I love language. The way words flow and interact to reveal the meaning of our thoughts has been something that has always fascinated me. At times we take our ability to communicate somewhat for granted, we allow our words to flow from us without ever thinking about the process involved. The sounds we make that have collectively become our language have evolved and continue to evolve around us unseen. New words come into being as old words fall out of usage. Attempts have been made to tame the language, rules regarding grammar and spelling formulated to police our communications. But despite all of this, or maybe in rebellion against it, our langauge continues to flow and change course as it chooses. We users control its destiny, the rules of usage lie in our hands rather than in the dictates of the academics. Where our speech will be in 10, 20 or even 50 years time will be interesting to see. For certain the sound of our modern English will lie in a different zone.
English is a fascinating language. Eclectic by nature, it has grown by piggy-backing on the tongue of its neighbours. Just how a regional language from a small island with only 5 million speakers in 1600 came to dominate the world is a bit of a mystery. Other languages, better structured and more widespread seemingly crumbled as our tongue took hold through trade and settlement around the globe. Today maybe half the world can communicate in English at some level with 375 million people calling it their native tongue.
And it all started from such humble beginnings. The roots of English go back to the 5th century when Northern England was beginning to be colonized by Frisian farmers from western Holland and other Teutonic tribes. They brought the bones of our language, displacing the native Celtic dialects as they settled and established their way of life. Many of the basic words that hold our language together come from this immigration wave. Words like; and, an, the, is, it, all, how, what, man, he, hand, foot, time, house, mouse, in, out, sit, stand, sand, water, ate, bread, cold, boat, book. These words are still found in common today between English and Dutch, the closest major language to our own and the oldest remaining written Teutonic language, albeit with a different spelling and slightly different rhythmical accent. The Norse then added other layers of Germanic tones and words as the Vikings swept through the British Isles followed later by French in the wake of the 1066 invasion. In the most basic of explanations we can see that the bones of our speech remain low German while the legal, cultural and business terms of English reflect the power shift that occurred with poor King Harold’s demise at Hastings.
All this goes to show that language has and will remain in a state of constant flux. Even our regional accents point to the constant morphing of what we hear and speak; they offer us an insight into how our language will continue to grow and diversify in future. Australia, until very recently has shown very little regional variation in the sound of its English dialect. Compare this however to the UK where vast differences thrive between regional accents, a young man from Paisley’s speech being almost unintelligible to a well-to-do middle class Southerner despite only living 400 miles apart. The difference that we hear is actually the separation of more than a thousand years of history and not those few short miles. Therein lies the difference in most accents. They may use the same words, however the way those words are pronounced is overlain with deep cultural differences. In rhythm and sound the Northern UK has held its Germanic hard vowel sounds while the South surrendered to softer the French, this being most noticeable in the a sound.
Throw into that historical mix the diversity of English spoke in Africa, the Caribbean, the Indian sub-continent, North America and the Antipodes and our language becomes a soup of variety caused by geographical influences and the eclectic gathering of words and sounds from the preexisting indigenous cultures of those areas. The more universal our tongue becomes the more diversified as well, that diversification being driven by differences having nothing to do with the language itself. You’d think maybe that with globalization our language would become more regulated and universal in its sound. The reverse seems to be true however. Today generational and social differences drive a further diversification, texting, messaging and internet spelling emerging as yet another dialect before our eyes. And then there’s Globish… the simplified English that is spoken between a business person from Japan to another business person from Eastern Europe; they can more easily understand each other than they can a native speaker, the language pared back to the basic 200 or so words needed to communicate their need.
And each of us is able, with practice, to shift our own linguistic sound. People have practiced this for centuries, often in a desire to acquire a more cultured tone in the hope of escaping economic or social backwaters. I’ve even done it myself, much to the frustration of some that are close to me. Having lived and worked globally for the last ten years I find my vowels shift and change like a chameleon, often molding themselves to the needs of the hearer. I now say my r’s with a sound more akin to an American, a result of the Dutch rolled r instead of the more usual Australian r that sounds like a shortened a. I oscillate between a hard and soft a sound depending on whom I’m addressing, sometimes sounding English, sometimes Australian. When in the American South I easily slip into a Southern drawl to make myself understood while ordering tomatoes.
Language is a tool, and in the end we all use it to gain the advantage of being able to communicate effectively. It is alive, in the sense that it will grow and change. If we stay flexible in its usage, communicating more effectively, we will gain an advantage in life. It’s ours to play with and explore, utilizing its potential to make ourselves understood by every method we can. Long live language, long live change.
There is an unforgiving relentlessness about the heat of an Australian summer. It starts early in the day as I lie unsuspecting in the coolness of my cavelike dwelling, the weatherboards offering some illusion of protection against elemental forces. As I shelter in here I’m able to fool myself for a time into believing that this is a normal climate, temperate and sustaining rather than this brutal baking heat.
