."
About half the people my age I know are at least moderately computer competent, being able to do some light programming. The other half laugh and say, I'm not good with computers! hehe
I know very few of my parents' generation who can program even enough to post a layout on their blog or myspace page. If they know what those are.
I know NO one of the younger generation who can't do that stuff. They all have cell phones, ipods, laptops, jump drives, and whatever else I don't even know exists.
I sound like my grandmother. (read with gravelly voice) "When I was a child, we played tag outside til the streetlights came on. We didn't spend time on the computer or check our email cause we didn't HAVE email or know how to turn on a computer. "
Since when am I old??
Monday, March 17, 2008
Determination
Struck by potential.
I mentioned once a while ago that someone, ok, Niamh, sometimes violently opposes getting her diaper changed. Picture this little fart of a kid, a 20 lb, 2 ft long baby. Not a great big bunch of muscles compared to you or me (especially me) and not much weight to be throwing around. But when she really gets it in her head that she is not getting her diaper changed, holy moly, call in the SWAT team, it is a serious effort to keep her tush on the ground and get it re-wrapped.
This 20 lb weakling, if you add to her natural muscles the force of her determined will, can almost take me. She can pretty well quadruple her strength with her pluck, if she so desires.
Am I the only one that finds that remarkable? If she really gives herself to the idea of opposing my intention for her, she has a fighting chance against someone almost 6 times her size.
It makes me wonder how much potential and productivity is drained from our endeavors because we don't put out heart and soul into it. We don't give ourselves to it. We don't give everything we've got. Why do we hold back? What are we afraid of?
What could we accomplish if only we would? Why does fear so grip us?
How intense is our desire?
Niamh can make a mild protest, and it is nothing for me to keep her there. If she really digs deep and kicks, squirms, puts all her gusto into the battle, the things she can accomplish are remarkable. And her, this tiny un-formidable form.
Am I a silly optimist or is there anyone with me on this one?
I apply it : spiritually, socially, personally.
Are we really as powerless as we may think?
Maybe we are a Hercules that hasn't yet realized it.
I asked a music mentor in high school once how far I could make it with the violin. Give it to me straight, I implored.
He answered me, "That's up to you. The only way to find out is to do it. I can't know. It depends on you. The possibilities are far beyond what we can know."
Sunday, March 16, 2008
She's a quick one.
Well, well. This morning in the shower I realized for the first time that my url, bowbreath, while it originally meant the nonphysical "breath" of my violin when the bow was drawn across it, can also refer to my breath, as I am a Bowman.
Duh.
Duh.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Let them eat cake.
It is a birthday after all.
Somebody turned four. That is a chocolate trifle, my interpretation of her request for "Chocolate milk cake." It is supposed to have kahlua poured over the cake in a soggy but wonderful tiramisu type idea, (I have had that version and highly recommend it, for more aged company) but we omitted the ethanol for this event and added produce in the form of strawberries. Yum!
I believe that makes it healthy.
The birthday girl said it was the "best party ever!!!"
Well I'm glad you liked it, Sweety. I'm also glad to know you are not frequenting other parties -clearly, if you thought this was that great.
Niamh has started playing peekaboo from behind curtains, laptop screens, blankets, whatever she can get behind. Pretty cute.
I'm copping out on saying something with words or having ideas and going for more pictures.
It's funny that I consistently brag about my cakes when they are not that awesome, and not that gorgeous. Also my photography is rather lacking. But I'm still proud of my little molehills.
Somebody turned four. That is a chocolate trifle, my interpretation of her request for "Chocolate milk cake." It is supposed to have kahlua poured over the cake in a soggy but wonderful tiramisu type idea, (I have had that version and highly recommend it, for more aged company) but we omitted the ethanol for this event and added produce in the form of strawberries. Yum!
I believe that makes it healthy.
The birthday girl said it was the "best party ever!!!"
Well I'm glad you liked it, Sweety. I'm also glad to know you are not frequenting other parties -clearly, if you thought this was that great.
Niamh has started playing peekaboo from behind curtains, laptop screens, blankets, whatever she can get behind. Pretty cute.
A good time had by all.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
wonders for the senses
Chocolate is to the sense of taste, what baby skin is to the sense of touch.
There is just nothing like it. Fresh from heaven, the most perfectly soft, fresh & smoothe thing ever. Watch out cashmere, velvet, rabbit down: you ain't got nothin' on this.
