Where Diana lives the local movie theater does live broadcasts of cultural events like operas, ballets, and plays. She invited me to join her this weekend to see the ballet Pharaoh's Daughter being performed by the Bolshoi Ballet. I always look forward to time together with Diana.
In the introduction the host gave a brief history of the ballet. It was commissioned by the Bolshoi for a 50 year old prima ballerina whose contract required a work created specifically for her. Pharaoh's Daughter was written in six weeks during 1862 and performed shortly thereafter. It opened to mixed reviews. The dancer for whom it was created performed it for a week then left Russia never to return. It was last danced sometime in the 1920s. The producer responsible for this revival said he had great difficulty in his research. He had to reconstruct large sections of choreography, set designs, and costuming ideas from sparse notes.
As my review allow me to say these various aspects of the ballet's history seemed to make themselves quite apparent. There may be a good reason why the dancer never showed her face in Russia again, why this particular ballet went so long without being performed by the Bolshoi (or any other ballet company for that matter), and why original choreography notes were difficult to find (destroyed intentionally perhaps?). Even a company so esteemed as the Bolshoi couldn't save this material. Imagine a cast of Academy Award winners reviving Joannie Loves Chachi. It was like that...with leotards and tutus...set in ancient Egypt...complete with dancers in blackface portraying Nubians.
The most entertaining part was listening to Diana's running commentary and listening to her giggle at the prominent bulges in the men's leotards so it wasn't a complete loss.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Sunday, December 02, 2012
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Trini Tuesday-A Lovely Anthem
One of the things I enjoy about the Olympics aside from watching the competitions is hearing the various national anthems during the awarding of medals. I like watching to see the reactions of the gold medalists when they hear their anthem and I like hearing what the respective anthems sound like. I stayed up late to see the ice dancing medals given and really enjoyed watching the Canadian winners sing along with the entire crowd to O, Canada. And if you haven't heard me comment on curling enough, I also loved the story about how the Canadian crowd urged on the curling team by breaking out into the anthem as well. You Cannucks have a much nicer anthem than we Yanks do.
It's true, I don't like the Star Spangled Banner. Call me a crank or question my patriotism but it's horrible to try to sing it because it's all over the place. The lyrics focus on one battle in one war and give an extremely limited scope as to the values Americans hold dear. Personally, I prefer Amercia the Beautiful because it celebrates a broader range of our history and cultural values within a more singable range of notes. In any event, the title of this post is Trini Tuesday so for today I'm again rerunning a very old post about the anthem of Trinidad and Tobago. It has a dignity befitting an anthem and it sounds lovely whether played by an orchestra or on steel pans. You won't hear it at the Winter Olympics but in case you wondered they've won medals in the Summer Games.
For now, you can click on the video and just listen as you read. I'll share a few thoughts on the lyrics below.
Forged from the love of liberty,
In the fires of hope and prayer,
With boundless faith in our Destiny,
We solemnly declare,
Side by side we stand,
Islands of the blue Caribbean Sea,
This our Native Land,
We pledge our lives to Thee,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation.
Patrick S. Castagne composed the words and music of the National Anthem in 1962.
Forged from the love of liberty, in the fires of hope and prayer... Trinidad and Tobago was alternately controlled by Spain, France, and Britain. It is one of the few Caribbean islands which still has a small enclave of indigenous people. It is very small, and there are none with 100% Carib or Arawak blood, but a group still exists and there is deep pride in what culture remains. The bulk of the nation's population, roughly 80-85%, is descended from African slaves and the East Indian indentured servants that were brought to replace the slave labor lost upon emancipation. Entire villages from southern India were transplanted to Trinidad with promises of freedom once the cost of passage was worked off. These are a people with a collective history of oppression yet who maintained an indomitable spirit. Independence was gained on August 31, 1962. It is really quite a thing to sit and listen to the stories from 1962 when they are told by someone who was there for such a moment in history. It was a bloodless handover of power unlike our own revolution but the excitement over the right to determine the path of one's own nation still carried great impact.
With boundless faith...side by side we stand. While Trinis may be quick to criticise government and perhaps lack faith in their leaders every bit as much as we do or more, they still know that without unity they are doomed. When times get bad they pull together, neighbor stands with neighbor. A sense of community exists that is a great strength in the culture. We were the recipients of such warmth and generosity on many occasions. We lived at the very end of the water pipelines, as such we were the last in the neighborhood to get water. Water does not flow into houses around the clock so tanks are the norm for storing water to use throughout the day. At the end of dry season our water tanks were empty even though our neighbors had begun getting enough pressure to fill their tanks. As soon as neighbors realized our predicament every hose in the neighborhood was running from 3 different neighbor's houses to fill our tank. We didn't ask for it. They asked us, "Do you have water yet?" When we said no they flew into immediate action. People look out for each other and lend practical assistance not just words of encouragement.