Out of doors the shadows become oases of less warm air, pockets of relief that shift and change with the spinning globe. The ground itself becomes unfriendly as it radiates the angry sun reflected, cooking us from beneath now as well as from above. There is no escape, I may as well be on the moon or Mars as the basic conditions become hostlie to our liquid human frame. The air is so dry, I can feel the moisture being drawn from me, my sweat relieving and endangering me at once. Walking any distance becomes a chore, hat warding off sunstroke, long sleeves the burning rays.
Before the sun even threatens its zenith the quick rapidly climbs through 30 to 35 passing 38.5, the old hundred. There is a passive acceptance amongst the people as they mumble the numbers to one another. We surrender to the 40’s with a slowing gait and resignation. 45 today, though it could peak higher. The same tomorrow and the next day. It feels like it will never change, that a permanence has set in, the hot high pressure system will forever hold the cooling clouds at bay. It can only get hotter, all hope of relief is put on hold.
The lawn has died. Even the invasively eternal kikuyu grass, unstoppable in most circumstances has given up. It lies brown and burnt orange on the sandy dirt. It tried so hard but was unable to hold its own without the rains. And we can’t water… the posted signs remind us everywhere… water capacity in our reservoirs drops like a crashing share market. Each plant in the garden must fight for itself, Darwin’s speculations ringing true in their battles. In our garden the fittest will see it through and those too water thirsty and weak will follow the dodo.
I pity the outdoor worker, those that are called to toil beneath the shadeless sun. Helen wrote of loving a sunburnt country, but maybe she witnessed it from a safe distance or in the comfort of the shade. Our climate has shaped us…. you see it in our skin, the design of our houses and hear it in the chit-chat of our folk. We know how to deal with it by experience. Draw the curtains, shutter the house and make sure we park the car in the shade… that way we’ll survive the siege. Yet some choose, inexplicably, to bake themselves, roasting under the killer rays turning foolishly darker as each day passes.
As for me, I’ll shelter until it passes, be that a day, a week or a month. Like all things tolerated it will pass, or perhaps I’ll acclimatize again after many years away. There’s no use complaining as no one will listen and no one cares as they each fight their own battle. So I choose to smile and embrace what is for now…. and scan the far horizon for just a glimmer of a cloud.
Cole's first Christmas card from 1843
Is it only me, or does everyone find the sending of annual Christmas cards a strange and quaint idea? The yearly task of writing and posting cards to an ever growing list is one that ends up becoming a lifelong habit. From a young age we’re taught (mainly by our mothers) of the need to send a season’s good-wishes card to our nearest and dearest. Our lists even contain people that we never hear from outside this end of year postal ritual. These acquaintances remain on our list simply because we’re not willing to be the one to not send a card this year thus breaking the cycle. All of which leads me to the question; are Christmas cards a form of spam, and if so, was the first Christmas card the spam originator?
The first Christmas cards appeared in 1843 when a certain London public servant and businessman, Sir Henry Cole commissioned the design, production and release of that first card. His idea it seems, was to develop a way to send season’s greetings to family, friends and business acquaintances. Within a few years the idea had so caught on that many cards were being printed in England and made available to the general public for sale. Adding to its legitimacy, no lesser a person than Queen Victoria herself began sending out family seasonal portrait cards, lifting the Christmas card from a novelty into the realm of officialdom.
Well might we ask what Cole really had in mind when he instigated that very first of season’s cards. It should be noted that 4 years earlier, he was instrumental in the development of the uniform penny post, the first prepaid regular postage system in the world. Sir Henry is even said to have had a hand in the development of the first postage stamp, possibly even being its designer. It’s not much of a leap then to imagine that the gimmicky idea of a Christmas card could have been launched to increase usage of the fledgling national postage system. And to whom did Cole wish cards to be sent? Business acquaintances and contacts, people whose connection was loose but accessible…. hmmm, doesn’t this sound a little like the principles that our modern day spam runs on? What is spam after all other than a network of contacts that would-be sellers or stirrers use to further their own enterprises or mischiefs?
And I haven’t even touched on the topic of e-cards yet. Those impersonal mailbox clutterers that hum dreadful tunes accompanied by silly animations. I think I’d rather have a finger nailed pulled out than read or send such a generic xmas greeting.