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Flowering teas:
Gorgeous, delicious.
It starts with a tight little ball, and when the water is poured over it, blossoms into a beautiful bouquet in your pot. What a delight for the senses!
I was given the pot and a few balls for a gift recently. So perfect. This is a luxury item I can really get behind. Looking for a gift for a friend who is a tea-lover? Look no further. Except for where in the world you will find this to buy it. Please, Truth, don't burst my bubble and tell me that the workers are only paid a half penny per ball to sew them...
There is just nothing like it. Fresh from heaven, the most perfectly soft, fresh & smoothe thing ever. Watch out cashmere, velvet, rabbit down: you ain't got nothin' on this.
------------------------------------------------------
Flowering teas:Gorgeous, delicious.
It starts with a tight little ball, and when the water is poured over it, blossoms into a beautiful bouquet in your pot. What a delight for the senses!
I was given the pot and a few balls for a gift recently. So perfect. This is a luxury item I can really get behind. Looking for a gift for a friend who is a tea-lover? Look no further. Except for where in the world you will find this to buy it. Please, Truth, don't burst my bubble and tell me that the workers are only paid a half penny per ball to sew them...
Monday, March 03, 2008
Lupin flour alert
Putting this out cause one of my friend's children went into anphylactic shock when they ate a chocolate from Belgium. His EpiPen saved his life. The kid has a peanut/legume allergy, and though this said no peanuts, it was a chocolate candy after all and most of them have potentially come in contact with peanut molecules, it still triggered a reaction. They are apparently using Lupin flour with frequency now in Europe, cutting it in with regular wheat flour, and it doesn't have to be labelled anywhere yet. But it will trigger people with nut allergies. So I'm just spreading the word, since it is potentially fatal after all, and I certainly had no clue and was shocked to hear this.
Read more here if you want.
Read more here if you want.
Monday, February 18, 2008
seeking a muse
in a sea of ennui ~
such an inspirational malaise of late. Daily duties need sprinkles of delights.
Need the rumble of rumination taking flight.
I've recently discovered a new world that is inspiring me - New York hoofing. It is the new, crazy, no-sailor-suits-here tap of the young generation, and it is sweet. Check out Jason Samuels Smith or Sean and John on youtube. It is crazy awesome. Or the kathak tradition from northern India: a tradition I didn't know existed at all. This blew my mind. Ironically enough, I learned about it from a documentary on Irish television!
I artistically plateaued with everything - my dance, fiddle, piano: everything has gone stagnant, lost the spark of creativity. One heck of a nasty rut. Blech. A stinky trench.
So I've got to stretch - gotta grow. gotta move, find the flow....
such an inspirational malaise of late. Daily duties need sprinkles of delights.
Need the rumble of rumination taking flight.
I've recently discovered a new world that is inspiring me - New York hoofing. It is the new, crazy, no-sailor-suits-here tap of the young generation, and it is sweet. Check out Jason Samuels Smith or Sean and John on youtube. It is crazy awesome. Or the kathak tradition from northern India: a tradition I didn't know existed at all. This blew my mind. Ironically enough, I learned about it from a documentary on Irish television!
I artistically plateaued with everything - my dance, fiddle, piano: everything has gone stagnant, lost the spark of creativity. One heck of a nasty rut. Blech. A stinky trench.
So I've got to stretch - gotta grow. gotta move, find the flow....
Friday, February 15, 2008
Happy Valentines!
Mmm... chocolate, flowers, a card, a box of strawberries...
In my book, you can't go wrong with the classics. Especially fair-trade organic chocolate. mmmmmm.... and strawberries.... oh baby. And my favourite colours of flowers. Good job, Chris Jo! That was better than my birthday. :) Oh, and pad thai for supper was rockin too.
cocoa and flowers buys my favor anyday. Did I mention how much I love flowers? I do. They are pretty even without Mary to photograph them. :)
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Jenni has music in a book.
I can't believe I've forgotten to say this until now, but I am a published composer as of December! This book came out at the New Year and I have 3 tunes in it, of which I am quite proud. I am not an avid composer at all, but the very odd time something non-regurgitated spills out, much to my surprise. My high school music theory teacher would be in shock, as she compared trying to get me to compose to dental extraction. Sorry, Ms. Gates. :)
Heard today: "Space Snakes are forever dropping off mustard pickles at the door."