Here every creed and race finds an equal place. In addition to the Africans and East Indians there are significant Chinese, Portuguese, and Syrian minorities as well as the odd Brit, American, or immigrant from other Caribbean nations. Religiously, you'll find large populations of Catholics, Anglicans, Hindus, Muslims, and the syncretic Spiritual Baptists who blend a little bit of everything. One set of neighbors was representative of most of this. The father was a practicing Muslim, the mother an observant Hindu, the children were sent to Catholic school. Religion is not a forbidden topic of conversation, neither is it generally a thing that causes heated debate when discussed. True to Trini love of liming, more religions and cultures means more opportunities for a day of work to party. Whether it is true or not, I don't know, but Trinis like to boast that they have more public holidays than any other nation on earth because each culture and religion is represented in at least one official holiday. It's not at all unusual for folks of widely differing spiritual practices to share each other's holidays. Racial terms are bandied about very casually, but again, not in a derogatory manner. Because of the intermingling of races there is a descriptive term for just about every mixture. When you meet someone new an early question is going to be 'What's your mix?' I have to admit, I used to get a kick out of being ambiguous looking enough to confound them....Hhhmm, American accent, black hair, good tan......"Gyal, what yuh mix is? I cannuh figure yuh!" Is there occasional conflict based on religion or race? Yes, of course. But overall, there seems to be a really refreshing embracing of differences rather than mere tolerance.
....and may God bless this nation.
It's true, I don't like the Star Spangled Banner. Call me a crank or question my patriotism but it's horrible to try to sing it because it's all over the place. The lyrics focus on one battle in one war and give an extremely limited scope as to the values Americans hold dear. Personally, I prefer Amercia the Beautiful because it celebrates a broader range of our history and cultural values within a more singable range of notes. In any event, the title of this post is Trini Tuesday so for today I'm again rerunning a very old post about the anthem of Trinidad and Tobago. It has a dignity befitting an anthem and it sounds lovely whether played by an orchestra or on steel pans. You won't hear it at the Winter Olympics but in case you wondered they've won medals in the Summer Games.
For now, you can click on the video and just listen as you read. I'll share a few thoughts on the lyrics below.
Forged from the love of liberty,
In the fires of hope and prayer,
With boundless faith in our Destiny,
We solemnly declare,
Side by side we stand,
Islands of the blue Caribbean Sea,
This our Native Land,
We pledge our lives to Thee,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation,
Here every creed and race finds an equal place,
And may God bless our Nation.
Patrick S. Castagne composed the words and music of the National Anthem in 1962.
Forged from the love of liberty, in the fires of hope and prayer... Trinidad and Tobago was alternately controlled by Spain, France, and Britain. It is one of the few Caribbean islands which still has a small enclave of indigenous people. It is very small, and there are none with 100% Carib or Arawak blood, but a group still exists and there is deep pride in what culture remains. The bulk of the nation's population, roughly 80-85%, is descended from African slaves and the East Indian indentured servants that were brought to replace the slave labor lost upon emancipation. Entire villages from southern India were transplanted to Trinidad with promises of freedom once the cost of passage was worked off. These are a people with a collective history of oppression yet who maintained an indomitable spirit. Independence was gained on August 31, 1962. It is really quite a thing to sit and listen to the stories from 1962 when they are told by someone who was there for such a moment in history. It was a bloodless handover of power unlike our own revolution but the excitement over the right to determine the path of one's own nation still carried great impact.
With boundless faith...side by side we stand. While Trinis may be quick to criticise government and perhaps lack faith in their leaders every bit as much as we do or more, they still know that without unity they are doomed. When times get bad they pull together, neighbor stands with neighbor. A sense of community exists that is a great strength in the culture. We were the recipients of such warmth and generosity on many occasions. We lived at the very end of the water pipelines, as such we were the last in the neighborhood to get water. Water does not flow into houses around the clock so tanks are the norm for storing water to use throughout the day. At the end of dry season our water tanks were empty even though our neighbors had begun getting enough pressure to fill their tanks. As soon as neighbors realized our predicament every hose in the neighborhood was running from 3 different neighbor's houses to fill our tank. We didn't ask for it. They asked us, "Do you have water yet?" When we said no they flew into immediate action. People look out for each other and lend practical assistance not just words of encouragement.
Here every creed and race finds an equal place. In addition to the Africans and East Indians there are significant Chinese, Portuguese, and Syrian minorities as well as the odd Brit, American, or immigrant from other Caribbean nations. Religiously, you'll find large populations of Catholics, Anglicans, Hindus, Muslims, and the syncretic Spiritual Baptists who blend a little bit of everything. One set of neighbors was representative of most of this. The father was a practicing Muslim, the mother an observant Hindu, the children were sent to Catholic school. Religion is not a forbidden topic of conversation, neither is it generally a thing that causes heated debate when discussed. True to Trini love of liming, more religions and cultures means more opportunities for a day of work to party. Whether it is true or not, I don't know, but Trinis like to boast that they have more public holidays than any other nation on earth because each culture and religion is represented in at least one official holiday. It's not at all unusual for folks of widely differing spiritual practices to share each other's holidays. Racial terms are bandied about very casually, but again, not in a derogatory manner. Because of the intermingling of races there is a descriptive term for just about every mixture. When you meet someone new an early question is going to be 'What's your mix?' I have to admit, I used to get a kick out of being ambiguous looking enough to confound them....Hhhmm, American accent, black hair, good tan......"Gyal, what yuh mix is? I cannuh figure yuh!" Is there occasional conflict based on religion or race? Yes, of course. But overall, there seems to be a really refreshing embracing of differences rather than mere tolerance.