This year my Christmas card list is smaller than before. Some of you may recieve a card from me, sent with the best of wishes and the knowledge that I’m actually thinking of you. Others of you maybe won’t recieve a card from me as you might of previously…. rest assured that I’m still thinking of you but decided not to clutter your postbox this year. And next year…. who knows?
there’s something nice about lining up
independence is over rated
looking the same helps
it might be described as teamwork
all for one and one for all
sorry, I mistook you for someone else
birds of a feather flock together
what will they be wearing next season I wonder?
red legs
stand by me, won’t you stand by me
Driving for 2 hours to the airport yesterday made me think about our road system, the endless asphalt and concrete ribbon that unites and divides us. Roads permanently settle into our landscapes, becoming lines of demarkation in every city, town and rural area. Almost by default, and unthinkingly perhaps, we devote great swathes of land to build an infrastructure that supports the use of motor vehicles to the exclusion of all else. Areas that once were green and available for all have now become no-go areas for everything except those in possession of the hurtling metal cans that busily move us around isolated from our surroundings.
It’s true that good roadways have brought huge benefits to our society. For instance, yesterday I was able to estimate within a few minutes, how long it would take me to travel 120 km so as to arrive at the airport in time for a flight to Adelaide. No other generation has been able to move such distances in such short timeframes and with such predictability. We’re able to access services and goods unimaginable to those from earlier times simply because the network of roads has made it so easy to transport things from one place to another. And we’re no longer confined to the surrounds and company of our local village. Whereas 100 years ago someone might have been restricted to an area defined by a 2 hour walk, we’re happy to drive an hour to visit friends covering the distance that walker could have covered in 4 or 5 days.
There are some negatives though as well. Roadways are a hostile environment for us as people. In fact, despite the roads being public land we have lost the right to access them at will. They have no human scale, the size and speed of the passing vehicles creates a barrier to us, leaving them as human deserts. We’re taught from a young age to stay away, to be careful of these places. The road takes on the form of an enemy to human existence, a territory held by occupying forces that must be crossed with a wary eye and fear of the consequences. It leads me to ask, when exactly did we choose to surrender to such forces, why did we allow the car to dominate us in such a way? We seem to have capitulated so easily to the notion that the car has a right of way above the humble man or woman on foot.
Despite these musing, I won’t be forsaking the car any time soon. I must confess to being a creature of comfort who rejoices in the convenience of the age in which we live. Perhaps those car users amongst us could take some moments to think about the impact we’re having on our surroundings and on those who choose to go on foot. We’ve been provided with a huge benefit that we sometimes take for granted in terms of the infrastructure around us. But most importantly… we mustn’t forget to hold mother’s hand as we cross the road.
Hollywood is fascinated with the world’s end. In just the last two or three years alone I’ve seen no less than a dozen films that depict some form of global catastrophe or event that signals the end of civilization as we know it. We’ve had destruction by aliens, devastating wars, retaliation from nature itself and climate change driven weather systems that have wiped out millions before our screen goggling eyes. That romantic metropolis New York, seems perennially destined to bare the brunt of our visual entertainment destruction having suffered inundations, ice storms, monsters from the deep and above in almost monthly succession. This is not a recent trend either. As a child I remember a parade of disaster films from towering inferno’s to city crushing earthquakes and science gone wrong. And each time we’ve followed the lives of a set of people who somehow manage to survive against incredible odds to reform or restart life in the aftermath.
Recently my thoughts on this topic were provoked while watching the much awaited movie: 2012. The movie itself, like most in its genre, was entertaining enough. It followed the well loved formula that is built on the notion that factual probability and reality should never get in the way of a good story. Story? Did I say story? Well, at least facts and reality should never get in the way of good special effects even when a real storyline is less than evident.
There is however something powerfully attractive about cheering on ordinary folk depicted in the most impossible of situations. Our emotions are pulled into alignment with the characters, offering us a vicarious experience as we are moved to feel ourselves in their shoes, pinning our hopes on their survival (and therefore our own) against all odds. How elated we feel when they win through, remaining ordinary in their superhuman survival.
Have you ever noticed though, how we’re lured into imagining ourselves as those heroes rather than the untold multitudes who didn’t make it, perishing in their weakness or misfortune? Maybe this is because we all have an inbuilt belief that somehow we may beat the odds, that we’re different, more resilient than those around us and that we will survive beyond what is normal. Unfortunate as it may feel, the truth is that our world will end and our lives are finite. We probably won’t be around to witness the end of our planet (I certainly hope it doesn’t occur in my lifetime or the lifetime of those I love) but there will be a personal world ending of sorts as our life concludes.
It’s hard to imagine a world without us, to picture life beyond our own existence. But it will happen, as it has happened to every preceding generation. And eventually we’ll be forgotten, most likely within a few generations. I can’t for the life of me remember anything factual about my great-grandmother despite having vivid memories of her from 40 odd years ago. Research has shown that even our names will be forgotten within a few generations and that our great-grandchildren will have no idea of who we were or what we did – just as I have no idea of what my great-grandmother was called. Some have suggested this erasing of one’s existence may change with the amount of data we are leaving in our electronic trail; but I somehow doubt it. The question is this: why would anyone take the time to wade through countless data searches to view some old pics or scrawlings that we leave behind? Even if we achieve fame or fortune during our lifetime, those that follow will only be able to access information about us. The true essence of who we were, what we felt, our emotions, the depth of our love or pain will remain a mystery in many ways.