Even if you had been there, it would not have made much more sense.
Heard today: "Space Snakes are forever dropping off mustard pickles at the door."
Even if you had been there, it would not have made much more sense.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
2nd verse same as the first
so, remember that Irish speaking Fred Sanford? I'm expanding my repertoire with Irish cowboy/hillbilly, Irish valleygirl, Irish Ernie, Irish Bert, Irish Cookie Monster, British Irish (I could almost go into convulsions on that one, the bipolar disorder -identity crisis kicking in).
At least Anna is having fun and using more Irish. If it takes me sounding like a hillbilly, I'm good with that.
Wow my house is fun, if a little strange. We'll say, distinctive.
At least Anna is having fun and using more Irish. If it takes me sounding like a hillbilly, I'm good with that.
Wow my house is fun, if a little strange. We'll say, distinctive.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
What language is THAT?
Hi. I've been a little absentee because I'm working on other things. Remember the elation mentioned 3 posts back? So now I am working on my vocabulary etc. in an attempt to keep ahead of speed-learning children. I'm absolutely amazed at the things coming out of her mouth on a daily basis... some new words, sentence structures, etc. So exciting!
I might have before mentioned Anna's infatuaion with Shrek. Well, she pretends to be Fiona, and usually she says Niamh is donkey. Poor Niamh. Someday she will have a say in these these things. Well, Niamh must have been napping one day, and I became Donkey. Remember, that I endeavor to use Irish exclusively with her. I've also learned that one of the reasons she wasn't liking when I was using Irish was that I would do more funny voices and be sillier when I was using English. So shoot... stretch, Jennifer! I took a deep breath and did the best Irish-speaking Eddie Murphy I could muster. I was surprised, actually, it wasn't bad. I was pretty impressed with myself. Although it turned into more of a Fred Sanford from Sanford and Son after a while, the idea was still there, and it was hilarious if you are me.
But the excitement does not even end there. Who out there has seen Jonah, the Veggie Tales movie? Remember Chalil (however you spell it.)? mmmm... do you see where this is going? Yes. There is now frequently heard in this house, Irish Gaelic with a ghetto and/or Pakistani accent.
Classic.
I hope my children don't grow up too confused.
I might have before mentioned Anna's infatuaion with Shrek. Well, she pretends to be Fiona, and usually she says Niamh is donkey. Poor Niamh. Someday she will have a say in these these things. Well, Niamh must have been napping one day, and I became Donkey. Remember, that I endeavor to use Irish exclusively with her. I've also learned that one of the reasons she wasn't liking when I was using Irish was that I would do more funny voices and be sillier when I was using English. So shoot... stretch, Jennifer! I took a deep breath and did the best Irish-speaking Eddie Murphy I could muster. I was surprised, actually, it wasn't bad. I was pretty impressed with myself. Although it turned into more of a Fred Sanford from Sanford and Son after a while, the idea was still there, and it was hilarious if you are me.
But the excitement does not even end there. Who out there has seen Jonah, the Veggie Tales movie? Remember Chalil (however you spell it.)? mmmm... do you see where this is going? Yes. There is now frequently heard in this house, Irish Gaelic with a ghetto and/or Pakistani accent.
Classic.
I hope my children don't grow up too confused.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Monday, January 07, 2008
Anna's world
Anna got a little tikes camera for Christmas and she had taken over 100 pictures within the week. This is one of my favourites. It is actually pretty! I had been journalling at the kitchen table, and that is the book and centerpiece. What lovely composition! Mind you, most of the others are unintelligible, but I had to show this one off :). Most of them are more like this:
Also, recently heard:
"I'll be there in a gypsy!"
"JOY to the world, the Lord is fun!"
One more for the road:
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
My own little Everest
This cannot possibly be as cool to anybody else as it is to me.
I have been reeeally discouraged for the last, oh, year, about the progress, or lack thereof, of Anna's Irish. Mind you, I believe she understands everything I say, but she wouldn't ever use it with me. We have always had bilingual conversations in which I speak Irish to her and she replies in English, minus the odd Irish noun tossed into an otherwise English sentence.