....and may God bless this nation.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Swap-o-rama
One of the things I love about blogging is the chance to interact with people all over the world. I learn so much about places I have never been from people I might not otherwise have met. A couple of years ago I met Renny and Diane, a couple from Norway. I've really learned a lot about Norway from both of them. They offer slightly different perspectives since Renny is Norwegian and Diane is American. Both have wonderful blogs that are a delight to visit. Some time ago Renny offered all his readers a chance to engage in a swap of gifts unique to whatever area the participant is from. I jumped at the chance.
Here are the lovely surprises from Norway I found in my mailbox. first are a pair of adorable little trolls who sit on my kitchen windowsill along with a few other "friends." They keep me company when I am in there cooking and dancing. Renny and Diane also sent a CD of music by famous Norwegian composers and let me know the trolls are especially fond of Edvard Grieg's In the Hall of the Mountain King.
The other item they sent was a really lovely hand painted wooden plate. The style is similar to what I know as tole painting, which is popular in the Pennsylvania German tradition, so I especially loved this piece.
If you head over to Renny's place you can see what I sent him and Diane. I am betting you can all guess what sort of thing I sent but go check and say hello.
In other news, NYD won the contest with his plan for how to thwart an evil mastermind, thus he may claim he pair or tie dyed socks...assuming he considers that a prize. Congrats, NYD! thanks to all of you for your plans. They all gave me quite a chuckle.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
A Dutchie Goes Trini
As my long time readers know I spent a year living in Trinidad, West Indies and have traveled back and forth many times. Those folks know how much I loved it there too. Many experiences as well as cultural and historical posts related to that were chronicled in the Trini Tuesday posts I did for the first year and half of this blog. I haven't done a TT post in probably about 7 months and I know I've picked up a number of new readers since then. It's been fun to shift and share about my home culture for a while and there will be more posts on that in the future but for today I'm going to do a little fusion.
Before Mr. Lime and I moved there we had gone through some general cross cultural training which was very helpful in enabling us to adjust to a new place. During the training we were required to evaluate our own cultural values and consider a what our reactions might be to very different sets of values. It really helped us develop good attitudes and shed judgementalism. When we moved there we dove in head first looking to learn and experience as much as we could.
We were also fortunate to have local friends who acted as cultural interpreters during times we found confusing. These were friends we could ask anything from "Why is there a colony of ants living in my iron?" to "How do I deal with a lecherous taxi driver?" We were blessed with neighbors who took us by the hand to the open market and showed us how to haggle for the best produce. Other friends taught me what to do with the unusual fruits and vegetables that I came home with after that first trip to the market. When we demonstrated an interest in learning about the local culture people were more than happy to teach us. One friend's mother became like a mother to us and began introducing us as her white kids. I can't even begin to express what a blessing that kind of acceptance was.
Most of the expat Americans I encountered on the island embarrassed me though. They had all been there for much longer than we had and yet they didn't seem to have much appreciation for local ways. Truthfully, as much as they departed from Trini cultural norms I didn't really see them adhering to American norms either. They sort of developed this third culture that I found rather odious because socially they had isolated themselves, sometimes quite intentionally. Consequently they had bred a lot of distrust. I generally avoided them.
There was one American woman though who I quite enjoyed though. She wasn't fully an expat. she lived in the US but traveled back and forth to Trinidad several times a year and often spent most of the summer on the island. Ironically, she was from a town very close to my hometown. She was a little slice of familiarity with her knowledge of Shoo fly pies, Dutchie slang, and Dutchie values. As I observed her I noticed how well respected she was by Trinis and how well she functioned in the culture so I was more drawn to her and she provided every bit as invaluable to interpreting things as my Trini friends.
Because we came from the same American subculture and because she had so many years of experience with Trini culture she was able to anticipate some of the pitfalls I might make and helped me to avoid them. She also saw the one area I was most resistant in and gave me some excellent advice. (Yes, I know you are shocked to find I could be at all resistant, I am such a docile and compliant person. By the way, I have some lovely swampland in Trinidad to sell you too.)
Now what was I resiting to strongly? I mean I truly was working to learn and fit in and enjoying it immensely. I had found that both Dutchies and Trinis are very forthright people and so I didn't have to entirely muffle that particular tendency of mine. I did at least try very hard to be careful about what I was blurted out since I didn't want to come across as critical of local culture. What barrier was I refusing to remove?
Well, as you know the Pennsylvania Germans are a plain people. Even those of us who aren't Amish or Mennonite are fairly subdued in our dress and grooming. It's not at all uncommon for middle aged women to just hack off their hair and wear it in a very unflattering cross between a bowl cut and a pixie. Cosmetic companies could go broke in dutch country. As weird as many of you may think my early and abiding love of tie dye is, in my hometown it is considered entirely aberrant (Must be those Greek roots of hers, Ethel, it's just unnatural you know!). In the entire county you'd be hard pressed to come up with enough bling to properly adorn a single rap star. Heck, we think the southern belles with their tastefully painted faces and perfectly coiffed hair are a bit ostentatious.
Now I am in Trinidad where tailored attire, grooming, fashion, and bling are the order of the day. Also, any given outfit can only be worn a certain number of times and before it can be repeated a certain gap in outings must be observed. It's nearly an insult to tell a Trini you remember the last time they wore a particular ensemble. You all can laugh but I truly found that a very disorienting thing and I figured as long as I was clean and not violating their standards of modesty I should be ok. I will admit I very quickly took to the love of wild patterns and bright colors, big surprise I know. I remained blissfully plain otherwise, happily wearing the same couple of shapeless dresses to church week after week, schlubbing off to market in a tee-shirt, shorts and sandals. Through it all I wondered why the women were viewing me with a mix of pity and disdain. Surely they could see I had a brain in my head and they can tell I bathe regularly. (Trinis are seriously fastidious regarding hygiene. It may be 11 degrees above the equator but you simply will NOT encounter a Trini with BO unless he is is a drunken bum passed out in the gutter. Even then he will try to have the good sense to pass out under a public water pipe so he can bathe when he revives.)
