Showing posts with label Romania. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romania. Show all posts
Monday, December 19, 2011
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Romanian Carol
The title means "The most beautiful piece of the concert of Christmas carols."
No, I don't know what the carol is or what it means. Sorry. No Romanians here to tell me.
I'll ask one to tell me.
No, I don't know what the carol is or what it means. Sorry. No Romanians here to tell me.
I'll ask one to tell me.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Bunǎ Dimineaţa
The song title means "Good Morning." It is a family joke, as Jonathan uses it as his universal Romanian phrase - not only a greeting, but ordering from a menu, giving directions, telling people his name...mostly because it annoys me, or used to.
The name of the band means Hospital Emergency (you can see that if you take it apart), or idiomatically, The Emergency Room. Language note: The ul at the end of the first word is the definite article in Romanian, comparable to el, la, or le in other Romance languages. Getting stuffed at the end, instead of preceding the word, is how they do it in Slavic languages. When something is common to diverse languages in an area, it is called Sprachbund, and the postposition of the definite article is a Sprachbund in the Balkans.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Desteapte-te Romane
Update: Tracy requested the lyrics and translation, which are here at the link..
Beyond the first line, I can pull out only isolated words while
listening, except for the phrase "Acum ori niciodata," which means "now
or never." Reading the translation, it's longer, angrier, and bloodier
than I remembered. Well, it's the Balkans.
I keep coming back to these. Re-re-post.
Christmas Day, 1989, the tyrant Ceausescu was finally overthrown. Congratulations, Romania. Chris doesn't remember any of the revolution. J-A was four, and remembers the crowds in the street shouting "Iliescu Sus! Ceausescu Jos!" Which turned out to be Romanian for "Out of the frying pan, into the fire," but it was a start. They have a great national anthem. If you listen to all three one after the other, you will be a little bit Romanian at the end.
We got the only two Romanians who can't sing, by the way.
These three (now four!) performances of the Romanian national anthem ("Romanians, Awake!")* will tell you everything you need to know about the culture since the revolution of December 1989. If you are pressed for time, the first one - the pop version - will tell you enough.
You have to admit, these folks put a lot into the anthem, though not with expressions we usually associate with patriotism in America. Defiance, joy, smoldering sexual display - yeah, that's them.
The Rock Version
And the national rugby team.
*What, you thought Dragostea din Tei was the national anthem? No, that would be Romania's contribution to middle-school culture worldwide.
I keep coming back to these. Re-re-post.
Christmas Day, 1989, the tyrant Ceausescu was finally overthrown. Congratulations, Romania. Chris doesn't remember any of the revolution. J-A was four, and remembers the crowds in the street shouting "Iliescu Sus! Ceausescu Jos!" Which turned out to be Romanian for "Out of the frying pan, into the fire," but it was a start. They have a great national anthem. If you listen to all three one after the other, you will be a little bit Romanian at the end.
We got the only two Romanians who can't sing, by the way.
These three (now four!) performances of the Romanian national anthem ("Romanians, Awake!")* will tell you everything you need to know about the culture since the revolution of December 1989. If you are pressed for time, the first one - the pop version - will tell you enough.
You have to admit, these folks put a lot into the anthem, though not with expressions we usually associate with patriotism in America. Defiance, joy, smoldering sexual display - yeah, that's them.
The Rock Version
And the national rugby team.
*What, you thought Dragostea din Tei was the national anthem? No, that would be Romania's contribution to middle-school culture worldwide.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Post 3000 - Anniversary
10 years ago tonight, Chris and John-Adrian arrived in America. This was taken about a week before.
These are more recent, J-A with his favorite niece,
and Chris with some old lush.
Everything changed.
These are more recent, J-A with his favorite niece,
and Chris with some old lush.
Everything changed.
Saturday, May 07, 2011
"At Least You're Not Black"
Chris has had the odd experience, while seeking employment in Norway, of having a few prospective employers smile and say "At least you're not black." I don't know if it's something Norwegians deeply mean or just an old saying they haven't bothered to clean up, rather in the manner that Americans used to say "free, white, and 21" when I was young.