"Mommy, can I have some bainne?" (milk)
"I'm not tuirseach." (tired-adjective, I know)
"Look at that puiscin!" (kitten)
I was just about to get downright depressed about it. I knew many people at the University of Toronto who had been raised with their parents speaking something else to them (Mandarin, Arabic, Bengali, you name it), but they always answered in English. They all reported understanding the parent language but being unable to use it themselves. I did not want this for my girls! I wanted them to SPEAK it.
Not wanting to give up, I tried to find ways to be more proactive. I joined an online group for parents raising their children with Irish (to which my brother-in-law said, "Wow, there really is an online group for EVERYthing."). I've gotten some great ideas and most importantly, encouragement, from other parents in there. I sought out Irish blogs to read, worked on my own Irish blog more which was surprisingly helpful, and made the general daily effort to be as exclusively Irish speaking to them as possible. In some literature I got from another parenting resource in Ireland, when it is only one parent seeking to pass on the language, it is recommended that that parent uses the language exclusively with the children. Ouch, I said to myself. Not possible, but I'm trying!
WELL! It has happened! Finally! Anna started using it with me all the time and I am simply ecstatic! That is part of her motivation I'm sure, that she has seen it gets her approval and some big mommy smiles, even when she might have been about to get in trouble. (no, it doesn't get her out of trouble, try as she might).
I don't think I can communicate why or how thrilled I am at this, but it feels so huge to me. Growing up in purebred mono-lingual anglophone Midwestern USA, bilingualism seemed so exotic, foreign and untouchably elite to me. I never imagined it for myself (even though I am not calling myself fully bilingual yet, since I'm not fluent at all in Irish) and to be passing it onto my kids is just thrilling. It feels like I have conquered a huge personal mountain.
Cool. :)
I have been reeeally discouraged for the last, oh, year, about the progress, or lack thereof, of Anna's Irish. Mind you, I believe she understands everything I say, but she wouldn't ever use it with me. We have always had bilingual conversations in which I speak Irish to her and she replies in English, minus the odd Irish noun tossed into an otherwise English sentence.
"Mommy, can I have some bainne?" (milk)
"I'm not tuirseach." (tired-adjective, I know)
"Look at that puiscin!" (kitten)
I was just about to get downright depressed about it. I knew many people at the University of Toronto who had been raised with their parents speaking something else to them (Mandarin, Arabic, Bengali, you name it), but they always answered in English. They all reported understanding the parent language but being unable to use it themselves. I did not want this for my girls! I wanted them to SPEAK it.
Not wanting to give up, I tried to find ways to be more proactive. I joined an online group for parents raising their children with Irish (to which my brother-in-law said, "Wow, there really is an online group for EVERYthing."). I've gotten some great ideas and most importantly, encouragement, from other parents in there. I sought out Irish blogs to read, worked on my own Irish blog more which was surprisingly helpful, and made the general daily effort to be as exclusively Irish speaking to them as possible. In some literature I got from another parenting resource in Ireland, when it is only one parent seeking to pass on the language, it is recommended that that parent uses the language exclusively with the children. Ouch, I said to myself. Not possible, but I'm trying!
WELL! It has happened! Finally! Anna started using it with me all the time and I am simply ecstatic! That is part of her motivation I'm sure, that she has seen it gets her approval and some big mommy smiles, even when she might have been about to get in trouble. (no, it doesn't get her out of trouble, try as she might).
I don't think I can communicate why or how thrilled I am at this, but it feels so huge to me. Growing up in purebred mono-lingual anglophone Midwestern USA, bilingualism seemed so exotic, foreign and untouchably elite to me. I never imagined it for myself (even though I am not calling myself fully bilingual yet, since I'm not fluent at all in Irish) and to be passing it onto my kids is just thrilling. It feels like I have conquered a huge personal mountain.
Cool. :)
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Memory Lane #1
For Auld Lang Syne, or old time's sake, as the song recommends, I'm making a new recurring segment, which may or may not recur more frequently than the other recurring segment which is yet to recur.
This segment is A Walk Down Memory Lane, in which I tell some old story from my life that you may or may not know or be bored with hearing, and you can chalk it up to either having nothing of interest to report in my current life, or having genuinely exciting stories from earlier in my life than bear repeating, y'know, just like old people. Which is, by the way, a category I now fit into, depending on whom you ask. High school and uni kids now think I'm old cause, I mean really, I have kids and EVERYthing... I must be at least thirty, right?