Enter my blessed Dutchie interpreter who took me aside and gave me the talking to I most needed. She said there was no way I was going to be given entre among the women unless I started being demonstrably female. She of course, understood what anathema I considered all this fuss and finery. I hasten to add I was already happy to observe the requirement of bathing twice daily in that climate and didn't mind in the least that we didn't have running hot water in the bathroom. Fresh as a daisy! But alas, daisies are such a plain thing and they don't grow well in the tropics. It was time for me to learn to be a hibiscus.
This dear lady related the tale of how she'd been corrected. She had gone to the capitol city to do some shopping. One of the items she wanted was not readily available and had to be special ordered. When it came in and she had to return to pick it up she and her local friend got ready to go. The American lady searched high and low for her claim slip and was dismayed when it could not be found. She asked her friend what she ought to do to prove the order was hers. The Trini woman said not to worry, the clerk would remember her. "Ah yes, of course, because I am a platinum blonde American in a sea of Africans and East Indians, right?" Her Trini friend regarded her head to toe and replied in all seriousness, "Nah gyul, is because yuh wearin' de same ugly bag of a dress as when yuh make de order!" Lesson learned.
I began spending more than 60 seconds styling my hair, started wearing more tailored clothes, and donning skirts when I went in public. Lo and behold, the women decided maybe I might just be worthy of consideration. On occasion, I even heard "Ooh but de blouse/skirt/dress takes you, gyul! Yuh not looking like a regular American. Yuh lookin real Trini now." Now, I still was refusing make-up so I know they were making exception for me, but they at least saw I was making an effort and recognized it. True to their forthright nature I also heard in whispered asides, "My dear, de skirt making yuh bamsee look a bit too wide. Take it to the tailor and let it out." Understand this is not an insult. It meant I had earned their concern for my welfare.
Since I had demonstrated competence with braiding my own hair in a manner evocative of the local mode I was also trusted with the heads of little girls when I went to visit friends. That sort of activity begets many more opportunities to learn about a culture because when you are sitting in someone's house braiding their child's hair while they brush another child's hair you are actually getting to see people with their own hair down and they expose themselves in ways you'd never see otherwise. It was quite astonishing to me and I was more and more grateful for that simple piece of advice from a woman who had successfully bridged two cultures.
Before Mr. Lime and I moved there we had gone through some general cross cultural training which was very helpful in enabling us to adjust to a new place. During the training we were required to evaluate our own cultural values and consider a what our reactions might be to very different sets of values. It really helped us develop good attitudes and shed judgementalism. When we moved there we dove in head first looking to learn and experience as much as we could.
We were also fortunate to have local friends who acted as cultural interpreters during times we found confusing. These were friends we could ask anything from "Why is there a colony of ants living in my iron?" to "How do I deal with a lecherous taxi driver?" We were blessed with neighbors who took us by the hand to the open market and showed us how to haggle for the best produce. Other friends taught me what to do with the unusual fruits and vegetables that I came home with after that first trip to the market. When we demonstrated an interest in learning about the local culture people were more than happy to teach us. One friend's mother became like a mother to us and began introducing us as her white kids. I can't even begin to express what a blessing that kind of acceptance was.
Most of the expat Americans I encountered on the island embarrassed me though. They had all been there for much longer than we had and yet they didn't seem to have much appreciation for local ways. Truthfully, as much as they departed from Trini cultural norms I didn't really see them adhering to American norms either. They sort of developed this third culture that I found rather odious because socially they had isolated themselves, sometimes quite intentionally. Consequently they had bred a lot of distrust. I generally avoided them.
There was one American woman though who I quite enjoyed though. She wasn't fully an expat. she lived in the US but traveled back and forth to Trinidad several times a year and often spent most of the summer on the island. Ironically, she was from a town very close to my hometown. She was a little slice of familiarity with her knowledge of Shoo fly pies, Dutchie slang, and Dutchie values. As I observed her I noticed how well respected she was by Trinis and how well she functioned in the culture so I was more drawn to her and she provided every bit as invaluable to interpreting things as my Trini friends.
Because we came from the same American subculture and because she had so many years of experience with Trini culture she was able to anticipate some of the pitfalls I might make and helped me to avoid them. She also saw the one area I was most resistant in and gave me some excellent advice. (Yes, I know you are shocked to find I could be at all resistant, I am such a docile and compliant person. By the way, I have some lovely swampland in Trinidad to sell you too.)
Now what was I resiting to strongly? I mean I truly was working to learn and fit in and enjoying it immensely. I had found that both Dutchies and Trinis are very forthright people and so I didn't have to entirely muffle that particular tendency of mine. I did at least try very hard to be careful about what I was blurted out since I didn't want to come across as critical of local culture. What barrier was I refusing to remove?
