SINGLE MULTILINGUAL - The Diary of an Au Pair in Italy

The Bell Curve

2008-12-27T10:09:00.001+01:00

For this au pair, the Christmas season has brought with it a new set of unexpected difficulties. It all started a week ago when 7 year old Marta, for the first time, threw a fit when I attempted to help her dress herself. To be fair to her, perhaps I was feeling a little impatient at the time as she was already late for school and would not relent in her daily routine of whistling whilst holding her unused toothbrush in one hand and twirling around her knickers in the other. However, this seemed to be to be the turning point in Marta's overall behaviour, not only with me but with her parents as well.

Every day which we spend together is now plagued by temper tantrums, crying fits, and misunderstandings on Marta's side, and unbearable frustration on mine. Half of these incidents I put down our increasing ability to understand each other's languages. Yes, I know, its strange -- you would think that the more English she understands, the more we should be able to communicate. However, I have realized that mutual understanding does not necessarily develop in an uphill fashion. Rather, it is more comparable to an upside-down bell curve. This is because, at the beginning, both parties make a conscious effort to understand and accommodate to the wishes of the other, just as strangers tend to be very polite on the first meeting. This stage, though, is followed by a time when both understand about 50% of what the other is saying. As a result, while there is much comprehension between the two parties, they is also a wide berth for misunderstandings as well. This, unfortunately, is the stage at which Marta and I find ourselves and it is putting a certain degree of strain on our relationship. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Marta's grimaces in my direction and her tendency to cry or yell hurtful expression my way whenever I say something even slightly displeasing to her are weighing heavy on my soul.

This behaviour has also been extended to her parents. I am hearing fewer and fewer pleases and thank yous, and whenever they try to have a deep conversation with her, they receive empty responses. I only hope that this new behaviour is not the result of bad influences from school. As we all know, you can understand a person fairly well simply by observing the people they spend time with.

I only hope that her behaviour improves after the stress of the holiday season is over. It would be a shame to spend the rest of the year with a girl who cannot stand my presence.

This Exciting Life of Mine

2008-12-18T22:43:00.004+01:00

This Thursday marks the end of a string of late nights and social gatherings. I have gained the new nickname "mondana" (social butterfly) for the extraordinary number of times I find myself returning home when the only sign of movement on the streets is that of the odd "ubriaco" and the only prominent lights in view are the Christmas illuminations that remain lit throughout the night. I am not used to being a mondana -- a girl whose original idea of a curfew when she first arrived was 1:00 a.m., but it is when the Torinese are at their most alert. So, when in Rome (or in Torino), one must follow suit.

On Sunday, I experienced my first live football game. It took place on a rainy and cold day between two Italian teams, Juventus and Milan, and my companions for the evening were RaeAnne, Sarah (from England) and her school chum Simon who just so happens to be a dead ringer of Jeremy Northam, my favourite actor. (Swoons!) RaeAnne and I were incredibly fortunate as the father of the family for which Sarah works is friends with the manager of the Juventus team. As such, the tickets were free and in a fairly descent position. As I am not a football fan in general, I will not attempt to comment on the game itself, but I will comment on the fans. From what I noticed, Italian fans really don't seem to give two hoots whether their team makes a mistake or not. A player could kick the soccer ball and completely overshoot the net and the crowd would still break into a supportive cheer. This attitude seems to lie in contrast to that in other countries like Canada where players are more often booed than not if they foul up on the field. In the end, the team which Torino supports, Juventus, won by two points, a result pointedly emphasized at the finish by the team when they ran from goalpost to goalpost and threw themselves sliding into the mud. It took us almost an hour subsequently to get home since it was pouring with freezing cold rain, and there wasn't a taxi or bus in sight for over 20 minutes, but we still maintain that we do not have any regrets, despite the fact that our heads hit the pillow at 2:00 am.

Monday night was planned to see off a girl I only just got to know recently though we've been acquaintances ever since I arrived. Kim, a fellow au pair from Australia, was in my Italian class and also looked after a couple of children who go to the same nursery school as Anna and Pietro, so we had quite a bit in common, but never got around to hanging out outside of these two environments. Since I am always one for throwing random people together, I decided to call up Mathieu and Nicola to join us, and Kim did the same to her friend Loredana, giving us a substantial group of five people who really didn't know each other that well, but were happy to spend time together regardless. The movie we saw was called Slumdog Millionaire, originally filmed in Hindi but translated into Italian, and I recommend it to anyone, even those who cannot stand the proverbial Bollywood dance that is bound to appear at the end of each Indian film. To give a very brief summary, the movie takes you through the life of Jamal, an 18 year old orphan whose troubling life experiences give him the knowledge to win 20 million rupees on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. It has an excellent blend of humour and seriousness, and provides in depth insight into the wealthy and impoverished sides of India. If you're looking for a movie to see, this is the one folks! Afterwards, we went to a local pub for a beer and a chat, and by the time I got home, it was already 2:30.

The next day had long been in the making. I attended my first Zucchero concert at the Torino Olympic Hockey Arena Isozaki, and I was once again accompanied by Mathieu and this time Marco as well, who I hadn't seen in almost a month. Though the whole concert was fabulous, my night was truly made when Zucchero sang both Il Volo and Mente a Rosamarino, my two favourite songs off of the Best Hits album. (And Il Volo has a special significance for me since it was always the one I would sing along to with my family when it came on the French radio station, Cherie FM!) Throughout the show, the three of us were on our feet dancing and singing, taking videos and random photographs, enjoying the human energy that overwhelmed the arena. Another favourite part was when, during the prelude to the encore, everyone in the stadium began stamping their feet loudly to call Zucchero back on stage. The vibration created by our feet shook the entire stadium and sent shivers through my spine. After the concert, we once again headed for the nearest English pub where we met up with Nicola for supper, drinks and an intense lesson in Italian slang and proverbs. This time, my key entered the lock of our front door at 3:00 in the morning, and I could hardly sleep for worrying about whether my alarm would wake me at 7:00 the next morning.

Wednesday was the final event in my string of late evenings out. I had to chuckle a little when I saw Mathieu waiting outside for me in his car as he had done the two nights previous -- though it hadn't been planned intentionally, this was the third night that we were in each other's company and it was becoming rather amusing. From my house, we went to an Argentinian restaurant where a massive group of Mathieu's friends were dining in style. Many of them I had met before - Enrica, Pietro, Marcella, and her boyfriend - and I had a wonderful time trying to hold mediocre conversations in Italian with those who were close to my seat. Since I had eaten already, I went for a small plate of french fries while everyone else splurged on an expensive "menu" - basically a four course meal crowned by a tender, juicy piece of steak. We were joined by Nicola later on who had just come back exhausted from volunteering at an airline conference, and by 12:00, we decided to call it a night. All the way home in Mat's car, the three of us serenaded each other with Zucchero and Coldplay songs from the new album -- a great end to an exciting four days. (Note: The picture above is of Mat's yummy lemon cake...mmm mmm!)

And that brings us to today when Zombie Heather decided that 12 hours of sleep in three days wasn't enough, and took a well needed nap from 9:00 to 11:00 to recharge her batteries. Tomorrow, the excitement starts again as I have salsa lessons booked, and if I am lucky on Saturday or Sunday, I may be able to join my favourite boys for another couple of late night get-togethers depending on when my babysitting duties end here.

The Alps and Sauze D'Oulx

2008-12-13T13:06:00.004+01:00

This past weekend was my first spent in the Alps of Torino, a jagged line of sharp, snowy tops slicing Italy and France directly down the middle. The place in which we stayed was called Sauze D'Oulx, a mountainous town snuggled in the centre of the Mountain Community Alta Valle Susa. Though the name is obviously French, the town lies on the Italian side of the border -- evidence that the frontier between France and Italy is really less defined than the nationals of each would like to think. It is apparently a destination which every Torinese tends to frequent at some point in their life. Just how every Italian knows someone named "Andrea," it is impossible to live in Italy for more than a month and not find someone who has a cottage in Sauze D'Oulx.

Initially, I expected that I would be skiing on the weekend, and I dressed myself accordingly -- long johns, tank top, t-shirt, long sleeve shirt, sweatshirt and puffy coat - six layers in total, to be precise. In the end, I didn't ski at all (no great loss), but the six layers were more than appreciated. The snow reached as high as my waste in some parts, the wind when it blew was bitter, and the temperatures were comparable to Toronto in the dead of winter. It was a bit of a shock for someone who, puffed up with Southern Ontarian pride, turned her nose up with a laugh when told it would be freezing.

For me, most of the weekend was spent dancing, drawing and playing "mama and baby wolf" with Anna who, being only three, was unable to start skiing lessons. Pietro and Marta, on the other hand, were bundled up beyond recognition in preparation for ski school - the younger squealing in joy and the elder in misery at the prospect of spending an entire two days in the cold on a snowy mountain top. As it turned out, the school was extortionate, charging 40 euros for one child to ski twice, and so the next day, after cancelling their reservations at the school, the entire family went skiing together while Anna and I spent our first three hours out together alone.

These three hours were probably the most challenging for me so far, for many reasons. First of all, it was the first time I had ever taken a three year old out on the town without another adult around to lend a hand. Secondly, Anna gave definition to "separation anxiety" by wailing on and off for an hour after her parents left to ski. Thirdly, I had been charged with not only getting this sobbing child a specific type of chocolate croissant and a specific store which I had never been to, but also with buying a massive package of paper and a newspaper -- all in very broken Italian! The entire time I was on edge, but I found that as I checked off each "chore" on the list, the easier spending time with Anna became. I attribute this to the fact that I am becoming very familiar with the various ways of distracting Anna's attention from things that instigate her crying spells, like missing her parents. (For instance, whenever I pick her up from school these days, I tell her first of all that her mummy is at home waiting for her, even if she isn't. Then, when we arrive and tears start to well up in Anna's eyes, I tell her that her mummy has gone to buy some milk for her baby bottle. This prospect always seems to delight Anna (perhaps it is the idea that her mum is doing something especially for her?), and she usually quiets down.

As for the scenery, it goes without saying that my mouth was unhinged in astonishment the entire time. Unfortunately, the first day was rather snowy so most of my photos took on a misty blue tint, but the next day was clear enough to take some excellent shots. My favourite moment was sitting at the ski coffee shop after completing a long walk up the highest ski slope in the area, looking out over the town of Sauze D'Oulx -- a mixed bag of little wooden apartments from the 70's, ski stores, Christmas lights, and a cute miniature church plopped appropriately in the middle, centred against a backdrop of almost exaggerated beauty -- peak after peak of harsh rock and snow, remnants of previous landslides, precarious roads winding around each cliff face, and the brilliant sun forcing its reflection onto the blinding whiteness that covered every pike. I was cold, but it was a moment of true happiness.

Our next visit will be in about three weeks time, so I hope that I will be able to tell you more of this beautiful area of Italy soon.

Colours and Language

2008-12-08T19:56:00.002+01:00

The human perception of colour seems to be more subject to change than other phenomena observed by the senses. If you ask an American or a Canadian what the colours of the rainbow are, no doubt the Rainbow Song will burst from their lips with the colours . However, if you visit the most Southern Region of Japan, Okinawa, you will find that they divide their colours primarily into only three primary groups - black, white, and red. The various shades in between (what we perceive as individual colours) will fall into one of these categories. One of the most ambiguous colours in existence, perhaps, is green which is often interpreted as a shade of blue. (Take for example, Japan, once again where they consider the grass, vegetables, and the colour for "go" on traffic lights to be "blue.")