This shouldn’t be a depressing thought to us though. On the contrary it’s a comforting part of the normal pattern of life and is a process common to us all. And besides, we can always indulge ourselves in some way as we watch a glowing screen believing, even if just for a few moments, that it is possible at least in the dark, to beat the odds.
7 things I dislike, sometimes, maybe
1) Carrots – Carrots are inedible. They’re orange and taste of dirt. Maybe that’s because they are made of dirt. Carrots are a soil conditioning plant, they take minerals from the sub-soil with their long tap root and deposit those minerals in the top-soil as they rot away. Let’s leave them to that.
2) Tourists at airports - Airports are made to move through… as quickly as possible… they may be better places if everyone realised that.
3) Advertisements on TV that are louder than the program - That’s probably every ad then. Do programmers think we’re deaf? Or are the ads purposely made so loud so as to drive us from the room to make a cup of coffee? If that’s the case…. it’s working.
4) Loud ringtones - Actually all ringtones. There is a silent vibrate function people. After all it’s your phone, not mine.
5) Wi-Fi costs - I view wi-fi as a human right. It should be made free worldwide, all the time. That would go along way to making the world a better place.
6) Statistics - Ever noticed how many people try to baffle us and win arguments with statistics? Don’t people realise that the numbers can be made to say whatever point we’re pushing at any moment? And really…. we all know 83% of statistics are made up on the spot, don’t we now? 
7) Lists - Endless lists about likes and dislikes, tips and things to avoid and more, made by people who have nothing better to do. I advocate a list free world.
“Manners are the glue of our society,” my Dutch language teacher pronounced one morning a decade ago. Els Gosselaar was a stickler for driving home the need to oil our actions with a dose of please and thank you’s. And thinking back on it, she was right in that old fashioned sort of rightness that is easy to dismiss in our modern hasty world.
Manners are being relegated to the slower, older world that many of us seem in such a hurry to leave behind. Those little social customs and conventions that smooth out our interactions have become somewhat unfashionable in our fast moving world. As we hasten everything we easily lose sight of what it is to take the time to engage each other. Instantism threatens to reduce our lives to a succession of random exciting moments and events in much the same way that take-away food eaten on the run has replaced the sit down meal. And yes, there actually was a time when people would stop to enjoy good food cooked slowly at home in each other’s company, odd as that may seem.
Don’t get me wrong here, I’m not advocating a return to an old way of life or bemoaning the trends of our online instant world. I’m as online as you can get. I tweet and MyFace with the best of them. I’m googled and appled and up for the latest and greatest in online life, just as you probably are if you’re here reading my blog. I love the pace of our world and the way everything is now at my fingertips, a click away. I wouldn’t go back even if it were possible and eagerly await what lies ahead.
But I do wonder where it’s all heading sometimes. I noted today that the new operating system chrome being developed by Google promises faster internet access for our computers. No more forty-five second wait as our machines load cumbersome programs, we’ll be online and ready within ten seconds of booting up. I’d love someone to explain how much more instant ten seconds is compared to forty-five in reality, but I imagine that those thrity-five gained seconds will make a huge difference to a generation whose catch cry is I’m bored and who dismiss everything with a casual whatever.
The more instant we become the more careless our actions become as well. Watching a Jane Austen period piece the other day made me realise how casual we’ve become with our words. We seem to take little time considering what we’ll say in our haste to just say something. In Ms Austen’s day conversations and replys were crafted; there was virtue in holding one’s tongue, in not betraying a confidence and in sparing others from our unfounded opinions. But today we’re happy to click send or tweet without consideration, the impulse of the moment directing our words and response. Who of us has not regretted an email or comment sent in the heat of the moment? Unable to be withdrawn they remain forever dangling in someone’s inbox or cyber space waiting to come back and bite us. A good maxim may be: never do or say anything online you’d not be prepared to have your mother see or read, because it is distinctly possible that maybe she one day will.
So what’s to be done? To be honest, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just time for us to stop and think about how life is. Remembering to say thank you or thinking about how others will feel about what we say might help as well. Even just being aware that although we’re all individuals with our rights, tastes and impulses we remain part of something bigger together, a thing called community where some cohesion is needed to maintain the mutual benefits we gain. And Els might still prove to be right in the end when she said that thoughtfulness and a sprinkling of good manners could just make the world a more pleasant place to live.