But for a boy just out of the Marine Corps, it rings pretty oddly on the ears. What if I was* black? he asked me, Would it make a difference to them? I think probably yes. Scandinavian countries are homogeneous, and no European countries have much good record in accepting other races, or hell, even other tribes of the same race. The Flemish and Walloons still can't get along, for pity's sake, and the Saxons and the Celts just barely until quite recently.
And don't even get me started on the Roma.
Yeah, if you've got a gypsy-disliking Romanian wondering if you are too racist, that pretty much answers the question right there. Americans are the least-racist people (there are other anglospheric countries in the discussion), and it pays to remember that. We are accomplishing, however slowly and badly, what other nations do not even attempt.
*No, the Romanians are not the children I would have even bothered to teach to say "if I were." It is examples such as this that solidified my move from prescriptivist to descriptivist in language. Chris and J-A learned English from native speakers of their generation, primarily. That is standard English, even if I find it sloppy. It is fine to insist on conventions in conventional situations, such as speeches, papers, formal events. But other prescriptive changes describe social, even snobbish distinctions. Not that I don't use them anyway, of course, because that's who I am. Yet it is not who they are.
But for a boy just out of the Marine Corps, it rings pretty oddly on the ears. What if I was* black? he asked me, Would it make a difference to them? I think probably yes. Scandinavian countries are homogeneous, and no European countries have much good record in accepting other races, or hell, even other tribes of the same race. The Flemish and Walloons still can't get along, for pity's sake, and the Saxons and the Celts just barely until quite recently.
And don't even get me started on the Roma.
Yeah, if you've got a gypsy-disliking Romanian wondering if you are too racist, that pretty much answers the question right there. Americans are the least-racist people (there are other anglospheric countries in the discussion), and it pays to remember that. We are accomplishing, however slowly and badly, what other nations do not even attempt.
*No, the Romanians are not the children I would have even bothered to teach to say "if I were." It is examples such as this that solidified my move from prescriptivist to descriptivist in language. Chris and J-A learned English from native speakers of their generation, primarily. That is standard English, even if I find it sloppy. It is fine to insist on conventions in conventional situations, such as speeches, papers, formal events. But other prescriptive changes describe social, even snobbish distinctions. Not that I don't use them anyway, of course, because that's who I am. Yet it is not who they are.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Longitude
Son #3 is at 165 degrees west longitude, nearly on the Arctic Circle. Son #4 is at 18 degrees east longitude, nearly on the Arctic Circle. If you look at the habitable places up there, there aren't many. And two places directly across the North Pole from each other are fewer still.
This is the first time in the history of the world that Romanian brothers are on direct opposite sides of the Arctic Circle.* I feel pretty confident of that. Some Romanian newspaper or magazine would likely be interested in the story.
*If you want to count Catalin, who is their brother though not our son, I waive the point. Yes. True.
This is the first time in the history of the world that Romanian brothers are on direct opposite sides of the Arctic Circle.* I feel pretty confident of that. Some Romanian newspaper or magazine would likely be interested in the story.
*If you want to count Catalin, who is their brother though not our son, I waive the point. Yes. True.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Appleseeds
We went up to Appleseeds in Bradford for Valentine's Day. My wife had won gift certificates from the radio station - which she often does - and we eased up 114, past places heavy with childhood nostalgia for me. How was the food? The restaurant itself was of a type common in NH, refashioned from an old house, with a woodstove in the dining room. A good fit with the used book stores on the way up and the old hardware store that still has wooden floors in the town before. Even more, with the still-in-use covered bridge a half-mile down the road. The decor is objet d'histoire indigene, usually including farm tools from grandfather's day or older, photographs of local sites taken in 1930, and perhaps a map of a nearby lake.
It's the sort of place you file away to bring prospective daughters-in-law from Alaska, or Texas, or even Norway.* A distilled version of local charm, possibly convincing them that moving here wouldn't be such a bad idea. Though perhaps only convincing them that their own region's nostalgia is far to their preference. Very nice. How was the food?