Well, as you know the Pennsylvania Germans are a plain people. Even those of us who aren't Amish or Mennonite are fairly subdued in our dress and grooming. It's not at all uncommon for middle aged women to just hack off their hair and wear it in a very unflattering cross between a bowl cut and a pixie. Cosmetic companies could go broke in dutch country. As weird as many of you may think my early and abiding love of tie dye is, in my hometown it is considered entirely aberrant (Must be those Greek roots of hers, Ethel, it's just unnatural you know!). In the entire county you'd be hard pressed to come up with enough bling to properly adorn a single rap star. Heck, we think the southern belles with their tastefully painted faces and perfectly coiffed hair are a bit ostentatious.
Now I am in Trinidad where tailored attire, grooming, fashion, and bling are the order of the day. Also, any given outfit can only be worn a certain number of times and before it can be repeated a certain gap in outings must be observed. It's nearly an insult to tell a Trini you remember the last time they wore a particular ensemble. You all can laugh but I truly found that a very disorienting thing and I figured as long as I was clean and not violating their standards of modesty I should be ok. I will admit I very quickly took to the love of wild patterns and bright colors, big surprise I know. I remained blissfully plain otherwise, happily wearing the same couple of shapeless dresses to church week after week, schlubbing off to market in a tee-shirt, shorts and sandals. Through it all I wondered why the women were viewing me with a mix of pity and disdain. Surely they could see I had a brain in my head and they can tell I bathe regularly. (Trinis are seriously fastidious regarding hygiene. It may be 11 degrees above the equator but you simply will NOT encounter a Trini with BO unless he is is a drunken bum passed out in the gutter. Even then he will try to have the good sense to pass out under a public water pipe so he can bathe when he revives.)
Enter my blessed Dutchie interpreter who took me aside and gave me the talking to I most needed. She said there was no way I was going to be given entre among the women unless I started being demonstrably female. She of course, understood what anathema I considered all this fuss and finery. I hasten to add I was already happy to observe the requirement of bathing twice daily in that climate and didn't mind in the least that we didn't have running hot water in the bathroom. Fresh as a daisy! But alas, daisies are such a plain thing and they don't grow well in the tropics. It was time for me to learn to be a hibiscus.
This dear lady related the tale of how she'd been corrected. She had gone to the capitol city to do some shopping. One of the items she wanted was not readily available and had to be special ordered. When it came in and she had to return to pick it up she and her local friend got ready to go. The American lady searched high and low for her claim slip and was dismayed when it could not be found. She asked her friend what she ought to do to prove the order was hers. The Trini woman said not to worry, the clerk would remember her. "Ah yes, of course, because I am a platinum blonde American in a sea of Africans and East Indians, right?" Her Trini friend regarded her head to toe and replied in all seriousness, "Nah gyul, is because yuh wearin' de same ugly bag of a dress as when yuh make de order!" Lesson learned.
I began spending more than 60 seconds styling my hair, started wearing more tailored clothes, and donning skirts when I went in public. Lo and behold, the women decided maybe I might just be worthy of consideration. On occasion, I even heard "Ooh but de blouse/skirt/dress takes you, gyul! Yuh not looking like a regular American. Yuh lookin real Trini now." Now, I still was refusing make-up so I know they were making exception for me, but they at least saw I was making an effort and recognized it. True to their forthright nature I also heard in whispered asides, "My dear, de skirt making yuh bamsee look a bit too wide. Take it to the tailor and let it out." Understand this is not an insult. It meant I had earned their concern for my welfare.
Since I had demonstrated competence with braiding my own hair in a manner evocative of the local mode I was also trusted with the heads of little girls when I went to visit friends. That sort of activity begets many more opportunities to learn about a culture because when you are sitting in someone's house braiding their child's hair while they brush another child's hair you are actually getting to see people with their own hair down and they expose themselves in ways you'd never see otherwise. It was quite astonishing to me and I was more and more grateful for that simple piece of advice from a woman who had successfully bridged two cultures.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Pennsylvania German New Year
As you know, I have been sharing various Pennsylvania German traditions lately. They've all been things I love about my culture and background. Today I will share something that I find truly revolting. This is a tradition I am glad to say my mother never tormented me with when I was growing up, but I have endured under other people. Times when I have spoken out against it I have incurred the wrath of angry dutchmen, had my character questioned, and been told I clearly am lacking in appreciation for my upbringing. I've been viewed with not a small amount of contempt. In my humble opinion I will gladly bear the burden as I continue to campaign against so horrific a tradition as this.
By now you must be wondering what atrocity I may be about to introduce you. Be warned, it is not for those with a weak constitution. Only those with the strongest stomachs and a taste for utter vileness could begin to endure it. It is the New Year's Day meal..........
Pork and Sauerkraut.
Excuse me while I take a minute to regain my composure. Even typing the words made me feel queasy. *Shudders*
Now I can appreciate that in the dark days of winter centuries ago sauerkraut was the main source of vitamin C and other important nutrients. It kept my ancestors from developing scurvy and other unpleasant deficiencies. May I just give a whoop and a holler and an Hallelujah for fresh citrus fruits and multivitamins in this day and age? Sorry, I simply find sauerkraut to be an entirely horrendous thing to eat. The smell alone makes me nauseous. Growing up in PA dutch country the school served this swill once a week. It was torment because that stench wafted through the entire school and the closer I got to the cafeteria the more pungent the smell was and the more I began to struggle to control my gag reflex.