Why do I bring this up? It is because, yesterday, I came across such a difference in interpretation in the Italian language as well. The difference exists specifically with regards to the colour of hair. In Italian, there exist the colours blonde, brown and black, but the cut off line between what is actually defined as blonde or brown is different to that in English. Anyone who has seen the colour of my hair will agree that it is a medium to dark shade of brown in English terms. However, when I attempted to explain this to dark haired Marta, I was met with rigid opposition.

"Absolutely not,” cried Marta, “There’s no way. I have brown hair! Yours is "biondo scuro" (dark blonde)."

"She's right," added Ludovica, "in Italy, anyone with your shade of hair would choose to dye it blonde. It is light enough to be possible. As for us, we have true brown hair."

The bristles went up on the back of my neck. I was prepared for a fight. What right had they to steal my identity as a brown haired individual? Yet I managed to hold back, because I realized that not everyone is metalingusitically aware that even something so simple and seemingly straightfoward as the colours in our world are not interpreted in the same way in every culture. Instead, I attempted to explain to Marta that in English, we use "brown" for many different shades, even for shades such as Pietro's, which is verging on dirty blonde.

Did it work? Not quite. "No! You're dark blonde and that's final," she cried at the end of our discussion, and that put the kibosh on that.

Ah well, she is only seven after all!

The Week of House Boundedness is Over!

2008-12-05T09:23:00.002+01:00

The family and I have finally reached the end of a lack luster week during which little Pietro was continuously out of commission. It turned out his cold had developed into an infection in his throat, which later became a form of tonsillitis. Throughout the week, I was his caregiver from 8:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. and I have learned many things. Firstly, a sound I will never relish in is the wail of a child as he gulps down a dose of disgusting medicine clumsily hidden by a flavour that could have been 'banana' in another life. Secondly, Sesame Street and Wallace and Gromit are lifesavers when a child will not stop asking you to play "monster." And lastly, there is something special about the bond that develops between a sick child and the person who stays with him. You become like a second mother to him, which is one of the best feelings in the world. While the little monster drives me nuts sometimes, I think a part of me will miss having him around in the afternoon.

Before my week of house boundedness (yes, that IS a word), I made a point to fill my life with activities completely unrelated to childcare. I visited an authentic Italian discoteca with flashing strobe lights that conveniently obscured the dance moves of anyone with two left feet. This was a particularly exciting experience since I had never stayed out until 4:00 a.m. to dance before then, and I found that once I got over the 2:00 a.m. mark, my second wind was able to propel me forward throughout the rest of the night. (Hence I didn't fall asleep until 5:30 despite the fact that I was ready for bed before then!) I met some wonderful friends of RaeAnne, in particular Andrea, who has promised to take us both salsa dancing at a club sometime. Maybe the ballroom dancing I learned two years back will finally come into use!

I also went to see Changeling with Mathieu, and his two best friends Nicola and Marco. I must say that, for all of its gruesome content, it was a fascinating story. It was about a woman whose child is abducted by a serial murderer back in the 1910's, and the Los Angeles Police Force that does everything in its power to cover up the failure of its investigation into the case. Overall, it was acted out very well...that is, by everyone except for Angelina Jolie. (I don't know if my personal bias against her is clouding my judgment, but she didn't come across as very convincing due to her tendency to overact. And yes, I know, if you lose your son, you are bound to be hysterical, but certain tactics have to be applied to genuinely project that hysteria. In Jolie's case, she successfully went through the motions - she cried, screamed, and tore into the flesh of other people intent on bringing her down - but her performance as a whole left me completely cold.) I was interested to learn that the script was based on a true story which was discovered in the archives of the Los Angeles Police Department, just before it was to be sent to the incinerator shaft. I was also interested to learn that cases such as these were rife back during the first part of the 20th century. As for the film itself, Eastwood did an excellent job of capturing the ambiance of the 1910's. It was almost reminiscent of a film noir in the way it was shot. The Italian voice actors, too, were brilliant as usual, and I found that I understood about 20 percent of what was being said this time around. I am sure that <Hai ucciso mio figlio> (Did you kill my son?), which was repeated probably 100 times, is a line I will never forget.

I also finally purchased a new camera - a waterproof Olympus - with which I plan to take many photos of the Alps this coming weekend. It will our first ski trip out of the city, and apparently everyone goes at the same time because of the long weekend. Personally, I think I would rather take two days away from home and have no traffic rather than three days and a traffic jam there and back, but hey...beggars can't be choosers! See you all next week!

The Development of the Children's English: 2 Months On

2008-12-03T15:10:00.002+01:00

In this post, I would like to make a small update about the changes that have occurred in the English of the children.

Anna: After two months, Anna (age 3) now understands many of the questions I ask her, the most common of which include "What are you doing?" "How are you?" "How was X?" "Do you like X?" and so on. She also understands my commands, especially those relating to regular household routines such as having a bath, brushing teeth, cleaning up, and sleeping. However, she is still the least likely to speak with me in English, and only does so when her siblings speak English as well.

Pietro: Pietro (age 5) is probably learning the most from me as we spend the most time together. Thanks to Sesame Street, he is now familiar with many adjectives such as "heavy, light, long, short, big, small" and so on. The number of nouns he knows are increasing by the day, and he can easily expression emotions, feelings and sensations such as "happy, sad, hungry, sleepy, thirsty, and funny." He is getting used to informal exchanges such as "Hi - How are you? - I'm good" and he has picked up on "run out" and "full" when used with regards to markers and pens.

Marta: Marta (age 7) learns English at school and is therefore the most advanced as she knows plenty of nouns, adjectives and adverbs from her lessons. She is the most willing to speak and is also the eldest, so she is capable of producing the most complex grammatical structures. She is quite comfortable with "because" and the expression "This is my favourite." She has also managed to successfully acquire the structure "If I were a X, I would be..." after teaching me the Italian equivalent.

All three children: The three children have picked up on a number of sayings English speakers use. Their favourite is "Yummy yummy in my tummy" which Anna pronounces as "Yummy yummy tummy." They also like the word "bellybutton" (which Anna has humourously turned into "bacho"). Sesame Street has taught them a number of directional terms such as "around, over, under, through" which were learned through a song sung by Grover, and they have also picked up on the numbers 1 - 20 thanks to numerous games of hide and go seek, Sesame Street, and a hopping game I invented where I act as a monster who counts the number of steps she takes before she captures the children. An interesting developmental error that both Pietro and Marta seem to make is the use of "my" in the place of "I am" and "mine." For instance, they will say "My hungry" or "This is my." They are both becoming familiar with the use of "you" and "your" but often mix up the two, and often use "this" or "this one" to indicate items or the desire of these items.

I apologize for the severe lack of posting as of late. I have only just started to recover from my cold which left me incapacitated for about three weeks. Hopefully, I can get back into the swing of things this coming week!

The Film Set

2008-11-26T14:22:00.001+01:00

As some of you may have discerned from my posts, my experience in Torino has been intimately intertwined with cinematic production. My friend and fellow au pair Rae and I know an actor, two directors, an electrician/cameraman and a number of other people who pop in and out as extras. We have explored the Mole Antonelliana, the cinema museum of Torino, seen a plethora of films in Italian, and most interestingly, we once visited a set for a commercial on which our friends Marco and Federico were working. Since I didn't write in detail about my experience on the set, this will be the theme for this particular post!

Initially, my friend Rae and I figured it would be impossible to go. After all, how do two au pair girls without a car, a ride, or a sense of direction even begin to attempt to find a studio hidden in a back alley in some obscure part of Torino? It was by good fortune that our director friend Mathieu, who was originally supposed to work with Marco on the set, had a car and a couple of hours to spare to take us there, and after what seemed like hours of stopping and starting on the dusky backstreets, we finally came to a halt.

I would never have imagined that a set could have existed inside the building in front of which we stopped. It seemed there wasn't an entrance in sight, save a large, rusty garage door which looked as if it hadn't been opened in decades, and a number of barred windows lining the sad, grey walls. I watched Mathieu's shadowy figure a little doubtfully as he made a few phone calls, and was about to ask if we were really in the right place when a faint voice sounded from the top floor of the flat. It was our signal to enter, and we did so through the rickety garage door, which when opened, flooded the street with a cascade of light. Then it was a lengthy ride up the miniature elevator, and a long walk along a narrow corridor before we began to see traces of a set in action - a camera, a flood light, funny costumes, and people buzzing around solely on the power of late night coffee. Two of those people, we soon saw, were Marco and Federico, looking weary from the day but happy to see us at long last. We were finally at the set.

Since filming was about to recommence, Rae and I were ushered silently to the back of the dark room where I was reunited with Max, the director of the commercial, who I had met at the Halloween party. In front of him was a large camera with a screen smaller than a postcard. On it, I could see Federico shuffling his papers at a desk. "We are preparing a commercial dealing with investments," someone whispered in my ear, "and Fede is the main character." I nodded. This would be an interesting lesson in Italian, I thought.

And indeed it was. I never realized until this night exactly how many times a commercial had to be shot, and re-shot. I knew almost all of the dialogue off by heart by the end of the night. And there were so many variables -- obvious ones such as the position of the lights, the quality of the acting, and the speed at which the camera moves along the track -- and not so obvious ones such as the inevitable disagreements that occur between the actors and the director, the number of video cameras of which the director needs to simultaneously keep track, and the amount of mist that should be sprayed into the air to reflect and subsequently spread out and soften the lighting. I couldn't help but laugh when Marco was forced to dig out a massive sheet of cardboard to blow away the excess mist that loomed over a slightly annoyed Federico's shoulders as they were waiting to shoot. It looked as if they were filming a commercial for fire safety rather than insurance!

I was also impressed by the incredibly affable relationship that exists between Max and the people that work under him. Apparently, while most directors assume an air of superiority, Max treats everyone as an equal. (Perhaps a little too much at times -- I cannot help but recall the time when a cheeky cameraman decided to sick a piece of duct tape to Max's arm, which he couldn't remove without the kind of yelp you would only hear at a woman's beauty salon!) It was obvious to me that everyone relished being involved, and made it even more clear to me that if you are going to have a profession in life, it has to be something you love.

Rae and I spent only an hour and a half on the set, but it was enough to make me realize how physically draining yet intellectually stimulating the film business can be. Creativity is required at every step, and if you don't have the money or resources to make something work, you improvise. (Take for instance the camera track that Max made out of a skateboard, a pillow, and a piece of wood - "cheap, fun and easy to use" is what we dubbed it, without the slightest bit of sexual innuendo intended!) Though the life of a film maker isn't for me personally, it is fascinating to watch and I stand in admiration of anyone in the business.

Random Smatterings of Update

2008-11-21T10:21:00.003+01:00

Since I am sitting here without a specific theme in mind, I thought I might enlighten you all to the events of the past week.