Chain restaurants sometimes attempt this nostalgia, but even when they've got really good items, it doesn't quite work. And even at Appleseeds, a few items were a stretch. An "Amoskeag Seamless" bag is appropriate to NH in general, but Bradford is an hour away - likely two hours or more in those days. The adjustable grocery store coffee grinder, circa 1960, might have come from just down the road, but could also have come from anywhere in America. Vague oldness isn't quite the thing. But the posters on the wall were first rate: advertisements for Saturday night Barn Dances in Bradford. admission $1.00, $.50 for children; the annual Armistice Dance at the Armory in Laconia with Gene Krupa, "The Ace Drummer," with door and raffle prizes of a Four Door Sedan of unspecified make or a Hot Point stove; the MV Kearsarge docked on Lake Sunapee. And license plates dating back to 1914. Vanity plates were common in NH long before most other places, and there were plenty up there from the 60's and 70's. The SD 311 put me in mind of remembering what county prefixes went where and posting about it.
The menu has sandwiches named after original owners or regular patrons. Now you're talking. What was on that menu? There are regional beers (Sam Adams, Long Trail) plus the standard modern imports (Guinness, Newcastle), and one surprise, Pabst Blue Ribbon, designated PBR on the dry-erase board, which tells me that Pabst is making a comeback with the hipper crowd. Never liked it myself, but I'm glad they've found a way to carve out a new niche.
Nice little place, run by the same people that do the dinner cruises on Lake Sunapee. The food, dammit! I don't care about all that other stuff on a restaurant review. I want to know if the food's good.
No you don't, actually. Food is well less than half of the reason we choose a restaurant. We care about the type of food, hankering for one ethnic type or late-night breakfast. We care about distance, price, noise level, sports on TV, and atmosphere - at least, that's what our actions say, regardless of what words we spout.
The food was fine. I almost had the Canadian pork pie but had a spicy cheese soup, then some chicken/teriyaki/garlic thing, and Tracy had a chicken/maple/apple thing with sweet potato. They have fish and chips, scallops baked or fried, some sandwiches on different breads with various sauces on beef or ham or turkey. That sort of thing. The usual, and done pretty well. You'll like it fine.
*From Romania, perhaps not so much. Wooden pitchforks and deteriorating maps hold less charm when they are still in use at your house. Not too far along, though, nostalgia will kick in there also, and old men will point to pictures on the wall and tell the young cashier "We used to go fishing there." So snap up the best of the memorabilia from old barns when you visit; it will have value sooner than you think. I'm already regretting not buying a battered violin hanging in a shelter next to a pig sty in Remetea in 1998. It would have been called a gypsy fiddle by the time it made it back here, of course.
It's the sort of place you file away to bring prospective daughters-in-law from Alaska, or Texas, or even Norway.* A distilled version of local charm, possibly convincing them that moving here wouldn't be such a bad idea. Though perhaps only convincing them that their own region's nostalgia is far to their preference. Very nice. How was the food?
Chain restaurants sometimes attempt this nostalgia, but even when they've got really good items, it doesn't quite work. And even at Appleseeds, a few items were a stretch. An "Amoskeag Seamless" bag is appropriate to NH in general, but Bradford is an hour away - likely two hours or more in those days. The adjustable grocery store coffee grinder, circa 1960, might have come from just down the road, but could also have come from anywhere in America. Vague oldness isn't quite the thing. But the posters on the wall were first rate: advertisements for Saturday night Barn Dances in Bradford. admission $1.00, $.50 for children; the annual Armistice Dance at the Armory in Laconia with Gene Krupa, "The Ace Drummer," with door and raffle prizes of a Four Door Sedan of unspecified make or a Hot Point stove; the MV Kearsarge docked on Lake Sunapee. And license plates dating back to 1914. Vanity plates were common in NH long before most other places, and there were plenty up there from the 60's and 70's. The SD 311 put me in mind of remembering what county prefixes went where and posting about it.
The menu has sandwiches named after original owners or regular patrons. Now you're talking. What was on that menu? There are regional beers (Sam Adams, Long Trail) plus the standard modern imports (Guinness, Newcastle), and one surprise, Pabst Blue Ribbon, designated PBR on the dry-erase board, which tells me that Pabst is making a comeback with the hipper crowd. Never liked it myself, but I'm glad they've found a way to carve out a new niche.