Anyway, we won't go there.
Today's story is from my summer in Ireland. I spent a couple months there, lived with an Irish speaking family for a month doing Irish immersion. This host family put up students wanting to immerse from all over the world. In the house while I was there were also 2 Polish girls, a German lady, a Dubliner and an old guy (no really, he had turned 30 more than once... working on his 3rd round) from Texas. It was interesting, to say the least.
I had been looking for a copy of the Bible in Irish to no avail. Finally after one mass I approached the parish priest to ask him if he had any idea where one could be obtained. I thought it would be great for me to be able to combine my Bible study with my language study. He seemed quite surprised to meet a young lady who actually read the Bible, and who was so interested in both God and Irish. He had no information on how to locate an Irish Bible, because, as he said, it has been out of print for some time. He saw my disappointment, but we agreed that I could keep trying the used bookstores.
A few days later, our transcontinental crew was all sitting around in lazy recovery mode after the satiating supper, and there was a knock at the door. The woman of the house answered the door and after talking a moment came in and quietly called for me to come to the door.
"Jennifer, the priest is here to see you."
However, between her soft tone and the blaring Gaelic football game on the television, she was misheard by us all, and with huge eyes and gaping gobs all the girls were looking at me, "the POLICE??!?!" What did you DO?!?!?"
What?? I didn't do anything!!! I swear! I can't think of anything anyway!
Of course my fear was alleviated when I saw the priest at the door and understood the misunderstanding.
The others, however, continued to whisper furiously back in the living room theorizing about what trouble I might be in.
The priest had come, believe it or not, to give me his own personal copy of the Biobla Naofa . (I didn't know about this site at the time) I could not believe it. I argued with him about it, but he had made up his mind.
To this day, it is one of my most prized possessions. I still want to track him down and tell him that it is actually in use, it isn't just some expensive souvenir, or token that has gone to dusty waste on a shelf somewhere. That little girl still is pursuing both God and Irish.
This segment is A Walk Down Memory Lane, in which I tell some old story from my life that you may or may not know or be bored with hearing, and you can chalk it up to either having nothing of interest to report in my current life, or having genuinely exciting stories from earlier in my life than bear repeating, y'know, just like old people. Which is, by the way, a category I now fit into, depending on whom you ask. High school and uni kids now think I'm old cause, I mean really, I have kids and EVERYthing... I must be at least thirty, right?
Anyway, we won't go there.
Today's story is from my summer in Ireland. I spent a couple months there, lived with an Irish speaking family for a month doing Irish immersion. This host family put up students wanting to immerse from all over the world. In the house while I was there were also 2 Polish girls, a German lady, a Dubliner and an old guy (no really, he had turned 30 more than once... working on his 3rd round) from Texas. It was interesting, to say the least.
I had been looking for a copy of the Bible in Irish to no avail. Finally after one mass I approached the parish priest to ask him if he had any idea where one could be obtained. I thought it would be great for me to be able to combine my Bible study with my language study. He seemed quite surprised to meet a young lady who actually read the Bible, and who was so interested in both God and Irish. He had no information on how to locate an Irish Bible, because, as he said, it has been out of print for some time. He saw my disappointment, but we agreed that I could keep trying the used bookstores.
A few days later, our transcontinental crew was all sitting around in lazy recovery mode after the satiating supper, and there was a knock at the door. The woman of the house answered the door and after talking a moment came in and quietly called for me to come to the door.
"Jennifer, the priest is here to see you."
However, between her soft tone and the blaring Gaelic football game on the television, she was misheard by us all, and with huge eyes and gaping gobs all the girls were looking at me, "the POLICE??!?!" What did you DO?!?!?"
What?? I didn't do anything!!! I swear! I can't think of anything anyway!
Of course my fear was alleviated when I saw the priest at the door and understood the misunderstanding.
The others, however, continued to whisper furiously back in the living room theorizing about what trouble I might be in.
The priest had come, believe it or not, to give me his own personal copy of the Biobla Naofa . (I didn't know about this site at the time) I could not believe it. I argued with him about it, but he had made up his mind.
To this day, it is one of my most prized possessions. I still want to track him down and tell him that it is actually in use, it isn't just some expensive souvenir, or token that has gone to dusty waste on a shelf somewhere. That little girl still is pursuing both God and Irish.
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