First of all, the reason for my absence is that I have been as sick as a dog. Not once. But twice within the course of a week and a half. It is one of those colds that rears its ugly head for a day or two, decides to take a break during the subsequent two days to gather strength, and comes back with a vengeance to incapacitate its victim. Okay, so maybe I sound like I am describing an unreleased Harry Potter sequel, but the yearly routine of coming down with bronchitis-type symptoms is really starting to become a bore. It doesn't help that all three kids have the same infliction, and we can only pray that Ludovica and Emanuele's habit of "tocca ferra" (knocking on metal instead of wood) will keep them safe.

This dreadful cold, however, has not stopped me from going out and enjoying myself. This past weekend, I had a wonderful dinner at a pizzeria with some friends of Marco and Mathieu, during which I spoke more Italian than I had ever spoken previously. I give thanks in particular to one of Mat's female friends who is not a native Italian, but speaks the language better than most. ("She can EVEN use the conjunctive!" is the line that was admirably used to describe her!) Being foreign herself, she could empathize with the feelings of a foreigner in a strange land, and as such, patiently listened to everything I tried to say, and corrected me whenever necessary, without once switching over to English.

I also had my first "aperitivo" experience in Italy. An "aperitivo" is the equivalent of "happy hour" in Canada. You basically pay seven euros up front, and with that payment you receive one alcoholic beverage and all you can eat at the buffet table. Not a bad deal if you are hungry, but unfortunately, I had eaten beforehand being under the impression that the seven euros included "all you can drink" as well. (My, I am an optimistic soul, am I not?) So, after chugging back the first drink, I sat there twiddling my thumbs wondering whether I should invest in another. After all, I assumed, it couldn't be THAT expensive. (Scratch the last bracketed comment. I am optimistic AND naive!) Unfortunately, the beer I ultimately decided to purchase was the same price as the "all you can eat" deal, and while my sunken and shrivelled expression gained me a two euro discount from the owner, I was still five euros out of pocket for a drink I could have bought at the supermarket for a quarter of the price. Yes, aperitivo bars are great social meeting places, but if you plan to drink, take your time and money elsewhere.

As for news regarding the children and their English, I am sensing great improvement all three. Yesterday, when Pietro and Marta stayed home from school to recover from their colds, we reenacted a number of the scenes from Sesame Street - specifically the skit between Grover as a waiter at a restaurant, and Big Blue, the customer. I was shocked at their ability to recall much of what was said between the two characters, despite not really knowing where word boundaries begin and end in English. In Pietro's case, in particular, he tends to interpret phrases such as "Just a moment sir!" as single words, and runs the words together as a result. However, he has associated meaning with these clumps of words, and that is what is most important for progression. I have also noticed that the children will now willingly answer me in English, demonstrating to me an interest and a confidence in their own ability to communicate that wasn't present before. It also helps that all three children have, as Ludovica puts it, "fallen in love with me" and will do anything in their power to impress. And what better way to impress than to speak the language of the person they love! This being said, they still have their moments of stubborn pride. For instance, if you ask them outright if they like English , they will completely deny having an interest and will adamantly insist that anything English related is "brutta" (horrible). It seems that even children have a reputation to maintain!

Last but not least, I have decided to go and see a Zucchero concert on December 16th! I still don't know if I will be accompanied by anyone, but at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if I am alone or with ten people. All I know is that I must take this bull by the horns, and continue to experience as much as I can of this beautiful city!

A Victim of Petty Theft

2008-11-14T17:19:00.001+01:00

I'm not going to mince words. I'm incredibly irked at the moment with the Italian postal system, pretty much everyone responsible for controlling what happens to the post in this apartment, and the world itself.

Two weeks ago, I bought a book for Marta on eBay for her 8th birthday. It was bad enough that the parcel didn't make it in time for her birthday, but I figured that as long as it arrived in the end, all would be well.

Well, it arrived all right - on the one day that week I decided to stay after my Italian class to have a coffee with some friends. At the time, our cleaning lady, Maria, and the apartment janitor who is also in change of keeping large parcels safe until the owner returns home, were both in the building. Apparently, the postman had rung the doorbell, but Maria had not answered because she did not want to be responsible if that person were to break in and steal something -- a completely reasonable decision, which is why she is not the target of my anger.

The janitor, however, apparently spoke with the postman after he gave up on ringing the doorbell and told him that the person to whom the parcel was addressed (a.k.a. me) was not a resident in our apartment. (Let me mention that the janitor has met me many times before, and knew that I was an au pair at that address.) So, in the end, the postman simply left the parcel with her, without leaving a note in our mailbox to say that it had arrived but not been signed for, and went on his merry way. And the janitor, who for some reason was one card short of a full deck that day, decided to leave the parcel unprotected on top of our mailbox.

There were only 15 minutes between the time the parcel was left on top of the mailbox and my arrival back home. Within those 15 minutes, someone entered the apartment from outside, decided they liked the look of said parcel, and absconded with it, without actually knowing what it was.

Boy, am I annoyed. My only consolation is that the thief will not benefit much from their smutty act. The present was a book for children, written completely in English. And it order to understand any of it, you need to know the song that accompanies it. Excuse me while I smother a laugh.

The Fate of the Apostrophe

2008-11-13T09:02:00.004+01:00

An interesting news item was brought to my attention by my mum the other day. Though I didn't see it myself, there was apparently a program on British television featuring a discussion about whether it is worth keeping the apostrophe in the English language. The guest speaker was a professor from Bangor University in Wales, and the final conclusion he reached was in favour of keeping the apostrophe. This is because, without it, clarification of certain sentences like "He always dots all his i's and crosses all his t's!" would become far more difficult.

However, not everyone wishes to protect our little grammatical companion.

According to Dr. Richard Nordquist, those who would abolish the "morbid growth in English orthography" (Byington, 1945) see it as unnecessary for clarification in writing since the context, above all, will tell you whether "well" is intended as "we'll" or if "its" indicates possession or not. The same would go for "He always dots all his is and crosses all his ts!" because it would make little grammatical sense to throw a random "is" in between "his" (possessive) and "and" (connector). In other words, a native speaker would never confuse this particular "is" with the third person singular form of "to be."

On the other hand, some like the members of The Apostrophe Protection Society in England say that while they recognize that languages are forever changing, they feel the need to preserve "the correct use of this currently much abused punctuation mark in all forms of text written in the English language." However, there does not seem to be a clear rationale behind why they feel it is necessary to preserve the apostrophe except for the purpose of preservation for the sake of preservation.

So, what do you think? Is the apostrophe necessary or is it simply another reason why second language learners call English the bane of their existence?

Another Addition for The Lexicon

2008-11-12T09:19:00.002+01:00

I haven't posted an item for The Lexicon in quite some time, so here is a goodie for you all, courtesy of my father.

Amateur - Notice the "ama" at the beginning of the word? Anyone familiar with the French word "amour" will see the connection. This word actually means "lover of" in French and stems from the Latin root of the same meaning. While in English, amateur can have a positive ("amateur sports") and pejorative meaning ("What an amateur!"), the positive connotation is more closely related to the original French meaning. This is because most amateurs do what they do because they are driven by a passion for their sport or activity.

My Quirky Neighbour

2008-11-08T08:25:00.002+01:00

Everyone has to have a crazy neighbour. If there were a testament on modern living, 'thou must have a crazy neighbour' would be one of the top five commandments.

In our case, we have a neighbour across the way who I will call Signore V for his privacy. Signore V is what I would call an eccentric. Probably in his mid sixties, he is often seen strolling the halls whenever you come out on the house, regardless of the hour of the day. His dress is plain - usually full-bodied plaid, ruffled grey hair, glasses which magnify his peepers two fold, and the most crucial accessory, a walking stick to compensate for his slight hunch.

If you come out midday and are knocked backwards by the stink of cigarette smoke, you know Signore V has completed his daily routine of wandering your halls. If you dipped your hand into your mailbox on the day on the American election and found your newspaper crumpled with its pages out of order, you can safely assume that Signore V knew about Obama's election before you did. And if you hear random banging on the living room wall when your music is only up to level 10 on the CD player, or receive the evil eye in the hall, Signore V is probably trying to send you a pointed message in the best way he can. After all, he isn't the most verbal of folk in the neighbourhood.

Signore V isn't all bad, though. He is great with children, especially our little ones whose eyes glimmer and voices squeal at the sight of his scruffy form. Not once has he failed to greet me when we have come in contact, with either a mumbled 'hello' or a slightly wary 'bounjourno.' And he provides endless humour to the family and me.

So, let's hear it for Signore V, a man who really knows how to keep the definition of 'quirky neighbour' alive!

Why Obama Really Became President!

2008-11-05T17:48:00.006+01:00

It doesn't matter where in the world you are -- "Obama" is the one name on everyone's lips today. But what makes Obama so inspirational to the masses? Most would say it is because he is a symbol of forward thinking and change to the American people. He is the antithesis of "white, old and stodgy," a symbol for young voters, the perfect candidate for an America that pines for reform.

But what else makes him so special? In response to this question, I would like to share with you a short video I found on the CNN website that discusses the linguistic take on Obama's success with the people.

http://edition.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2008/11/04/intv.martin.obama.reax.cnn?iref=mpvideosview

In this video, Bill McGowan, a body language specialist, explains the criteria which we use to pick our favourite candidate. He explains that our decisions during an election are based on only 30% of what the candidate is actually saying. The rest is based mostly upon "their demeanour, their facial expressions, their tone of voice, [and] their movements."

Obama's appeal exists because his overall demeanour precisely matches what we would expect from a 'president of the United States'. He has the loquacity of a university professor, the energy of a gospel preacher, and the caring tone of a protective father or brother -- all qualities we associate with a true leader. When he speaks, his manner is cool and collected, and his body language, direct and confident.

Perhaps the most important body language cue Obama has down pat is the use of eye contact. McGowan explains that this was most salient during the debates when Obama consistently maintained eye contact with whomever he spoke, and leaned forward to express interest and concern. McCain, on the other hand, was jittery and rarely maintained eye contact with one person for more than a few seconds. Unfortunately for McCain, those who are evasive of the gaze of other people are generally considered somewhat duplicitous, regardless of whether or not they actually are.

Additionally, a personal observation I made about Obama is how he utilizes his hands to earn the trust of his audience. When he speaks, he has the tendency to caress the air, as if it were the head of a young child in need. (Metaphor for the desperate American people, anyone?) And more importantly, as McGoman suggests, he moves his hands only when necessary, mostly to emphasis the presence of an important statement. In contrast, McCain became somewhat of a practical joke after the debates because his movements didn't seem to have a purpose. He would move around sporadically, or simple wander about the stage without a particular aim. This kind of body language can project the image of instability and volatility -- not exactly something the United States needs right now.

Alone, any one of these characteristics would be insufficient to secure a place in the heart of people. But Obama has them all.

What else can I say? Obama = president. I sure am convinced!

I Wish The Eurostar Stopped In Provence Instead

2008-11-04T14:46:00.002+01:00

And now, I would like to present you all with a teensy weensy commentary that has been gnawing at my mind since I arrived. It revolves around the tragic tale of a poor Canadian girl (a.k.a. me) and her experience at the Paris train station; a girl with poorer French language skills that a London-baked baguette, and a kind of naive optimism about "La Ville-Lumiere" that should have been suffocated hours before the train arrived in Paris.