Nice little place, run by the same people that do the dinner cruises on Lake Sunapee. The food, dammit! I don't care about all that other stuff on a restaurant review. I want to know if the food's good.
No you don't, actually. Food is well less than half of the reason we choose a restaurant. We care about the type of food, hankering for one ethnic type or late-night breakfast. We care about distance, price, noise level, sports on TV, and atmosphere - at least, that's what our actions say, regardless of what words we spout.
The food was fine. I almost had the Canadian pork pie but had a spicy cheese soup, then some chicken/teriyaki/garlic thing, and Tracy had a chicken/maple/apple thing with sweet potato. They have fish and chips, scallops baked or fried, some sandwiches on different breads with various sauces on beef or ham or turkey. That sort of thing. The usual, and done pretty well. You'll like it fine.
*From Romania, perhaps not so much. Wooden pitchforks and deteriorating maps hold less charm when they are still in use at your house. Not too far along, though, nostalgia will kick in there also, and old men will point to pictures on the wall and tell the young cashier "We used to go fishing there." So snap up the best of the memorabilia from old barns when you visit; it will have value sooner than you think. I'm already regretting not buying a battered violin hanging in a shelter next to a pig sty in Remetea in 1998. It would have been called a gypsy fiddle by the time it made it back here, of course.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Mission Trips
We required that every son go on a mission trip before graduating high school. It is a cliche to say that those who go get more out of it than those who are theoretically being ministered to.
Here's an overlooked example that will appeal to parents.
Suburban children often grow up more fussy about their food. Children often have difficulty with the concept of foods mixing together, as in a sauce, or even touching each other. Further, items such as onions, mushrooms, and all manner of vegetables may be meticulously picked out of dinners. That is, when the dinner is not rejected entirely. All children do this, suburban children are worse.
Foreign missions in high school have a salutary effect on this. When Concord Christian visited a Jamaican orphanage, made heroic efforts to eat everything put in front of them, and still saw the orphans leap for the inedible parts tossed in the garbage, it made an impression.
The two Romanian sons, who spent much of their early childhood eating lard spread on bread augmented by whatever fruit they could steal, needed no curative in this regard. When they came to America they developed preferences and even things they would rather not eat, but when the chips were down, could deal with anything. Ultimately, they could say "Dude, it's food. Eat it." Chris even went off on his lunch table in high school always complaining about the food at one point. A sternish lecture on what food reality really was. When Chris sent MRE's from the Marines to his brother, in fact, John-Adrian never figured out the part about how the heating pack was included. Ate the meal anyway, though he confessed he didn't like it much.
Ben, by far our pickiest eater, found Jamaica and a summer working in Romania quite curative. Which worked out well, since he moved to Texas. Kyle...well, let's not pick on Kyle yet. His background was fast food or frozen prepared foods heated up, so he's still adjusting to the idea of food that people actually cook.
But Jonathan's mission trip was to a drug rehab in Chicago. It worked out well, as he met someone he admired from Asbury, where he, his wife, and Ben eventually went. But Chicago food doesn't stretch the suburban palate much. His toddler daughter was over for dinner tonight, identifying the spinach as "grass," and turning up her nose at Swedish meatballs. And he, foul parent, is not providing a good example.
We should have sent him on two trips.
This is the good stuff from Romania, BTW. Really.
Vinete, an eggplant salad (Vee-neyteh)
Mitetei, a tiny sausage. (Mee-tets)
Sarmale and mamaliga
Mamaliga, egg, sour cream, God-knows-what.
Here's an overlooked example that will appeal to parents.
Suburban children often grow up more fussy about their food. Children often have difficulty with the concept of foods mixing together, as in a sauce, or even touching each other. Further, items such as onions, mushrooms, and all manner of vegetables may be meticulously picked out of dinners. That is, when the dinner is not rejected entirely. All children do this, suburban children are worse.
Foreign missions in high school have a salutary effect on this. When Concord Christian visited a Jamaican orphanage, made heroic efforts to eat everything put in front of them, and still saw the orphans leap for the inedible parts tossed in the garbage, it made an impression.
