Things We Want to Keep

And, in a massive stroke of irony, today I threw out a film called "Things We Want to Keep."

"Stinkin' Esto"

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is finally official. I am an Estonian citizen. I have an Estonian passport and I'm enrolled to vote in Estonian elections.

Now all I have to do is learn Estonian and spend some time in Estonia (preferably at least a year) - earning Estonian Kroonid and paying Estonian taxes.

It always amazes me when people ask me why I would want to do such a thing. They can understand the idea of getting the passport (EU and all that), but if you can get the passport without speaking a word of Estonian or setting foot in Estonia, then why not? What possible reason could you have for wanting to learn such an obscure language or go to such an obscure place?

Apart from the fact that I've grown up wondering about the place my grandmother came from and I've always wanted to go there and see it for myself, there's a little something I like to call "fairness", mixed with a touch of "politeness" and just a dash of "respect" and "decency".

The same people who want to know why I'd bother learning the language if I don't have to would find it a bit rude if someone tried to become an Australian citizen without any intention of learning English. The same people who would, apparently, quite gladly accept a passport from a country without ever intending to set foot in it would be disgruntled by the thought of someone waving around an Australian passport if they have never been in Australia in their life.

Here in Australia we have this newish thing called the "citizenship test". To become an Australian citizen you have to have a certain base amount of English and be able to answer questions like "who was the first prime minister?" and "What is our national floral emblem?" (Barton and golden wattle, respectively). Now, I'm sure there are a number of loop-holes for the descendants of Australians which would allow them to obtain citizenship without any basic knowledge of the culture or the language, but there's something deep inside the heart of every Australian that would like to say "Hang on, that's not quite right."

Now, most native born Australians who grew up and attended school here would probably struggle with answering a lot of questions on the citizenship test (not because they were never taught, just because they couldn't be bothered remembering what they learnt in Year Five). By the way, if anyone is interested, the information that an Australian citizen is expected to know (and appreciate) has been compiled in a booklet that can be read here.

As an aside, I think it's worth pointing out that the "Australian Values" mentioned in the booklet (such as "Freedom of speech", "Freedom of association" and "Tolerance, mutual respect and compassion for those in need") are not constitutional rights, and are therefore not legally enforceable. They're just things that all Australians should think are pretty good ideas.

But, as usual, I digress. The point I was trying to make is that we think it's only fair that someone who wants to be an Australian citizen should a) know a thing or two about Australia, b) Be able to talk to other Australians in the "native" tongue and c) think about visiting Australia once in a while. That's not too much to ask, in my book. (Feel free to substitute the name of your own country for "Australia" in this paragraph if you want it to be more relevant to you).

If someone technically didn't have to do these things to get Australian citizenship, we'd probably think it was only polite if they did anyway. Someone who wants to get something from us without even so much as a "how d'you do", on the other hand, would be regarded as a "bludger". It really shows a lack of respect to try to get the privileges of being a country's citizen without making any effort to "belong" to that country in any way.

So I'm learning Estonian (even if the grammar is, quite frankly, ridiculous. Fourteen cases! Who on earth needs fourteen cases?), I'm learning a bit about the culture (the national floral emblem is the cornflower) and the history (they were independant for a whole four days after the Germans left and before the Soviets took over in 1944), and I'm planning to visit. Next year I want to go over for a couple of weeks for a holiday. The year after that, I'm hoping to find work over there and spend some time living as an Estonian.

In my mind it's only fair. It's my way of showing my basic respect for a country that has given me a passport and told me I can go to it's embassies if I need help.

If that seems weird an unnecessary to you, then perhaps you need to think a bit about what it means to be a citizen. Treat it lightly if you want to, but make sure you apply to same standards to everyone who would claim citizenship in every country - even yours.

Letting Go.

(originally emailed 24 October 2007)

A couple of weeks ago I had one of those cathartic thingies where you take stock of your emotional baggage and decide to leave some of it behind.

There was something in particular that I realised I didn't need to hold onto any more. It wasn't necessarily bad or good (in many ways it was actually quite positive), but I realised it definitely belonged in the past, so I let it go.

It was strange how much lighter I felt as a result of this. It wasn't like I had lost a heavy burden (I didn't really regard it as a burden), so that I felt relieved of a weight... more like I had let go of a balloon and watching it fly off made me feel just a little bit uplifted.

It was a perfectly amicable parting of the ways.

The other night, though, I realised something I hadn't noticed at the time. The thing which I had let fly off quite happily was actually attached to some other things that I'm not sure if I was ready to give up just yet. There was more than one balloon attached to that string, and when I let go of one thing I accidentally let go of the others as well.