Perhaps I had such optimism because I had been to Paris before. I was only eight at the time, true, but the city left such an impression on me that the memories of riding the elevator in our oversized hotel, circling the Arc De Triomphe, and gaping open-mouthed at the Eiffel Tower have never left me. It is no wonder that I had every hope of disproving the stereotype of Parisians as rude, unhelpful and most importantly, anti-English.

I was in for a very rude awakening right from the word "aller".

At the information booth at the Gare du Nord, only one sour looking gentleman was on duty. He looked as if his wife had just told him that she had never loved him. Hesitantly, I tried to explain in garbled French that I was looking for the Eurostar to Torino and hadn't a clue where to go because I couldn't see any English signs directing me to the proper station. I received no response. Next I tried in very simple English. No response again. I would have knocked on his head and yelled in his ear to ask if anyone was home if there hadn't have been a six inch piece of glass between us, obviously put there just in case I pulled out, you know, a machete or something. However, I came to my senses and decided it would be more worth my while to ask someone else.

Who would have guessed that the same event would occur four more times -- literally?? I was almost at my wits end when I finally found a lady who was willing to lend an ear to my troubles. In the end, thanks to her help, I did find the train but with only a couple of minutes to spare.

I am always bereaved to discover that certain stereotypes have more than grain of truth to them. However, I have been forced to join the masses in saying that Anglophones would be best to stay as far away from Paris as possible, unless their French is passable. And even then, according to some of my French friends, it's a gamble.

Darn Those Motherly Urges

2008-11-03T21:36:00.000+01:00

Since every other day during the week is filled with extra curricular activities for the children, I used today, Monday, as the time to whip together a homemade "pin the tail on the donkey" poster for Marta's 8th birthday party this coming Friday. Except it wasn't a donkey. Instead, I agreed to draw a Sandra Boynton pig by special request of the birthday girl herself.

At first, I thought I would be designing the poster alone. And being as much of a perfectionist as I am an artist, I had an elaborate and meticulous design planned out in my head to 'wow' the children. I must admit, my heart sunk a little when Marta, Pietro and Anna started insisting on assisting me with not only the colouring, but also the drawing itself. It was a difficult amount of control for me to relinquish since I have always preferred to draw alone and have never had young children around to twist my arm.

However, that hour I spent drawing with the children turned out to be one of the best moments during my time here so far. I found that the more work I gave the children to do on the poster, the more they warmed up to me. It didn't matter anymore that the poster wasn't perfect -- we were having a good time together, and that was enough. Anna was in charge of gluing down the stars while Pietro took to drawing various faces on them, and Marta and I did most of the colouring and the designing. My heart especially swelled when Pietro affectionately babbled over and over, "Heather is such a wonderful artist. I love her drawings." I was good and ready to give up my freedom and produce my own affectionate little spawn right then and there!

I might as well mention as a side note that the kids no longer despise speaking English. In fact, all of them now make a conscious effort to memorize and use the new phrases and words that they learn. And now that they are genuinely interested, boy, has the speed of their learning picked up! I would say that Pietro averages fifteen new words a day, while Marta and Anna are only trailing behind slightly. (And then there is me who feels lucky if she remembers even a couple of phrases a day!) I cannot wait for the day when I will actually be able to hold a full conversation with them, with the knowledge that everything THEY know is the product of what I have taught them.

Total Immersion Not The Answer

2008-11-02T20:23:00.008+01:00

Ahh...what a momentous occasion! Today, I carried out my first full conversation solely in Italian!

This fulfilling event happened at a birthday party to which the family brought me this evening. Our hosts were two relatively wealthy friends of the family called Marco and Nicola who had welcomed over twenty guests to their grand household on the outskirts of Torino. (When I say grand, I mean grand...they have an entire hill to themselves, a massive front and backyard, and gates that open on their own at the front of the property!)

At the party were two ladies who spoke very little English. Armed with all of the idiomatic phrases and grammar Emanuele and Ludovica had taught me over the past month, I managed to speak quite fluently about: my nationality, how I had moved from one country to another five months ago, the languages which I speak, the languages which I DON'T speak - a.k.a. French - and why, despite the fact I received nine years of French education, I cannot speak a word. I surprised even myself because, up to that point, I had never been given the opportunity to use Italian without English as a crutch, mainly because everyone around me speaks English so well.

I think this experience has taught me that it doesn't really matter if you use your native language on a daily basis, because learning WILL occur in a second language environment regardless. Plus, using both it and a little of the second language prevents you, as a learner, from becoming overly exhausted.

So, in short, forget complete immersion. It is too darn tiring and will probably impede your learning rather than foster it! Rather, try mixing your own language with the second. If you do, you will find that all the stresses associated with language learning will fade away.

Goths, Satan, and Crazy Devil Worshippers: Halloween in Italy

2008-11-01T10:57:00.012+01:00

For me, All Hallows Eve was a time usually spent at home, taking shifts with my parents at the door while waiting for that impending ring at the doorbell, and hoping that the next visitors wouldn't be a boorish group of sixteen year old boys with only fake moustaches for costumes. Either that, or we would make a trip to Swiss Chalet to escape the stress of the night.

Last night, however, I ditched my stay-at-home routine in favour of a local Halloween festa at a famous pub in Torino called Hiroshima Mon Amour, a name taken from the famous black and white film. Marco, once again, was my companion as he had volunteered to help with the filming of the performance his friend was to put on for the evening, and two au pair friends of mine, Allie and Aida, also came along for the ride.

To say that last night was a strange experience would be a huge understatement. The most unusual thing was that everyone was dressed up as a witch or some variant of that theme. I was expecting to see a number of pikachus, fairies, and perhaps even a Homer Simpson or two, but no -- we were four normal people in the midst of most gothic of company I have been in since high school!

And not only were they gothic - many of them at least appeared to be dedicated satanic worshippers. To understand this, I have to explain the performance of Marco's friend, who is a professional make-up artist. The show basically went as follows:

Five or six witches dance around a calderon behind a misty screen.
The witches appear to faint and slowly, Satan himself (well, actually, Marco's friend dressed up as Satan) rises out of the cauldron.
Satin cuts down the misty screen and takes his place on the stage along with a vampire and a few other servants.
Satin starts to summon people out of the audience to sign themselves over as his eternal slaves.

What I had to stifle a laugh at was how serious the chosen participants seemed to be about signing over their souls! For instance, there was a blond lady, probably in her early-fourties dressed up in a tight leather suit, and when she was chosen, she threw herself right into the part of the dedicated devil worshipper, running her hands all over the actors and tossing her head this way and that. It was like a cosplay show gone terribly wrong!

This being said, it was an amusing evening overall. There was lots of dancing, delicious drinks to be shared, and good company. We even managed to amuse ourselves by taking loads of pictures -- mostly of this particularly scary red witch with a green face, and of the various couples making out. Though it perhaps wasn't the best Halloween I've ever had (the best ones were when I was a child!), it was certainly the funniest!

Bonding Over Truffles in Alba

2008-10-30T01:21:00.002+01:00

I first read about truffles when I picked up and dusted off a copy of A Year In Provence from my mum's bookshelf a week before I left for Italy. In the book, the main character is intrigued by the value ascribed to, and the effort dedicated to finding these seemingly nondescript little lumps of fungi, most of which can be found deep in the woods buried a foot or so under the trees. He mentions how one truffle of average proportion can cost a few hundred dollars, making it a delicacy that only the likes of Brad Pitt could enjoy on a regular basis. I also recall skimming over line or two about how the French like to believe that truffles are a native product of France, whereas in actual fact, they are imported from Italy.

Well, the concept of truffles went from being an abstract line in a book to reality this past weekend when I had the opportunity to visit a The National White Truffle Festival in Alba! My companions were: Marco (a friend I met a week ago through the University of Torino message board), RaeAnne (a fellow au pair from Colorado), and Federico (an actor friend of Marco's), and though we knew very little of one another, we managed to have one of those weekends you just want to mark down as one of the best in your life.

The truffle festival itself was a crossover between a farmer's market and a wine tasting festival in its make-up. Downstairs was a small theatre where a documentary about the significance of truffles was being played, and it just so happened that Marco was the electrician for the film, while Federico was one of the actors. Upstairs, you could find booth after booth of vendors selling not only truffle related products, but also wine, cheese, meats, sauces, breads, and more. The confluence of smells was overwhelming, and the hall was so chockablock that it was hard to move. We managed to taste a number of delicious samples, the best being a wine called Moscato D'Asti -- a sweet dessert wine that was so full and flavoursome that it may as well have been a meal in itself.

This was followed by a savoury meal at the Osteria Nuova on via Calissano, a miniature but unmistakably popular lunch destination on one of the side streets of Alba. The price was more than a bargain considering what we received. For only eight euros, we were able to share a full plate of deliciously smelly, old cheese covered in truffle slices and thick slices of salami. For another eight euros, we had the pleasure of tucking into a dish of rosy pink beef and tuna. And while we could have probably spent an additional eight euros on something else, our stomachs told us no, and we moved on promptly to the final destination of the day.

We soon found ourselves looking at what could have been paradise. A mere two miles from Alba sits a wine production farm, located at the top of one of the many rolling hills that rumple up the Italian landscape. What was once an expanse of green vines heavy with purple grapes is now a palette of reds, yellows, oranges and browns - a view just as spectacular as one you might see in Ontario's deciduous regions during the fall months, but uniquely Italian all the same. At the pinnacle of the hill stands a proud looking tree which Federico tells me has been around since the mid-1800's. From its lower bows, we sit and take in the landscape, a little despondent knowing that we cannot stay forever.

Though much more happened, this is a taste of what we saw at Alba. Having now experienced the natural and unaffected beauty of rural Italy, I realize now, more strongly than ever, how much of a city person I am not.

Update: Oh, and my impression of truffles? They're not as good as everyone makes them out to be, as with most things in life. They taste a bit like potent mushrooms. Personally, my eyes were glued to the varieties of cheeses most of the day!

Shoo Japanese, Don't Bother Me!

2008-10-27T09:37:00.008+01:00

My Italian must sound truly alien to native Italians for reasons other than the fact that it is as poor as poor can get. Probably the funniest thing that I do that other English natives do not is unconsciously fall back onto Japanese whenever a word escapes me in Italian.

These words are usually not nouns or verbs, but "fillers" -- those drawn out utterances we use when we are thinking up a response (ummmm!) or when we attempt to contradict someone's opinion (yeah i know but...!) or when we are simply trying to fill an awkward silence (well...).

Here is an example conversation I might have with Emanuele!

(In Italian with highlighted Japanese fillers.)
E: So, did you have a nice day?
H: Maa...it was good.
E: That's good. Are you going somewhere tonight?
H: Nnn sou sou, uh I mean, si si...yes...ahh...what was the question??

I find it most amusing how the brain automatically seems to resort to the second language when words and expressions in the third are inaccessable. And it is even more amusing that this happens despite the fact that Japanese and Italian are like chalk and cheese, while English and Italian are literally long lost cousins.

Perhaps Italian should have been my first opponent in the ring...life would have been so much easier!

Pietro's Kind Words

2008-10-24T13:27:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I found out that my little proteges aren't as indifferent to me as I originally thought. It was when Ludovica, Emanuele and I were watching Juno late in the evening that Ludovica turned to me and said...