Mr. Lime's mother grew up in a PA Dutch area and would not consider forgoing this traditional meal on New Year's Day for fear of tempting the fates to curse her with bad luck, not to mention she actually likes the stuff. There is no accounting for taste in some people. Fortunately for me, although Mr. Lime grew up eating it and actually likes the taste, his more delicate gastrointestinal makeup does not find Pork and Sauerkraut a particularly agreeable combination. He can eat one or the other, but not the two in combination.
His mother reeled in shock and horror during our first New Year's together. She asked if anyone was opposed to the traditional New Year's Fare. Being the naive bride I was, I assumed asking for my opinion meant a truthful answer was actually desired. I quickly, though respectfully, expressed my fervent desire not to be subjected to the putrescence that is a PA Dutch New Year's Day meal. After the flames from her eyes stopped burning through my chest I steadied myself and added that her son, though he enjoyed the food, preferred not spending all of January 2 feeling like his innards were being torn inside out. Such impertinence! The flamethrowers were turned to 'incinerate.' I was directed to provide the family with alternate eats and prepared a somewhat crunchy lasagna as the recipe I had for lasagna that required no precooking of noodles did not turn out quite as well as it had every other time. It must have been the start of bad luck that I brought on us for all of the year by avoiding the ritual of rotted cabbage. No matter, I defiantly waived a forkful of firmer than al dente pasta heavenward.
Over the years I have tried traditional New Year's food from other places. We had two different Taiwanese students live with us and they treated us to a lovely sort of noodle soup in which the trick was to see who found the longest noodle in his or her bowl to determine who would have the best luck of the year. In Trinidad the tradition is to have fish broth either on Old Year's Night (it's not called New Year's eve there) or New Year's Day. That was tasty enough but I wasn't too crazy about fish heads floating in my soup bowl.
I understand different parts of the USA have different traditional foods too. I have no doubt many countries have different foods too. Share with me your menu for good luck in the new year. I'm looking for an alternative. Let me know especially if chocolate is involved. In the meantime, the Lime family will be pushing our luck and having stuffed shells this year.
Happy New Year to each and every one of you.
Happy New Year to each and every one of you.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Citizen of the World
Theresa received this and passed it on to me. She shared a good bit about what makes her a citizen of the world and I must say her credentials far outweigh mine. Even so, I am rather tickled that she passed it on to me. It's a little indication that I am meeting one of my goals for my blog. In addition to having the blog as a creative outlet I've always wanted to have a chance to mingle with people from divergent backgrounds so I could learn about their world and share about mine. It's really nice to know I am doing that to a noticeable extent.
From the time I was very young I have been interested in cultures other than my own. I think part of it was an awareness that I was different from all the fair skinned blondes who surrounded me. Part of it was my grandfather sharing his interest in Native American culture. Part of it was hearing about when my parents were stationed overseas in the military. Part of it was loving to hear folklore from other countries.
I always gravitated toward folks who were different. In college I spent most of my free time with the exchange students. I really considered that an important part of my education. I learned things from those friends that I never would have learned from a book or a formal class. I was frequently mistaken for being an exchange student myself. Admittedly, I took a certain twisted pleasure in messing with gullible minds when an especially dense or patronizing person complimented me on how well I spoke English. Apparently I still have a certain foreign look or demeanor or something because just this weekend a lady in a store approached me and asked, "Excuse me, do you speak English?" Oh the temptation...
When I went to Trinidad the first time it was part of a work team. We stayed at a camp in the mountains and were unfortunately somewhat isolated from the local culture. There was a Jamaican team there at the same time. During free time I'd head over to their rooms instead of hanging out with my American teammates. When they asked me why, I said I had all the time in the world to spend with Americans but not so much time to spent with Trinis or Jamaicans so I was looking to make the most of the opportunity. I wanted to learn.
When I lived in Trinidad I became a student of the culture and the history. I loved learning everything I could. I am by no means an expert on Trinidad but I think the year and a half of Trini Tuesday posts indicates I was paying attention during my time there. I truly did not understand the mindset of the other Americans I met who had lived there so much longer than I had and yet seemed to know so little. I found even a little bit of interest in learning goes such a long way in building bridges. It didn't matter if it was being aware of local current events, or asking someone to teach me how to cook local food, or learning about customs, or using the slang, it all worked together to communicate respect. And who doesn't respond to being respected?
When I came back to the USA I had a very rough re-entry. I did NOT want to be here. At that time I met a couple from Kenya. The wife didn't want to be here anymore than I did. Her husband had more or less dragged her here for school with the promise that they'd return to Kenya upon graduation. She came knowing he had no intention of ever going back and was mourning the loss of family connections back home. I walked her through a lot of initial culture shock because she knew she was safe to complain to me, that I wasn't going to take it as a slam on my homeland for her to express sadness over being away from her own. As odd as it may sound to a lot of you, her 'foreignness' provided a comforting familiarity to me that soothed my own re-entry. Because she didn't have American notions about how affection between friends could and could not be expressed and because I was very comfortable with the more demonstrative expressions in Trinidad we were both free to discard some of the more buttoned up restrictions that American culture can impose. It was a nurturing and healing thing for both of us. Of course, the friendship stoked my natural curiosity in Kenyan culture specifically and I learned a good bit from her (recipes included). I considered it the greatest compliment when she told me I was really more Kenyan at heart than American and I was the one American she would be proud to take back to her home village because she knew I would not judge anything there as weird or beneath me. I was quite humbled by that.