I'm not sure how I feel about that, because they were hopes. I had let go of a hope I didn't think I needed any more, but the other hopes that went with it were for things I think I should still hope for. I have this strange 'nothing' feeling sitting where those hopes used to be.

It's not like I've lost hope for those things, or had my hopes dashed (both of which would result in feeling something, even if it was painful and negative). I just don't have any hopes for those things right now.

I don't feel sad about loosing them, but I also don't feel happy about it. I feel... odd. I feel like I should feel something and I can't work out why I don't.

A lot of the anxiety that went hand-in-hand with the fear that those hopes would never be fulfilled (or would be dashed) has gone away, which is a positive thing. On the other hand, on an intellectual level I know that those hopes were for good things, things everyone hopes for, and I should feel depressed about not hoping for them any more. I don't feel depressed about it, though, and I wonder if I should feel depressed about that.

Maybe I'll find a new reason to hope for them again. I don't know.

A couple of 'ow's

(originally emailed 24 October 2007)

There is pain in my world. I recently a) fell over and b) got new glasses. Both hurt.

There is this weird point when riding my unicycle when I just seem to find a spot where I'm balanced, whether I like it or not. When I hit that spot, I can't seem to tip forwards or backwards without putting in so much effort that I can't control my dismount and I end up falling hard. Sadly, I only seem to find this spot just as I'm about to crash into something and I'd really like to dismount. This was how I found out that my elbow and wrist guards were a good investment. Last night it was how I found out I should have made a similar investment in knee pads.

After whinging for several months about my old glasses giving me headaches, I decided to get new glasses. This is the first chance I've had to use them since I picked them up on Monday. Trying them on at the shop didn't fill me with confidence, and actually using them for a few hours has revealed the sad truth - they are horrible, and my head really hurts now. The weird thing is, I can't say that they are any better or worse than my old glasses. They are definitely different (which might also be contributing to the headaches), but not necessarily worse. A different kind of horrible. I think I'll return them.

My pain is, of course, nothing compared to the pain of others (my grandmother, for instance), but I still like to whinge. Who wouldn't?

Children's Album

(Originally emailed 15 October 2007)

In my (some might say misguided) attempt to learn Estonian, I have taken a couple of occasions to purchase Estonian children's books from Apollo Raamatud (think the Eesti version of Angus & Robertson) to get a feel for the language at a simple, easily translated level.

This has proven to be an interesting exercise, as I have been buying books based purely on the cover art. I have no idea what the titles mean, I can't tell what the books are about or what ages they are aimed at. They have written descriptions on Apollo's web site, but I can't read them. I just decide the cover looks about right and part with money.

This has had mixed results. I'd say about eighty percent of the time I've managed to accurately gauge the reading levels of the books. I have been landed with a few books that I probably won't be able to read for quite some time, but most of them were more or less exactly what I was after - picture books which are designed for being read to children.

There are some very nice poems and rhymes in a number of these books. I have no idea what most of them mean, but I love the sound of them when I try to pronounce them.

I have, however, been slightly thwarted by the Estonian Grammar. I spent months trying to figure out why I couldn't find these words (supposedly aimed at small children) in any dictionaries, but now that I've got a decent self-study book on Estonian Grammar (also bought based purely on the cover), I'm starting to work it out. It's slow going, but it's happening.

There is one random purchase that I have to say I'm particularly pleased with (apart from the grammar book, which is very handy indeed): Võluvitsa vägi.

I apologise if the Estonian vowels didn't manage to cross the electronic divide. They looked okay on my screen.

Now, I can't tell you exactly what the title means. Something about charms and magic (maybe wands). I can't tell you if Diana Liiv wrote the story herself or adapted it into Estonian. I can't even tell you what the story is about, really, although I'm looking forward to finding out.

I can tell you that it comes with a CD that features a guy with a fabulous speaking voice (who may or may not be Indrek Sammul) reading the story, interspaced with music from Tchaikovsky's "Children's Album".

Man, I love listening to that story. I have no idea what he's saying, but I love hearing him say it. He has such a clear, expressive voice that seems so perfectly intoned for reading a children's story. And, of course, Tchaikovsky's music is always a pleasure to listen to.

Plus, there are children's toys and toy instruments threaded throughout the musical pieces. I don't know if they were meant to be there, or if Liiv put them in for this particular production. All I know is that it's great to hear a rubber ducky in the orchestra - where it truly belongs.