"You'll never guess what happened while you were out at the movies tonight!"

Visions of children hurling water over the side of the bath, screaming up and down the hallway, having uncontrollable 'capricci' (temper tantrums) while yelling "bruta" and "cattiva" in my direction sprung immediately to my mind. Curious as I was, perhaps I didn't really want to hear what I had missed that night after all.

Seeing my apprehension, Ludovica quickly continued...

"No, no, you'll like this! Apparently, when Marta was complaining about how you hadn't let her and her friends put their backpacks in the bathroom, Pietro came to your defence! He said: Heather's not mean, she's nice and beautiful! We love her! We should teach her lots and lots of Italian and we must learn more English!"

"WhHHHAAAT?? This is not the Pietro I know!" I thought. (And apparently, Ludovica had said the same thing at the time!) Pietro, out of all the children, is the one I am the most strict with. He calls me the most names, and the most trouble, and has the most averseness to speaking English, so to have him say such a kind thing about me really took me aback.

I think that Pietro's acceptance of me is proof that an easygoing attitude with children is not the key to ultimately gaining their respect and affection. It takes rules and order to have a good relationship with young children since they feel more confortable when there is a structure in place. After all, if there weren't a structure, they wouldn't have the opportunity to break the rules, and that wouldn't be any fun at all! This being said, a caring, and most of all, forgiving attitude must go hand in hand with the strict rules you put in place. Children do not understand the concept of grudges, so it does no good continually resent a child for something they did one week, one day, or even one hour ago. Rather, the most effective method is to tell the child off when they do something wrong, let them hate you at the time, and forgive and forget once all is said and done. At least, in Pietro's case, it seems to have worked.

Anna the Lean Mean English Machine

2008-10-21T15:01:00.005+02:00

Lately, I've been experimenting with various ways to teach 2.5 year old Anna how to speak English. While Marta is quite easy to teach as she already has the basic knowledge of English grammar to get by, and Pietro, despite his protestations, has a fairly good passive knowledge of the language, Anna is a blank sheet waiting to be written upon, making her extremely impressionable! My favourite way so far is put into practice whenever I pick her up from school.

What happens is that whenever we walk home together, we stop at a small shop with a window display bursting with colourful Halloween decorations. Stuck to the window itself are a number of leaf and pumpkin themed stickers, most of which are arranged in an alternating pattern along the edge of the bottom sill. And when Anna runs up to the window, as she always does, I make a point to say outloud "leaf, pumpkin, leaf, pumpkin..." as I point to each sticker.

We have done this for three days in a row so far with no response from Anna except her insistence that pumpkins aren't called pumpkins, and leaves aren't called leaves (they are "zucce" and "foglie" she says!). However, today on the fourth day, just as I was losing all hope, she started copying everything I said! Pumpkin! Leaf! Toes! Knees! Legs! Arms! Belly! Cookie Monster! I couldn't have stop her rampent imitating even if I had wanted to.

It seems that all she needed was daily reinforcement! (And perhaps, the sweetie I gave her after she said "pumpkin" for the first time helped a little as well!)

Hurrah for early second language teaching!

Homelessness in Torino

2008-10-16T09:06:00.010+02:00

Ludovica and I have just returned from picking up Marta from swimming. It has been a long day for all of us - Anna is yawning big gaping yawns, Marta is talking a mile a minute (a sure sign that she is overtired), and Ludovica has fallen into a deep, thoughtful silence, as have I.

As we turn into the parking lot, a sight which pleases none of us meets our eyes. A man, with unwashed clothes, a barrette, and eyes that roll in different directions was directing us into a free parking space.

"What is he doing that for?" I asked. "It's obvious that there is a space. It's right in front of our noses!"

I should have guessed because I had seen it numerous times before. He was one of the many homeless people in Torino employing one of the many "creative" ways of making an extra euro. Only last week, our car had been stopped to a screeching halt in the middle of the road by a women and a man dressed in Gypsy garb, holding signs with the word of Christ scribbled upon them in one hand, and a small plastic cup filled with small change in the other. Others hand out newspapers and ask for money afterwards, and still others sell extremely cheap merchandise on the sidewalks that line the streets.

What surprises me most about these people is that unlike homeless people in Canada who are quite passive, those in Italy will push and push until they receive that precious Euro from you. What they say to convince people, precisely, I am not yet certain, but the most common pitch seems to be something along the lines of "God will bless your children if you help me, and if you don't help me, may you burn in h***." (Pleasant, I know!) The closest experience I had to this in North America was the time my friend and I arrived in Chicago and attempted to find the information desk. When a man offered to show us where it was, we took up his offer and followed him, only to be asked for two dollars for his services afterwards. Worst of all, he would not leave us alone until we had handed over the money. This is the only time that I have been met with this kind of persistence in North America that I can recall.

To be honest, I don't really know how to feel about the "creativity" of the homeless people here. I understand that many of them have no other way of surviving, but their persistent nature personally causes me to feel quite uneasy whenever I walk along the streets, especially when the children are with me. Plus, I do not appreciate the threats regarding the so-called fate of my soul. The only option seems to be to have a pocket full of small change whenever I go out, just to keep them at bay.

Italian Comes With Its Own Challenges

2008-10-13T22:06:00.005+02:00

And now for a little bit of linguistic reflection...

While grammatically speaking I have been having quite an easy time picking up Italian, I have found that I am having a harder time attempting to have conversations with people than I did when I was first learning Japanese. It is not that Italian people are unfriendly or evasive of foreigners. Rather, it is their rapid turn-taking strategies that make entering and, more importantly, continuing a conversation such a challenge.

Let me explain. You see, I have found that when two Italians are speaking, quite often they will not wait for you to finish your sentence. They will either a) finish it for you or b) continue with their own contribution to the conversation. As such, whenever I try to formulate a sentence, the Italian person I am speaking with will more often than not spew out at a native's pace the correct version of what I want to say, leaving me no time to internalize their corrections. Either that or they will simply carry on the conversation as if I had made my contribution already. This characteristic lies in contrast to Japanese people who tend to wait for you to finish before they begin speaking, or at least try to help you complete the sentence yourself.

Arg! It can be so frustrating!

It also doesn't help that most Italians can speak at least mediocre English, leaving me convinced that it will not be before I reach intermediate level Italian that I will be able to actually participate in a proper conversation.

Looks like it is time to get back to the books and study, study, study!

Photo Slideshow of the Kids and Me

2008-10-11T23:49:00.001+02:00

Living Dangerously: The Perils of the Italian Pedestrian

2008-10-10T22:11:00.007+02:00

I was nearly hit by a car. Not just today, nor yesterday, but almost every day since I have been here. I thought that 'bad Italian driving' was little more than an overblown stereotype. How wrong I was!

Just two days ago, when Ludovica and I were taking the children on a walk around the Piazza Vittorio Veneto, the most despicable event so far occurred. A lady with a cigarette hanging loosely out of her drooping mouth and a cellular phone to hear ear came screeching up in her blue piece of scrap metal to the pedestrian crossroads where we were standing, waiting to cross. Knowing that crossroads are little more than a suggestion to stop, we moved out into the road, making it known that it was our turn to go. (After all, if you don't make a move, you end up waiting forever!) This maniacal woman, however, obviously didn't care that she could end up with a life sentence in prison for running down three children and two ladies, and charged forward, leaving only a hair's bredth between her car and little Anna's feet. Both Ludovica and I cursed out to the woman as she tore by, but to no avail. It appeared that her cellphone was permanently attached to her ear, and no one, not even three helpless children crossing the street could divert her attention from it.

The sad thing is, this woman is the rule, not the exception in Italy. It is a shame because Torino would be a much lovelier place to live if people would just have a little more consideration for others while out on the road.

My First Rough Day

2008-10-08T23:53:00.005+02:00

I am not going to lie - today was a tough day for this inexperienced au pair.

Last night, Ludovica and Emanuele held a small dinner party for two friends they have known since Pietro was born. When their friends arrived, one of the two named Valentina presented the three little ones with a massive play set for characters called Gormito (Whether these toys exist in the English speaking world, I am not sure, but they are much akin to Pokemon.) This, of course, sent all three children into a frenzy of excitement, and it wasn't before 10:30 p.m. that they were all in bed.

This present was unmistakably the source of all our misery today. Not having had a good night's sleep, the three children were beyond the state of grumpiness. When I picked up Anna and Pietro from school, I was initially greeted with a big bear hug, lulling me into a false sense of security. But as soon as I told them that they had to hold my hand on the way home, Pietro burst into tears, and Anna, being a little more volatile than the rest, threw herself to the ground screaming "I want my mommy" in Italian. All I could do was pick her up, legs flailing and arms punching, and carry her home, all the while straining to make sure that Pietro wouldn't go and do something stupid like run out into the road.

The worst part was that everyone on the street was watching this terrible scene. I didn't mind so much that all eyes were glued on me and the little two year old screaming in my arms. Rather, it was the fact that Anna was yelling "I want my mommy" - and the last thing I wanted anyone to think was that I was some kind of kidnapper snatching up random children from local daycare centres!

Thankfully, nothing came of it. We got home, and almost as soon as we got to the apartment staircase, both Anna and Pietro forgot all of their worries and became as happy as Larry. I wonder if even they knew what exactly they were howling about!

Bedtime Stories and Language Development

2008-10-07T08:58:00.012+02:00

An activity I have really enjoyed so far as an au pair is reading English storybooks to the children before they go to sleep. Last night, under the dim light that spread over the bottom bunk of Marta and Pietro's bed, the three kids gathered around me, a bundle of arms, legs and heads draped in various contortions, eagerly waiting to hear an English story. Their father, too, came in to listen, and sat himself down at the edge of the bed as I began to read Tim Turns Green, a tale about a black cat who eats three green mice which turn him a very funny colour.

Tim Turns Green is a story from my childhood, and it is a wonderful exercise in reading because a shorter, simpler version of the writing on the left hand page will always appear on the right hand page. This means that after the adult reads the writing on the left, the children can read the writing on the right. For example:

Left: "Little Tim Catchamouse ran up the roof of the old house, till he came to the skylight window."

Right: "Tim ran up the roof."

The book also has a number of very descriptive drawings which depict exactly what is being told in the story. This made it easy to physically show the children what each word meant without having to translate into Italian. In addition to pointing to the pictures, I also made a number of sound effects (sniffing, meowing, laughing, and the like) to accompany the verbs they did not understand.

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The job of reading the right hand page was given to Marta, the eldest. To my surprise, she was able to read it quite well, give or take a few mistakes in pronunciation. And even when she made a mistake, she quite willingly let me correct her and was soon pronouncing the words with a very Canadian accent! (I feel so proud *sniff*). She even remembered how to pronounce "the" properly, though quite a few days had passed since I had taught her.

In addition, Pietro, who is usually quite reluctant to speak any English at all, gleefully repeated words such as "cat" and "green" whenever Marta did the same. I think I have learned that in Pietro's case, it does nothing to ask him to say an English word - it is much more effective to play to his copycat nature, and ask his siblings to say the word first so that he will be encouraged to imitate them. After all, children aged four never want to be left out!