Actually, I've heard a variation on that sort of statement from Trinis, Jamaicans, Ghanaians, Indians, Bolivians, Argentinians, and Chinese. I don't say that to boast but I hope it at least indicates I can adapt and make people feel respected and welcome. I've seen so many stereotypical 'Ugly Americans' even in my limited experience abroad and it makes me cringe. I just want to avoid giving any justification for that label, satiate my natural curiosity, and hopefully do my part to build respect for my own culture in the way I conduct myself.
So now I am to pass this on. Here are the folks I think are world citizens who build bridges across cultures. I know so many of you live in different cultures or have wide cross cultural experience, but for the sake of brevity I will focus on those folks who specifically cover cultural topics regularly in their blogs.
Renny BA: He calls himself a network evangelist and his blog focuses on the seasons and culture of Norway. I have learned so much from him and have loved every minute spent at his blog discovering Scandinavia. He's a dear friend.
Susie: She's an American who is in love with India. I remember her first trip several years ago and she is headed there again the end of this week. Wish her safe travels! She is sure to have some amazing posts in the next few weeks if the reports during her trip last year were any indication.
Cosima: She is a German woman living in Hong Kong. She has shared quite a bit on both German and Chinese culture, customs, and arts. She has offered original translations of German poetry. She is incredibly intelligent and her insights are always deep and thought provoking.
Toraa: He is a wonderfully crazy viking! You never know what he might come up with but it will always be done with a real zest for life and great humor. He has shared about visits to his daughter in Miami, trips in Europe. He has a real affection for South America as well.
Mona: She is an Indian woman who has frequently written about issues specific to her culture in a way which educates the rest of us. I don't know what experience she may or may not have with cultures other than her own but her efforts to share about both the good and the bad of life in India are a benefit to those who read her and who want an insider's view.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Lecram gave the opportunity for readers to submit a question for him to answer in a post. My question and his answer were...
What do you wish the average American, who has very little clue of life outside these United States, understood about migrating to this country and life in other places?
Lime… of course you would ask the esoteric question. The short answer is… Americans, get over yourself! lol! The more diplomatic (and longer) answer is to first become aware of how and from where your own family got here. We all have a “root” homeland rich with history, culture and tradition. I think exposing oneself to one’s root culture is paramount and a wonderful first step to appreciating the world outside our comfort zone. For instance, you may be an Irish decedent and celebrate St.Paddy’s Day… but the hamlet in County Desmond will still be a foreign experience. I guess what I’m trying to say is… understanding begins at home… and where home once was is a great place to start.
Like I said in this Friday 55, I've always been fascinated by all the novelty that exists out in the wide world. the blogosphere has been an amazing way to get little tastes of places I might have missed otherwise and I have always wanted to be a part of the cultural sharing that goes on (Hence the year and a half of Trini Tuesday posts, which will still occur, just not every week.)
At the same time I think Lecram has a good point about learning one's own heritage. Mine is a bit confused since I am Greek by birth but Pennsylvania Dutch, which is really German, by upbringing. I was adopted at birth but I was always rather aware that I didn't look like the people around me. I can remember having to do some project at school about my heritage when I was young. I asked my mom what our family ethnicity was and what my personal ethnicity was. I don't know if there is something that the millennia of history imprints upon Greeks regardless of whether or not we grow up in the culture, but even without knowing much of anything about it I felt a little swell of pride about being half Greek, hehehe, maybe it was just the excitement about finally knowing. As a child the only way I knew to embrace that was digging into the mythology. I read every Greek myth I could find. I have found out, however, that unless you are Orthodox, speak the language, and have some relative back in Greece, a lot of the 'real' ones consider you rather suspect and not worthy of identifying yourself as such. I had one Greek exchange student tell me I probably didn't really have any Greek blood at all but was more likely Turkish. Erm...I may not have grown up in the culture but I do know enough to recognize that shy of being extremely vulgar that is about the worst insult a Greek can think of. Regardless of what the 'authentic Greeks' think it's a part of my heritage and a part I'd like to explore to a much greater degree than I have had opportunity.
The Pennsylvania Dutch part of my heritage is the part I identify with most strongly. I was soaked in it like bread and butter pickles or chow chow in brine. There was no escaping the German sensibilities along with the farming culture I was surrounded by. Most people think of the Amish and Mennonites when they think of the PA Dutch but that is only one small subgroup of the larger culture that encompasses modern people as well. There was also the spoken dialect that I heard while growing up and if not the dialect, the thick accent that almost always elicited the comment about being 'a dumb dutchie.'
The sad thing is how prevalent this notion is not only among those who come in contact with Dutchies but among the Dutchies themselves. My parents both came from families with a strong PA Dutch background, in fact my grandfather spoke the dialect. However, the older generation often did not want the younger generation to learn the language so as to avoid being called 'dumb dutchies' and so they could speak secrets amongst themselves. These days it is extremely rare to find a person outside the Amish and Mennonite community and under the age of 50 who can speak the dialect at all. My parents were extremely strict about our language usage and if my brother or I dared use local slang, pronounced something with an obvious accent, or lapsed into the ferhoodled (Yes, that's a PA Dutch word for confused and I love it.) syntax of a dutchman we were immediately corrected in no uncertain terms.