From my best estimations, I think Diana Liiv wrote the story to provide a narrative for the set pieces of music in Tchaikovsky's "Children's Album" in order to give young children an introduction to the wonders of classical music. At the end of the book are instructions for making your own musical instruments out of stuff lying around the house (although you'd have to have a pretty weird house to have some of that stuff lying around).

It took me a little while to notice, but the book also has the musical notation for the toys written in, so you can play along. I thought the bars of music were just there to show you different timings (after all, they only have one note), but I managed to pick up on the fact that the ducky squeaks or the castanets clack right on that note every time. Kind of cool, really.

Allow me to write the words 'Tchaikovsky's "Children's Album" on more time. It took me days to figure that out. In the book they refer to Pjotr Tšaikovski's arrangement "Lastealbum". Now, I knew that laste meant children, but I couldn't find lastealbum any where. I was convinced the last half of the word must have been one of those insane portmanteaus Estonian seems to be littered with.

It was only after I found a list of Tchaikivsky's works that I realised it was actually exactly what it looked like: "album". Laste album - lastealbum - "children's album". I spent two days trying to work out what the word "album" was. I could have kicked myself.

Anyway, it's a great little story-book. I've listened to it several times (not always with the book in front of me), and I get the same sort of buzz from it that I got from watching the Nutcracker a couple of years back. It makes me want to stage the darn thing, with an orchestra on stage (so you can see the musician playing the toys), a narrator and a couple of dancers fleshing out the story for people who aren't familiar with Estonian.

It has to be narrated in Estonian. I'm sure the story (whatever it is) will hold up to a translation into some other language (heck, it could have been translated from another language into Estonian, for all I know), but it sounds fabulous in Estonian.

Disconnect

Here's something I find interesting about humanity:

Everyone wants everyone else to do things for them for free.

Everyone wants to get paid for what they do.

No one seems to see the problem there.

The Next Best Thing

(Originally emailed 12 October 2007)

It seems the All Blacks lost their match against France and are out of the World Cup. It seems the New Zealanders are taking it badly.

I was listening to the Sports Report on ABC National this morning (yes, I know, I listen to the word's most boring radio station), and they were talking about the abject misery that Kiwis are feeling as a result of loosing the Word Cup again.

A guest commentator was the (former?) coach of the New Zealand national basketball team - an American. He made the interesting comment that New Zealanders, in general, were really bad at loosing. They had no perspective when it comes to playing (especially Rugby) - it's either win or loose. If they win, they don't even care or notice if it was a pretty dodgy win (just dumb luck), it's still the best thing to ever happen - a great victory. If they loose it's simply the end of the world. There's no sense of "pick yourself up, dust yourself off, start all over again."

He talked about how they seemed to think they were owed a win (because they had put so much money into the game), and were seriously shocked and angry that they had lost. He talked about how they were probably going to stress about it for the next four years instead of just moving on.

He even said it came down to immaturity - they weren't mature enough to be able to take it in their stride. Now, when an American calls you immature, you know you're in trouble.

It put me in mind of a song that's currently one of my favourites, called The Lucky One. It has a wonderful line in it that just resonates with me:

"You know the next best thing to playing and winning is playing and loosing."

I've always been about as competitive as a dish cloth. I play games because I like to play, and sometime ago I found out that you often have the most fun when you're not playing to win. As a result, I don't get too cut up when 'my team' looses (which does annoy a lot of other people, but such is life).

We need to encourage that view in ourselves, each other and the next generation as much as possible, I think. It's not the world when we win, so it isn't the end of the world when we loose.

After all, the next best thing to playing and winning is playing and loosing.

My email signature

This is the email signature I've been using for my personal email account lately:

Sharon Bryan is a pseudonym for the authors of the "Tanglewood Trio" mystery series and the "Brown River Boys" adventure series, both published by the Green Syndicate. Orson Green, publisher of the Green Syndicate, created the "Tanglewood Trio" characters and contributed the first five plot-lines, but the books were written by a number of ghost writers, all using the name "Sharon Bryan" to ensure the rights for all of the plots and characters stayed with the company. It is believed his daughter, Prudence Green wrote the first ten books in the "Brown River Boys" series. The practice was continued by the publishers Jackson & Wynn when they bought the Green Syndicate in 1973.

Since 1946, when the name was first used, at least thirty writers are known to have used the pseudonym, including Carolyn Keene, Franklin W. Dixon, Victor Appleton, Laura Lee Hope, Arthur M. Winfield, Roy Rockwood, Dan Scott, Jerry West, Helen Louise Thorndyke, Allen Chapman and Clarence Young.