Anna, too, was brazenly trying out her English pronunciation, though she still has a long way to go. However, I don't worry about it too much since even English speaking children of Anna's age cannot pronounce difficult sounds such as "th" or "r" anyway. My guess is that she will be the most fluent of them all by the end of the year, simply because she is too young to be afraid.

Tonight, I am planning to read them The Three Little Pigs, so we shall see how that goes!

Marta's New Words: "cat" "Magician" "burrito"
Pietro's New Words: "one two three" "cookie" "santa" "where" "cat"
Anna's New Words: "gimmi kiss" "cat" "moo" "give me five"

The Cheesy Culture of Italia

2008-10-05T21:51:00.011+02:00

Today I discovered that cheese in Italy is not only a staple food, but a way of life. For our picnic in the park, we had sandwiches filled with ham and creamy 'caciotta'. The night before, we had pizza draped in stringy mozzarella. For our late afternoon snack in the gardens of a nearby 'castello' (castle), we woofed down a massive chunk of smelly goat's cheese slathered in 'melo' (apple) honey. And even thinking back to this morning at breakfast, I can recall the butter on my bread that was so rich that it may as well have been a type of cheese.

(Oh, and let's not forget that on the castle grounds, a wrinkly man with only two teeth to his name was there giving out free samples of, you guessed it, cheese to all of the passers by.)

All this cheese, I cry, and there isn't an obese person in sight! How is it possible?

Ludovica tells me that looking after the children is what keeps the weight off, but I remain suspicious, since I am certain that not everyone in Torino has three boisterous children to force off tummy fat.

Well, I warned you all. If I come back as lardy as a whale, you will know who is to blame!

Anna's New Words: "good job" (while doing thumbs up)
Pietro's New Words: none
Marta's New Words: "baby beluga"

The Success Of My Little Language Learners

2008-10-04T23:42:00.010+02:00

Since I won't have time to write a proper entry, here are a few of the highlights from the past two days!

* The entire family has picked up on "cheeky monkey" - an expression I used on the first day to tease little Anna about her very cheeky smile. Now, whenever Anna does something a little bit naughty, she will refer even to herself as a cheeky monkey! (I'll never get over just how quickly children pick up new words...)

* I have read the children a bedtime story about a hungry lion twice now, and have utilized pointing at the various pictures as I read the words as a way of encouraging understanding. The children now know exactly what bears, zebras, lions, rabbits, and carrot stew are in English, though I doubt they'll ever have to use the last word on that list again!

* Though Anna and Marta are naturally inclined towards studying and learning, Pietro can be a little lazy at times. It has therefore been a challenge to have him respond to me in English at all. However, I know I have managed to teach him a few expressions simply from his reaction to my commands. For instance, he will do as he is told when I tell him to "stand up" and "sit down," and he will make a round cup with his hands on the floor when I saw "make a tunnel for your car." I look forward to the day when he actually starts to speak without any inhibitions!

* The children still think that I understand Italian perfectly, and will continue to babble away even though my responses to their stories and questions consist of the minimalistic set of: yeah, okay, that's cool! I have now started to wonder exactly when children become aware of the linguistic abilities of other people... (When I get the time, I will make a point to investigate!)

The Italian Narrative Officially Begins

2008-10-03T23:16:00.000+02:00

Dear readers,

If I ever had any reservations about coming to Italy, I take them back now. After nine long hours on the Eurostar and a dreamless sleep, only now, on the following afternoon, I am starting to realize what a stunning country I have chosen to visit. Sitting here gazing out of my bedroom's massive bay windows, I can see the famous Monte del Cappuccini church sitting purposefully on top of the tallest and most distant hill. It is the centrepiece of Torino with its large white base and dome shaped top, and appears on many postcards from the area. Fanning downward from the church's base are a mixture of autumn tinted trees and little houses with ruddy red roofs, and at the very bottom runs a road piled with cars driving too fast for the well-being of the average Italian pedestrain. Along the road, people walk and talk, greeting even complete strangers with a joyous "bonjourno!" before going about their daily business. Flower vans full of roses decorate the corner of the street. The sun, too, is brilliant in the sky, and all of Torino seems to shine white in response.

But I am getting ahead of myself, so let us return to my arrival. It was as I stood on the Torino platform pondering how I should approach lifting my 25 kilogram suitcase down a 50 step flight of stairs that I first met Ludovica, my new host mother. She came sweeping down the platform to my rescue -- a small lady not much older than me, but bursting with a kind energy found only in Italian people. To my surprise, she had brought the entire family with her - her husband Emmanuel, and my three little proteges, Marta, Pietro, and Anna, who were excitedly waiting in the car.

In the evening, after the children had gone to bed, Ludovica and her husband made me a dish of pasta slathered in olive oil, basil, cheese, and nuts. It is a family speciality which I have sworn to make my own, though Emmanuel jokes about Ludovica's tendency to overcook the pasta. At the dinner table, we decide, as a project from this point on, that we will label absolutely everything in the house with both the English and Italian equivalent, just to increase our knowledge of each other's languages. We also agreed that no matter how much Italian the children speak to me, I must always respond to them in English. That way, their English ability will grow by leaps and bounds, and I too, out of linguistic interest, will be able to keep track of their progress. As for my Italian, Ludovica promised to speak with me in Italian whenever I wish, and I plan on finding a school for lessons as soon as possible.

I will write again soon, but first, I must get back to the kitchen - I smell pizza and I cannot resist!

Ciao!
Heather

P.S. My camera conveniently decided to pop its clogs while I was on the train to Torino, so I may not be able to post pictures for a short while! (Or at least until I get the money for a new camera...)

Kissing in Mexico: Friendly, not Flirtatious!

2008-09-29T11:00:00.005+02:00

[Setting: the International Students Marquee at the University of X four days previous]

It is the evening before the International Students Cultural Show, and as the buzzing of human interaction slowly fades to a dull silence in the marquee, the last group practicing finally decides to call it a night. We are officially labelled the Mexican Dance Troop, but less than half of us are Mexican in descent. Besides three true Mexicans, we consist of two Chinese, one Taiwanese, and one Canadian-Brit, each of whom decided to put aside his or her true nationality for a day to become a representitive of Mexico's culture - a proud detail, in my mind, since every other performing group was culturally homogeneous.

As I tiredly bent over and gathered my belongings, I could see out of the corner of my eye the form of the handsome yet seemingly introverted Mexican who had taken on the lead male role in our dance brusquely make his way over to me. It was a matter of seconds before I was standing glued cheek to cheek with him, completely dumbfounded, aware only of the sound of an air blown kiss reverberating in my ear. Awkwardly, I placed my hand firmly on his shoulder, for it was all I could do to avoid staggering away in surprise. And then, just as quickly as he had come, he was gone. "So much for being introverted," I thought then, with a stream of colour bubbling to my face, and I too made my exit.

No, everyone, this Single Multilingual will not be cutting the "single" part off of her blog name anytime soon. (For tales of romance, please see a different blog!) What I do want to point out, though, is the differeing use of non-verbal communication in different cultures, and how it could cause misunderstandings.

For me, as a Canadian-Brit, any form of physical contact between members of the opposite sex is suggestive of a deeper meaning. If a Canadian man were to kiss my cheek, for instance, I would consider it forward of him, especially if he were a fairly new acquaintance, and would probably make a point thereafter to put a good ocean's distance between myself and him. But in Mexico, as I learned from this helpful website, it is customary for men to greet women with a small peck on the cheek.

Here are some rules for/things to know about cheek kissing if you ever face a situation where you must perform it:

When you cheek kiss, you don't actually kiss the person. You touch cheeks and deliver an air blown kiss in the direction of the ear, as we learned in my example.
Always kiss the right cheek or you could end up in a very sticky situation!
Kissing is all about "expressing warmth, hospitality, and acceptance" (Roverhaus) and is usually not a form of flirting.
Guys don't kiss other guys. (All the guys out there can breathe a sigh of relief!)
Forget kissing your maid, local fruit vendor, or garbage man...kisses are special, and are reserved for people you consider to be friends!

I actually feel quite flattered knowing that I was "cheek kiss worthy!" :-)

Words to ponder!

2008-09-27T21:59:00.014+02:00

After a week's rest, I think it is due time for a couple of entertaining linguistic goodies for you all!

First of all, did you know that the word "ouija" from "ouija board" is actually a combination of the French "oui" ('yes') and the German "ja" (also, 'yes')? So really, when we seance with our ghostly pals on the other side, we are communicating with them through a "yes-yes board"!

Now, how many of you have heard of the expression "Shank's Pony"? I hadn't until today, and what it refers to is the act of walking. "Shank" is the original term for what we call the "shin bone" and the Shank's pony was "a horse-drawn lawnmower with nowhere for the driver to sit, so he had to walk along behind" (BBC Website).

Welcome Week's Greatest Gift

2008-09-26T10:02:00.005+02:00

When I woke this morning, I was surprised to find my face and pillow wet with tears. After a week of welcoming new international students to the University of X and making many friends, the realization that my experience here will soon become a page in my past has struck surprisingly hard. I will not detail the entire week to you, but I will say what the greatest gift this week has given to me is:

The recognition that the news and popular media provide unfair representations of the people in our world.

"Well, duh!" you might be saying. "Isn't that a fairly common word of caution?" Yes, but think about it. Are we actually capable of coercing our minds into rejecting everything the media tells us about the countries and people of our world, and forming unique impressions about them on our own? I believe the answer is no, not unless we have not been to or met anyone from that area.

I will use Iran and Pakistan as my two personal examples. Before this week began, I will admit that 'terrorism and violence' were the two words that would involuntarily surface to my mind whenever I was presented with the name of either country. And then I met M and A - two lovely university students from the countries in question.

M is a peace loving Iranian with a quiet countenance, an educated mind, and a smile that could melt even the toughest of butter. A is a boisterous and enthusiastic Paki with a passion for life and learning. One minute he will be setting the floor on fire with his Bollywood dancing, the next, he will be throwing himself full force into his work and studies. Everything M and A do is with an open mind and an inherent desire to make other people feel at ease. In addition, though both M and A were fasting for Ramadan, they were able to maintain a positive attitude throughout the long hours of the week. They are possibly two of the nicest individuals I have ever encountered.

Owing to my two new friends, 'terrorism and violence' no longer bubble to the forefront of my mind as pertinent descriptors for Iran and Pakistan. Say the name of either country, and all I will be able to visualize is M's gentle smile and A dancing the night away. Perhaps as a remedy to prejudice, everyone should join a Welcome Week of their own.

Have you ever met an international pal who has changed your impression of their country?

I'll be back with a vengeance!

2008-09-19T01:15:00.000+02:00

Dear readers,

I would like to warn you in advance that my posting may be less frequent this upcoming week since I have taken on 50+ hours of intense work as an International Student Welcome Week Worker at a nearby university, and may hardly be able to stand during my periods of respite, let alone get intimate with the keyboard.

However, I have great hopes that this week of conversing mainly with second language learners (and as a second language learner!) will provide an abundance of linguistically relevant tales to tell in the weeks to follow!

Wish me luck and stay tuned! H

A word from not-so-crude origins...

2008-09-18T11:33:00.006+02:00

"This looks like an interesting linguistic tidbit!" a helpful voice called from out of the kitchen as I sat, knitting my brow over the reams of complicated steps involved in adding a third column to my blog layout. Tired of toying with html, I sauntered over to the voice's owner in response to its call.