The two Romanian sons, who spent much of their early childhood eating lard spread on bread augmented by whatever fruit they could steal, needed no curative in this regard. When they came to America they developed preferences and even things they would rather not eat, but when the chips were down, could deal with anything. Ultimately, they could say "Dude, it's food. Eat it." Chris even went off on his lunch table in high school always complaining about the food at one point. A sternish lecture on what food reality really was. When Chris sent MRE's from the Marines to his brother, in fact, John-Adrian never figured out the part about how the heating pack was included. Ate the meal anyway, though he confessed he didn't like it much.
Ben, by far our pickiest eater, found Jamaica and a summer working in Romania quite curative. Which worked out well, since he moved to Texas. Kyle...well, let's not pick on Kyle yet. His background was fast food or frozen prepared foods heated up, so he's still adjusting to the idea of food that people actually cook.
But Jonathan's mission trip was to a drug rehab in Chicago. It worked out well, as he met someone he admired from Asbury, where he, his wife, and Ben eventually went. But Chicago food doesn't stretch the suburban palate much. His toddler daughter was over for dinner tonight, identifying the spinach as "grass," and turning up her nose at Swedish meatballs. And he, foul parent, is not providing a good example.
We should have sent him on two trips.
This is the good stuff from Romania, BTW. Really.
Vinete, an eggplant salad (Vee-neyteh)
Mitetei, a tiny sausage. (Mee-tets)
Sarmale and mamaliga
Mamaliga, egg, sour cream, God-knows-what.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Romanian Carol
I don't have either Romanian here, so I can't tell you a thing about it, except that it is from NE Romania, in Bucovina, one of the remoter, more rural areas of the country.
Listen a few times and you will find yourself humming it.
Listen a few times and you will find yourself humming it.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Morning Coffee Thoughts
We went out to tag our Christmas tree this morning, a family tradition that we have held even after the children have gone. We used to choose a tree from our own property at the old house, both for the romance of it and the reduced cost. You get some pretty odd trees that way, but of such oddities is charm born. There was one year that Jonathan cut one from his in-law's property up in Jackson when they were clearing space for an addition. Over 20', that one was, and even after cutting it down to 16' it was a project to lug it three hours back to Goffstown. It was down to 12' by the time we erected it, and the route to upstairs was seriously impeded. I think that was the first year the boys were here from Romania. Jonathan and Heidi still cut their own tree, but in a different place. I don't know it that option is available in Houston for Ben, but I haven't heard him mention it. Chris and JA always found the tree-tagging less important, but we made them go at gunpoint, as we do now with Kyle. It's tradition, dammit. Merry Christmas.
I have been wondering with some apprehension what the financial news out of Europe means going forward. It does illustrate how far people will let things go while remaining in denial. They, like we, blame the politicians for it all, but the citizenry didn't get so very concerned that they voted them out. Much as here. The EU is only part of the problem, though it is taking the heat. Covetousness is the problem. Christians usually focus on individual coveting as the sin to pay attention to, but group covetousness may be more damaging. We are studying the OT histories in Sunday School. We want a king so that we can be like other nations. The same today. Other school districts have...Other professions with the same amount of education make more...The army gets all the new equipment...Other Little Leagues buy those nice...Other hospitals have that equipment...Those other cities...those other states...those other countries... The Europeans saw this collection of American states with a better economy and drew the wrong lessons. And we, of course, do that too. As long as I can remember, one of the big arguments for universal health care is that all the other kids have one.
PJ O'Rourke gets it half right when he points to this commandment as being important for a nation's well-being. On an individual basis, it's a good reminder not to covet because it breeds discontent. Get one of your own. But he left out the part that it's bad to get one of your own if you can't afford it. My third and fourth sons thought they could afford x amount of car because their friends were all affording it somehow, so they must be able to as well. And why shouldn't they "deserve" that as much as anyone else? The part where a lot of those friends eventually couldn't make the payments looked less visible. Buying too much car is the chief cause of bankruptcy in your 20's. As with my post on standing alone, it is perhaps good training to endure having something inferior to what your peers have simply for the discipline of denial.