Now I agree that it is important to be able to function in standard English, but there are certain times when poetic license and cultural expression just beg for expression. When my young daughter came in from playing and her uncombed hair stood out from her head in all directions and gleamed with a sheen that could only come from having protested during regular hair washings such that their effectiveness was negligible it was much shorter to exclaim, 'What a stroobly mess!' than to go through the extended description I just provided. Stroobly is more than merely being uncombed but it doesn't cross over quite to complete filth and total negligence. There is no English equivalent for it. It is a very good word. Feel free to adopt it for your own usage. Honestly, I think it took going to Trinidad and learning to function in their slang to be able to get past a lot of the negativity about my own linguistic culture that had been beaten into my head as a child.
So, all this rambling just to say in the coming weeks there will still be some Trini Tuesday posts. You can also expect some Pennsylvania Dutch posts now and again because I do think there are a lot of misconceptions about the culture if there is knowledge at all. It will be a little way for me to get back to some of my roots.
Now feel free to ask about things you'd like to learn about or tell me something interesting about your own heritage.
What do you wish the average American, who has very little clue of life outside these United States, understood about migrating to this country and life in other places?
Lime… of course you would ask the esoteric question. The short answer is… Americans, get over yourself! lol! The more diplomatic (and longer) answer is to first become aware of how and from where your own family got here. We all have a “root” homeland rich with history, culture and tradition. I think exposing oneself to one’s root culture is paramount and a wonderful first step to appreciating the world outside our comfort zone. For instance, you may be an Irish decedent and celebrate St.Paddy’s Day… but the hamlet in County Desmond will still be a foreign experience. I guess what I’m trying to say is… understanding begins at home… and where home once was is a great place to start.
Like I said in this Friday 55, I've always been fascinated by all the novelty that exists out in the wide world. the blogosphere has been an amazing way to get little tastes of places I might have missed otherwise and I have always wanted to be a part of the cultural sharing that goes on (Hence the year and a half of Trini Tuesday posts, which will still occur, just not every week.)
At the same time I think Lecram has a good point about learning one's own heritage. Mine is a bit confused since I am Greek by birth but Pennsylvania Dutch, which is really German, by upbringing. I was adopted at birth but I was always rather aware that I didn't look like the people around me. I can remember having to do some project at school about my heritage when I was young. I asked my mom what our family ethnicity was and what my personal ethnicity was. I don't know if there is something that the millennia of history imprints upon Greeks regardless of whether or not we grow up in the culture, but even without knowing much of anything about it I felt a little swell of pride about being half Greek, hehehe, maybe it was just the excitement about finally knowing. As a child the only way I knew to embrace that was digging into the mythology. I read every Greek myth I could find. I have found out, however, that unless you are Orthodox, speak the language, and have some relative back in Greece, a lot of the 'real' ones consider you rather suspect and not worthy of identifying yourself as such. I had one Greek exchange student tell me I probably didn't really have any Greek blood at all but was more likely Turkish. Erm...I may not have grown up in the culture but I do know enough to recognize that shy of being extremely vulgar that is about the worst insult a Greek can think of. Regardless of what the 'authentic Greeks' think it's a part of my heritage and a part I'd like to explore to a much greater degree than I have had opportunity.
The Pennsylvania Dutch part of my heritage is the part I identify with most strongly. I was soaked in it like bread and butter pickles or chow chow in brine. There was no escaping the German sensibilities along with the farming culture I was surrounded by. Most people think of the Amish and Mennonites when they think of the PA Dutch but that is only one small subgroup of the larger culture that encompasses modern people as well. There was also the spoken dialect that I heard while growing up and if not the dialect, the thick accent that almost always elicited the comment about being 'a dumb dutchie.'
The sad thing is how prevalent this notion is not only among those who come in contact with Dutchies but among the Dutchies themselves. My parents both came from families with a strong PA Dutch background, in fact my grandfather spoke the dialect. However, the older generation often did not want the younger generation to learn the language so as to avoid being called 'dumb dutchies' and so they could speak secrets amongst themselves. These days it is extremely rare to find a person outside the Amish and Mennonite community and under the age of 50 who can speak the dialect at all. My parents were extremely strict about our language usage and if my brother or I dared use local slang, pronounced something with an obvious accent, or lapsed into the ferhoodled (Yes, that's a PA Dutch word for confused and I love it.) syntax of a dutchman we were immediately corrected in no uncertain terms.
Now I agree that it is important to be able to function in standard English, but there are certain times when poetic license and cultural expression just beg for expression. When my young daughter came in from playing and her uncombed hair stood out from her head in all directions and gleamed with a sheen that could only come from having protested during regular hair washings such that their effectiveness was negligible it was much shorter to exclaim, 'What a stroobly mess!' than to go through the extended description I just provided. Stroobly is more than merely being uncombed but it doesn't cross over quite to complete filth and total negligence. There is no English equivalent for it. It is a very good word. Feel free to adopt it for your own usage. Honestly, I think it took going to Trinidad and learning to function in their slang to be able to get past a lot of the negativity about my own linguistic culture that had been beaten into my head as a child.
So, all this rambling just to say in the coming weeks there will still be some Trini Tuesday posts. You can also expect some Pennsylvania Dutch posts now and again because I do think there are a lot of misconceptions about the culture if there is knowledge at all. It will be a little way for me to get back to some of my roots.
Now feel free to ask about things you'd like to learn about or tell me something interesting about your own heritage.
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