"What mum," I said, pausing to skim the first paragraph. "Is it one of those ridiculous forwards again?"

"Yes, but it's amusing all the same."

It went something like this:

Dry manure used to be transported by ship in the 16th and 17th centuries.
The sea water would wet the manure, causing a build up of methane gas,and subsequent explosions whenever sailors would go downstairs with an oil lantern.
Sailors were then on ordered to "Ship [manure] High in Transit" to avoid further mishaps.
And from that, dear readers, we got the acronym...well, you know.

Are your fraud sirens wailing yet? Good. Because this forward is a complete falsehood fabricated by people claiming to be experts in the field of etymology.

The expletive sh*t is actually an ancient word dating back to Old English -- that's 1000 years ago, people -- and is said to share a common origin with words like "science, schedule and shield" (Netlore Archive). Not quite as visually evocative as exploding manure, to be sure, but the truth is never as exciting, is it?

Ah well. I can say that the story did succeed in one thing. It put a smile on this html-fatigued blogger's face.

Italian a Sexist Language?

2008-09-16T19:01:00.030+02:00

Countdown to Italy: 15 days!

In languages such as Italian, French and Spanish, gender labelling for nouns is common. Add an -o onto the end of an Italian word, and it becomes masculine. -a, on the other hand, makes it feminine. But according to a 2001 statement made by Italy's Commission of Equal Opportunities, the overuse of the masculine -o and il (the equivolent of "the" in English) now equates to linguistic sexism.

The main complaint is in reference to job titles, many of which only have a masculine form. For some women and activists, this has proven irritating since they believe that the grammatical gender of the job title should change in accordance with the sex of the job holder. That is, Maria should be una sindaca (mayor), and unless Giovanni's preferences are of the unconventional type, we would expect to call him un sindaco.

But is the preference for "il and -o" over "la and -a" really sexism? After all, parts of grammar don't wear suits and dresses. People do. Perhaps the preference for the masculine gender is really just a way to seek out linguistic simplification. Swedish is a good example of that -- its two genders have merged into one class called "common gender." Or perhaps it is sexist, for we may be subconsciously valuing one human gender over another in our prescription of gender to words.

What do you think? Can we call a language which employs the excessive use of one grammatical gender over another sexist? Or is it really just much ado about nothing?

Is the overuse of the masculine grammatical gender sexist? ( polls)

The Trouble With Saying Goodbye to Britain

2008-09-15T21:16:00.013+02:00

Countdown to Italy: 16 days!

It is noon, yet the warm British sun hangs a full twenty degrees out of kilter as I stand peering tiptoed over the stone wall that separates me from the town below. The roads that cascade from the top of each surrounding hill unite at a ring road, where remains of a heavy day of construction lie in the form of a few scattered pylons. Far off, I can just make out the billows of smoke coming from an unseen steam train as it toots its way into the Bridgnorth station. It is the last full day I will spend alone with my family before the hectic preparations begin for Italy, and this day of touring a traditionally British town, in the traditionally British countryside after drinking heaps of very traditional British tea has left me feeling prematurely homesick.

I am not usually the type to fall victim to homesickness. Even while I was saying my last farewells in Canada, my mind was turned ever forward to the possibilities which living in England might bring. Perhaps I felt the occasional twinge in Japan, but a douse of sake and good friends were always the cure for that.

What makes leaving England different is that I am leaving a home that I am still in the process of getting to know. In Japan, I had two years to familiarize myself with when the sakura cherry blossoms would bloom, how strong Gunma's karakkaze winds would have to get before they could blow a person into the road, and whether it was typhoon season or not. Canada was like a favourite storybook I knew inside and out. But even with regards to such seemingly small things as the position of the sun in the September sky, Britain is still a bit of an unsolved mystery to me, and I hope that fate will be fair and give me some more leisure time to explore her beauties.

New Lexicon Additions

2008-09-14T23:11:00.001+02:00

Oooh...here are a couple of good words and their origins for the Lexicon! I love how even the most seemingly banal of words can still maintain a sense of intrigue.

disease: literally to "not be at ease" - to be sure, I don't know many spot sprouting, germ coughing, chicken noodle soup slurping people who are!

disaster: this word literally refers to an unlucky alignment of stars in the sky foretelling an inauspicisous event (the -aster actually means 'star' and also appears in astrology, asterisk, and asteroid, just to name a few!)

Gosh darn, I just love linguistics! *cheesy grin*

Oh, my 'hear' is 'taching'....

2008-09-14T19:42:00.010+02:00

When you see the word "heartache," how do you pronounce it? Probably /hart/ plus /eik/, if your linguistic intuition hasn't gone on holiday.

But, in the case that our intuition has indeed packed its bags, couldn't we also be suffering from hear + tache? Technically, yes, but I couldn't tell you what it feels like.

What is interesting about words like "heartache" is that the consonant /t/ could hypothetically marry itself to either...

the /r/ at the end of "hear" or...
the dipthong /ei/ at the beginning of "ache"

That's just the way English pronunciation is -- a language thronging with clingy consonants, happy to latch on to either another of its own kind, or a vowel if it is feeling a bit intrepid.

My question to you, reader, is: can you think of any other words that could hypothetically have a variant pronunciation if you cut the syllable boundary in a different place? The funnier the better, but I'll accept any you come up with!

Using Linguistics in Crime

2008-09-13T12:53:00.008+02:00

You have just walked into an electronics store in Britain and stolen a video iPod. Dressed in the garb of your annoying roommate, you are assured that not even the CCTV cameras will be able to expose your true identity. Coolly, you text your partner in crime from an anonymous pay-as-you-go cell phone as you put more and more distance between you and the scene of the crime – you know, just to throw the police off the scent:

“hey man, I got it. pretty easy eh.”

A month later, you and your friend are in court and convicted of petty theft. But how was the crime tracked to you?

Say hello to a relatively new type of forensics called linguistic forensics. Even without physical evidence from the scene of the crime, such as camera footage, fingerprints, or DNA samples, forensic scientists are now able to use language to convict criminals. So, how is this done?

A news item posted on the BBC news website (Sept. 8th 2008) describes it best. In a recent incident, a man named David Hodgson was convicted for the murder of 20 year old Jenny Nicholls. Though her body was never recovered, police were able to convict him after forensic linguists found a number of texts on Jenny’s cell phone written in his native Yorkshire, England dialect – a dialect which Jenny never used in her texts. For instance, Jenny would always write ‘myself’ as ‘myself,’ whereas David preferred the more colloquial ‘meself.’ In short, it proved that a Yorkshire man had had possession of her phone after her disappearance. And who says that linguistics has no place in the real world!

Perhaps if the petty thief in our example had remembered to hide his Canadian nationality (‘eh’) and his probable identity as a young man (‘hey man’), he may have been more successful. Luckily for the general public, he and other more serious offenders like David Hodgson forgot what a serious contender linguistics can be in choosing whether your bedfellow that night will be your loving spouse, or your friendly local cell rat.

To find out more about the exciting world that is forensic linguistics, check out this site!

Perhaps I should stick to inedible gifts!

2008-09-12T15:40:00.017+02:00

With only 19 (!!) sleeps to go until Italy, I have been happily busying myself with buying gifts for my three little Italian proteges! It is always a challenge finding the perfect gift for someone who lives far away since the one gift that calls out to you is usually the one that is the most suitcase-unfriendly, like this jumbo pack of Cadbury's animal crackers I was tempted to buy. (But, on second thought, it is probably best that I returned it to its place -- I would hate to be the one responsible for the onset of obesity in my adoptive kids!)

However, despite my troubles, I have managed to find a couple of things -- a set of wafer-thin Ladybird books I used to read as a kid, all a mere 20 p. each at our local Oxfam charity shop, and a pack of three Cadbury's chocolate buttons, one for each child. Now the biggest challenge will be not clamping down on oversized purchases, but resisting the urge to polish off the edible gifts before they reach their destination! (What a weak willed au pair I am...*sigh*)

Do you have any gift suggestions for me? If so, let me know! They must be a) small b) light and c) child friendly!

Update at 11:03 p.m.: The Cadbury's chocolate buttons have mysteriously disappeared. I think I had better leave buying food-type presents until a few days before I leave, after all. *slinks sheepishly away*

'Subjects' (and cheese?!) subject to disappearing

2008-09-11T20:49:00.017+02:00

Countdown to Italy: 20 days!!

Did you know that a large number of languages, including Spanish, Italian, Arabic and Japanese, don't require the explicit use of subjects like "I, you, he, she, we, they and it"? The concept may seem foreign, especially to Canadians who speak English as a first language, and have only dabbled in high school French, but in many languages, subjects are quite redundant. You may be asking - Just how does one figure out who is expressing the sentiment in the sentence if the subject isn't present? - but surprisingly, misunderstandings very rarely occur thanks to the vital information about the subject provided by context.

For instance, in the sentence "(She) ate cheese. And then (she) ate some bread," the subject 'she' appears twice. The first 'she' is necessary because without it, it would be difficult to know whether it was she, a mouse, or the greedy guest who ultimately devoured the cheese. However, the second 'she' is quite redundant in this case since it can be assumed from the context that she who ate the cheese was hungry, and probably followed it up with a piece of bread as well.

Conversely, if there was another hungry being in the house and it so happened that he/she took the bread in a completely seperate incident, it would in fact be necessary to state the second subject. For if you did not, she who ate the cheese would be landed with a double accusation!

So what have we learned? In non-subject languages, the subject can be deleted when we can assume from the context what the subject is, and it cannot be deleted when we cannot!

But what I find most interesting is that in spoken English, we often tend to delete the subject without noticing that we do so. I could say the following sentences and sound like a perfectly fluent English speaker:

"Just popping out for a moment!"
"Bumped into Peter this morning"
or...
"Went to the Superstore today?"

Perhaps some would call this subject droppage incorrect grammar or laziness. Maybe others would call it language change. But no matter what you call it, it just goes to show that, overall, we English speakers are probably wasting a lot of breath pointing out exactly who did what, when we should be able to simply guess!

"Lost in Translation" can apply to your native language, too!

2008-09-08T21:17:00.011+02:00

It is Sunday and mum and I are enjoying our weekly visit to the Bewdley tea room, set no more than a two mile walk from our home in Kidderminster. The brilliant sun shining down on our faces feels much like an old friend after almost a full week of solid downpoars, and the piping hot tea we are drinking calms the nerves. Since mum has agreed to pay for our fish and chip lunch later on, I trundle up to the counter to pay for our tea, with every intention of making small chat with the owners of the tea room, a broad, smiling man in his early 60's, and a short, rotund lady with a shining complexion - no doubt, two of the truest Bewdlites you will ever meet.

As I hand the money over and say 'thank you' for the tea, the man turns to me with a cheeky grin and speaks:

"Donburyesself!"

I must have looked like I was seconds from being struck by a bus as I tried to parse what he had just said. "Divert youself?" "Dover yes elf?" Before I knew it, the man, probably wondering why the government still continued to let non-English speaking immigrants into the UK, had gone back to cleaning the tables, and my chance of having a decent conversation floated smugly out the window, along with every ounce of my self esteem.