Pondering how life might have been different, I remembered how unusual it was for people graduating from William and Mary to leave the general region, where the very name had cachet and people immediately tagged you as a smart person. I came back to New England, then soon to New Hampshire, where people didn't even recognise the school. I always highlighted the good reasons for coming back here, but there was some timidity and retreat in it as well. I seldom think much about how life would have been different for Tracy and I - I think it would have been an enormous difference - but today it struck me: my sons would not be Newhampshiremen. I don't think that matters so much to the Romanians, for fairly obvious reasons. And Benjamin has always been a citizen of whatever he is reading or watching - of Watership Down, of ESPN, of Redwall. Still, even in Texas there's a self-definition, an idea of origin that clings to him, I think. Kyle has lived mostly in Massachusetts until 2009, so I don't know what he'll see himself as. Those ideas don't start to become important until one is older anyway.
But the idea of Jonathan not being a Newhampshireman is frankly inconceivable. Apparently he thinks so too, having moved back here to insure that his children are Newhampshirewomen.
I have been wondering with some apprehension what the financial news out of Europe means going forward. It does illustrate how far people will let things go while remaining in denial. They, like we, blame the politicians for it all, but the citizenry didn't get so very concerned that they voted them out. Much as here. The EU is only part of the problem, though it is taking the heat. Covetousness is the problem. Christians usually focus on individual coveting as the sin to pay attention to, but group covetousness may be more damaging. We are studying the OT histories in Sunday School. We want a king so that we can be like other nations. The same today. Other school districts have...Other professions with the same amount of education make more...The army gets all the new equipment...Other Little Leagues buy those nice...Other hospitals have that equipment...Those other cities...those other states...those other countries... The Europeans saw this collection of American states with a better economy and drew the wrong lessons. And we, of course, do that too. As long as I can remember, one of the big arguments for universal health care is that all the other kids have one.
PJ O'Rourke gets it half right when he points to this commandment as being important for a nation's well-being. On an individual basis, it's a good reminder not to covet because it breeds discontent. Get one of your own. But he left out the part that it's bad to get one of your own if you can't afford it. My third and fourth sons thought they could afford x amount of car because their friends were all affording it somehow, so they must be able to as well. And why shouldn't they "deserve" that as much as anyone else? The part where a lot of those friends eventually couldn't make the payments looked less visible. Buying too much car is the chief cause of bankruptcy in your 20's. As with my post on standing alone, it is perhaps good training to endure having something inferior to what your peers have simply for the discipline of denial.
Pondering how life might have been different, I remembered how unusual it was for people graduating from William and Mary to leave the general region, where the very name had cachet and people immediately tagged you as a smart person. I came back to New England, then soon to New Hampshire, where people didn't even recognise the school. I always highlighted the good reasons for coming back here, but there was some timidity and retreat in it as well. I seldom think much about how life would have been different for Tracy and I - I think it would have been an enormous difference - but today it struck me: my sons would not be Newhampshiremen. I don't think that matters so much to the Romanians, for fairly obvious reasons. And Benjamin has always been a citizen of whatever he is reading or watching - of Watership Down, of ESPN, of Redwall. Still, even in Texas there's a self-definition, an idea of origin that clings to him, I think. Kyle has lived mostly in Massachusetts until 2009, so I don't know what he'll see himself as. Those ideas don't start to become important until one is older anyway.
But the idea of Jonathan not being a Newhampshireman is frankly inconceivable. Apparently he thinks so too, having moved back here to insure that his children are Newhampshirewomen.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Shoe Box
They handed out shoeboxes to the kids at church last week - Samaritan's Purse, I believe. I always wonder what it means to kids. When Chris came from Romania, the next Christmas they were filling shoeboxes to send overseas from Concord Christian School. He was in 7th grade. He had surprised recognition at the custom: "Hey, we used to get those when I was at the orphanage." None of the kids knew what to say.
I thought I had remembered that they had asked him what kids liked to get in the boxes, but I now think I only fancied that, thinking that is what they should have said.
I thought I had remembered that they had asked him what kids liked to get in the boxes, but I now think I only fancied that, thinking that is what they should have said.
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