For further information, please read the wikipedia entry for the Stratemeyer Syndicate, a rival publishing company which used similar methods.

It is, of course, a joke. All of the names listed above were pseudonyms used by the Stratemeyer Syndicate for their various series (such as the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books).

I'm in two minds about it, though. On the one hand, I enjoy the joke as it is, and don't want to qualify or lessen it in any way. On the other hand, I wonder how many people would get the joke - especially if they don't know about Carolyn Keene and the others.

I want to keep it, I want to change it, I don't know what I want to do with it.

An even more enormous chair

(originally emailed 11 October 2007)

Obviously, my success at physically brining a chair into my grandmother's house emboldened the rest of my family. At least, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

My uncle has an interesting habit of listening to everything we say and assuming we either a) are hopelessly exaggerating, or b) don't really know what we're talking about. We can tell him about things until we're blue in the face, but he won't *really* believe us until he sees if for himself.

My mother, on the other hand, knows that I'm probably right, but hopes that if she waits long enough whatever it is that I've pointed out as a problem will go away by itself.

For some months now I've been trying to convince everyone that my grandmother would have a better time trying to get out of her chair if we bought her one of those motorised ones which would give her a boost. My mother, I think, was working on the idea that if we waited long enough we, ah, ahem, wouldn't need it any more. My uncle simply never thought she was having that much trouble getting up - after all, he hardly ever saw her actually get out of the chair (largely because she tries to avoid it as much as possible).

The other day, however, my uncle saw just how much trouble his mother was having these days and suddenly - bam! We're off to the furniture store to buy a motorised chair that very weekend.

And I mean, that very weekend. Friday night he makes up his mind, Saturday he and my mother go chair shopping and Sunday we buy a chair and bring it home.

It always fills me with great feelings of confidence that I can say things for months and nothing will happen, but should any other member of my family get the same idea it's accomplished within a couple of days. Ah, the feeling of empowerment...

Anyway, the true adventure of this particular chair wasn't the decision to buy it, but the attempt to get it into the house. Until I managed to successfully bring in my armchair, it was understood that our door situation was too awkward to allow for furniture to be brought in or taken out. Now, we were going to test the limits of just what could be brought through our doors. We just managed to get her old chair out, but this new chair...

Do you have any idea how big motorised arm-chairs are? I made a point of recommending the smallest one I could find (one which my mother didn't like, but that my uncle could appreciate, so we got it), and it was still neigh-on impossible.

First, we tried the front stairs, which involved trying to work our way around the chair lift that helps my grandmother get up and down the stairs. Then when we got to the top of the stairs, we realised we couldn't get it through the door on that angle, but we couldn't shift the angle where we were. So, we took it back down stairs to try to change the position, but when we got it back upstairs we realised we wouldn't get it in without taking a door off its runners. But then we discovered we couldn't do that (to think of all the times I've accidentally knocked that door of its runners, this time we couldn't do it on purpose).

So, we took the chair back downstairs (not a light-weight chair, I must point out), moved the cars, moved the dogs and carried the chair to the back of the house. Once again, after getting it up the stairs we discovered that a) it needed to be on a different angle, and b) we couldn't shift the angle at the top of the stairs. So, back down stairs we go to alter the angle of the chair and take it up again. On this angle, the chair is almost impossible to move, so every step has to be fought for.

Finally, after carrying the darn thing up and down the stairs at least four times, we managed to get it into the house and into position. Everyone needed to sit down for a while after that.

Some time later, as I was sitting on one of the old chairs, something twigged. There was something about the two new chairs that was trying to get my attention, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. After looking back and forth between them for a couple of minutes, I worked it out. They had the same pattern. Slightly different colour scheme, but the exact same pattern.

Somehow, we managed to buy two different chairs on separate occasions with no thought to what they looked like (other than 'they didn't look ugly'), and they matched.

Now we have three old chairs that match each other, two new chairs that match each other and a couch that's falling apart and doesn't match anything. After the trouble we had getting the armchair into the house, though, I think we're going to hold off on replacing the couch for a while.

Kernel Panic

I got this message in my work email yesterday:

"At 4:54pm today 8/10/07 the server tvl-gatcf3 abended due to a Kernel Panic."

I barely know what "server tvl-gatcf3" means. I had to look up what happens when it "abends" (but I'm not sure I actually understand it) and I haven't a clue what a "Kernal Panic" might be.

I sometimes get the feeling that the tech-support people are going out of their way to make up new words - just so they can maintain their mystique.