A few minutes later, I figured out with the help of my mum that he had been warning me not to 'burn myself' in the unusually sunny weather. Doh, queue the well deserved smack to the head!

This kind of situation has not been uncommon since my arrival in Kidderminster. We once met an elderly gentleman who had lost his two greyhound dogs. When he asked us whether we had seen his "dogs," we thought he had asked whether we had seen the "doves," and subsequently directed him toward a nearby forest. (We hope to this day that that is where his dogs had scampered off to!)

I once used to think that all English accents were mutually intelligible by all English speakers. Coming here has made me realize just how wrong I was!

Have YOU ever had an experience where you have not been able to communicate with someone who speaks your own language? Let me know about it!

Spelling not just a bi-product of speech!

2008-09-06T23:13:00.002+02:00

In a recent comment, my friend Amethyst asked what a linguist might think of the use of 'net speak' such as "LOL" (laughing out lout) and "pwned" (owned) in speech. While I cannot really comment on the sentiments of the average linguist, what I can say is that the phenomenon of spelling influencing and changing pronunciation is not a recent one -- indeed, after a bit of research, I found that many of the most familiar words in the our language wear a clever phonemic disguise.

Take, for instance, the word "waistcoast" which was originally pronounced as /weskit/. "Clothes" used to be a homonym of "close." The aformentioned "ye" is also a good example of the influence of spelling on pronunication. And Lord of the Rings fans will be happy to know that elephants should not be elephants, but /olifaunts/. In short, all of these words had a written form which influenced the way they were pronounced later on, just like the net lover's dearly beloved "LOL" and "pwned".

What is particularly interesting about "LOL" and "pwned", however, is that these words first took form in writing, whereas all of the above examples were originally used in speech. What I would really like to know is whether there are any other non-technologically related words out there that came about in writing, and subsequently entered spoken language due to their permeation into the written world. Hmmm...!

For more words that have changed in pronunciation due to their spelling, check out this blurb written by Mark Israel.

Heather's lexicon of weird and wacky words

2008-09-05T17:28:00.002+02:00

I learned two new English words today, and I thought I might share them with you!

blype /blaip/: the skin that peels off your body after a sunburn (Ew? Are we the only language in the world with a word for this oh-so-appetizing phenomenon?)

inchoate /inkoeit/: yet to be completely formed, incomplete (i.e. inchoate ideas) -- my dad spent the whole day plopping it into random sentences, only to find out that he was pronouncing it incorrectly (the "ch" must be pronounced as "k"!)

If you, faithful reader, come across any words that are cause you to pause for thought, please let me know and every now and then I'll compile a list and post the submissions I receive.

'Ye' better be surprised by this post!

2008-09-04T21:18:00.002+02:00

Here is a random linguistic fact for you all!

Did you know that "ye" as in...

"Hear ye, hear ye!"
"Welcome to ye olde shoppe!"

...should actually be pronounced as "the"? Yes indeed -- modern English speakers have been sorely mislead. In fact, the "y" in "ye" is not at "y" (as we know it) at all. Rather, it was a single symbol which represented the sound "th," and in order to create words such as "the" and "this," one simply had to place a tiny "e" (for "the") or "s" (for "this") on top of the "y." (Funnily enough, this rule apparently wasn't standardized. For instance, the word "this" would appear spelt as both "y" plus a small "s" and as "this." If anyone can tell me why, I would be most obliged!) If you still aren't convinced, look to the right at the photograph I took of a tombstone inside a Gloucester church!

"Hear thee, hear thee"...hmm, it just doesn't have the same ring, does it?

Learning with Michel Thomas

2008-09-03T21:58:00.001+02:00

After finishing my meagre set of two Lingaphone CD's, I have now moved on to a new language series by Michel Thomas, a Polish polyglot whose incredible linguistic feats funnily enough pale in comparison to the extraordinary events of his life. As a Jewish prisoner of war, he lost all of his family, was tortured and arrested numerous times, and had many close calls with German Gestapo. Since he was a "stateless" Jew, he often had to fly from country to country within Europe to escape capture and, of course, what would inevidably follow. However, his statelessness in fact gave him the greatest gift - the gift of multiple languages, without which he could not have tricked a German officer into believing he was a French painter, nor could he have gathered German combat intelligence for the French and American armies.

Michel's approach to language learning is simple: do not memorize, simply INTERNALIZE. This is achieved through participating in a classroom lesson consisting of two students, Michel, and you. Michel presents his students with different components of the target language, using which you learn to productively build simple sentences. Whenever Michel asks "How do you say X in Italian?" the students will attempt to answer. However, before they do, Michel requests that you, as the third student, press the pause button and try to answer yourself before the other students do. This way, you learn not to memorize the structures by simply listening to the student's response, but to internalize them by thinking through what the answer might be yourself.

It is an excellent system, and I am now, after only three weeks, able to say the equivolent of "must, should, can, want, would like to + verb" using past, present and future in Italian with a fair bit of fluency. That's a year's worth of classroom learning, just to put it into perspective! Not to mention that it is enjoyable since you can always pause whenever you start to feel restless or tired. Now wouldn't it have been nice if we could have done that in grade 9 French....!

To visit Michel's Thomas' site and read his full biography, just click this link! If you are thinking of trying out his product, he has a CD set for French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Mandarin, Japanese, Russian, and Arabic were also produced after he passed away, and are thus conducted by different teachers.

Don't take the 'brary' outta my library!

2008-08-12T10:28:00.002+02:00

Sometimes linguists really do go a step too far. The other day on the television, there was a news item on a professor who had the audacity to encourage incorrect spelling, treating it as "language change" rather than laziness of the uneducated masses. He argued that "as long as the words are spelt as they sound, there shouldn't be an issue." So, taking that line of logic, "library" could just as well be spelt as "liberry," and "opportunity" could do very well to drop a "p."

As a linguistics graduate, I can see where this professor is coming from. In linguistics, the first thing we learn is that concepts such as 'correct' spelling and 'upper class' dialects are all results of arbitrary historical change. That is, the Queen's English could just have easily become one of the less respected accents if history had taken a different course. The fact that the Queen's English appears elegant is nothing to do with the inherent qualities of the Queen's accent - rather, it has all to do with how we subjectively perceive and value the accent. In the same way, this professor has taken this way of thinking and applied it to spelling as well. His argument: why should any particular way of spelling a word be valued over an equally valid way of spelling it, particularly if the alternative is closer to the pronunciation of the word?

The problem with this argument, however, is that English spelling has BEEN standardized, and to say that people are free to manipulate it in their own fashion is, in my mind, the same as saying that I have the freedom to pronounce "library" as "loobary." But to what ends? Isn't the point of language to foster communication? If we haphazardly decide to change spelling and pronunciation just because we feel like it, or because we are too ignorant or lazy to learn the standard, we are putting our ability to communicate (or 'mutual intelligibility') on the line. For goodness sakes, if every person spoke their own personalized version of English, while we might feel a little like language pioneers, we would also feel quite alone not having anyone with whom to speak.

So, here is my point. Yes, language change is inevidible (and shall I go as far as to say desirable?), but it MUST happen systematically across a group of speakers so as to preserve mutual intelligibility. If 'library' is going to become 'liberry,' the change mustn't remain a surface variation which shows it's face among a select few of the population. It must be used be everyone to become valid at all. Perhaps that professor should keep this in mind the next time he marks 'langwige' as correct.

Save some paper - use this flashcard program!

2008-08-10T20:12:00.001+02:00

I'd like to recommend to everyone a program I've been using for a few years called Before You Know It Lite. It is, at heart, a flash card program which takes you through five steps of learning - review, recognition, knowing, production and owning. From personal experience, I can say that it is an extremely effective way of adding new vocabulary to your linguistic repertoire if you remain diligent. For instance, I took an hour out to master a 17 word vocabulary list of 'Italian animals' about a year ago, and even to this day, I can recite the animal names without a hitch. While the full version of the program is a little bit pricey, sitting at around $45.00, anyone can download the lite version from the product website, and pretty much every language is available. If you are currently learning a language, and need a way of absorbing some new vocabulary, give it a try!

Before You Know It Lite

Learning Through Linguaphone

2008-08-04T09:54:00.000+02:00

With a full two months to go before my departure, I have been making good use of my time by taking out a half an hour in the morning and evening to familiarize myself with some basic Italian. This is the first time that I have actually made a point of buying a set of language CD's and learning independently, and so far, it has been a gratifying experience.

Firstly, the way I've been obtaining these CD's is through a rather unconvential means. You see, in Britain, newspapers like the Daily Mail tend to give out free CD's and DVD's on a regular basis, ranging from BBC period dramas, to language learning sets, to collections of 80's tunes you can easily forget to remember. These CD's, when unwanted, usually either end up in the garbage, or on a shelf in a charity shop. One such series that tends to appear in charity shops is the Linguaphone Italian CD set of eight, and so far I have found three of eight. I must say that I enjoy the hunt for these CD's just as much as I do listening to them, and there is the added bonus that all money spent on them is going to charity.

Secondly, the method used is devoid of all stress usually associated with language learning. It is what linguists call situational learning - that is, you are presented with a situation (i.e. at the hotel) and you learn phrases useful in that situation. The speakers are clear, and the time it takes to absorb a concept is comparatively short, especially when I compare it to the time it took me to pick up anything in French class. All in all, it's been a brilliant experience, and I hope that these CD's will give me enough of a basis to communicate my needs when I first arrive in Italy.

Bienvenido a mi blog!

2008-07-26T16:18:00.003+02:00

Well, it has officially been decided that I will become an 'au pair' in Torino, Italy for ten months starting on October 2nd. The decision was spontaneous in that I had no inclination to head abroad so soon, though I knew that England could only keep a grasp on me for so long. The opportunity arose when I decided, on a whim, to sign up for an au pair site called Au Pair World, a non-profit organization which puts potential au pairs and families in touch. Unlike an agency, there isn't a screening process through which the site puts the au pairs and families, so any agreements made are based 90% on trust and 10% on the word of outside references. Yes, I know, potentially risky business, but I could not resist signing up.

The family that caught my eye was one that sent me a message just after I had almost decided to go to Provence to stay with a French family. (N.B. While the French family looked trustworthy, I did not like how every one of the family members were cookie cutter images of Barbie and Ken. I know it sounds shallow, but staying with them would have done nothing for my self esteem!) In the message I saw that the Italian family consisted of a mum and a dad, and three lovely children aged 2, 4 and 6 and seemed really enthusiastic about having me on board. I went through a few days debating over which country would be better, and while my head told me that French would be more worthwhile in terms of achieving a business advantage, my heart has always had a soft spot for the Italian language, even before I first took on Japanese. Not to mention that the Italian family seemed much more down to earth, and resembled out-of-proportion plastic dolls less than some. So, in my mind, it was settled - I would be going to Italy for ten months to help an Italian family with their children. And this is where I stand today!

Even I do not know what to expect from this blog, so I would hesitate to say exactly what I will be writing about, but I would figure that some of the main themes will be: my struggle with Italian, the ups and downs of looking after young children, and cultural differences. Hey, maybe I will even write down the occasional Italian recipe I pick up! Either way, it should be a real adventure, and I hope you will decide to join me along the way. :-)