We're seeing our fair share of Switzerland these days. Yesterday, we drove to a town near Zurich to have dinner with an American family who's also here working for Thomson. This morning, we went to Lucerne for church. This afternoon, we drove to another town to have dinner with our friends from Germany. Each of those drives is about an hour round-trip, so it's a good thing that gas is cheap here. (I'm kidding. It's not. It hurts.) And, of course, most of this driving doesn't take place on nice four-lane freeways. Nope. It's on narrow two-lane roads. The Swiss don't really seem to have the concept of a "shoulder." So you drive on these narrow roads until you come to a village, you pass through the obligatory one or two traffic circles in the village, and then you speed up again for a couple of miles until you come to the next village. (All of this happens, of course, against a backdrop of spectacular mountains and forests.)
Tomorrow night, Stace and I will ride a train to the top of one of the mountains overlooking Zurich for my company's holiday celebration. That should be fun. And next Monday, which is a Swiss holiday, Stace is going to go with some friends to Germany to do some shopping. It's also a school holiday, so I might take a day-trip with the kids to Italy or at least to the Italian part of Switzerland. Our trip to the French part over the summer was interesting. So, we're getting a good look at what there is to see here.
I still haven't written that post about all of the rules around here, but I think I got busted by one of them last week. I think they nailed me for running a red light. The light was yellow, and I still maintain that I had plenty of time, but I saw the dreaded flash of light as I went through the intersection. When you see that flash, you can expect to receive a ticket in the mail about two weeks later. Speeding tickets and other moving violations are all done by photo-cop; there's no sweet-talking the digital camera into giving you just a warning "this time." According to another Thomson family who got a ticket a couple of weeks ago for running a red light by eight tenths of a second, I can expect to pay about 250 Swiss francs ($200) for this one. I'm starting a collection, so feel free to pitch in. Our mailing address is:
PO Box 64523
St. Paul, MN 55164-0523
(I'm kidding about the collection but not about the mailing address. You can mail cards and letters to that address and they'll be forwarded to us. You can't send packages that way, just mail. And be sure you address it to one of us by first name, not just to "Wood," because my company uses that mailing address for many, many Thomson families all over the world. But remember that we're seven hours ahead of Minnesota and eight hours ahead of Utah, so you need to drop your letters in the mail several hours earlier than you normally would.)
And, finally, Stace did that which I had long dreaded: she sat down to read this blog. She says that the India deal is off and that Switzerland is enough adventure for her right now. What she doesn't realize is that they speak English in India, so the language thing would be easier there than it is here. All of you faithful readers out there (yes, I mean both of you) have a couple of years to soften her up and convince her that India should be our next move. Come on--you're all eager to visit India, and if we live there, you've got the perfect excuse, right? (For those of you who have been watching the news lately, no, the office is not in Mumbai.)
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
A Stace story
My wonderful wife just called me from the grocery store because she needs me to meet her at the bus stop when she gets home. Why? Well, I'll tell you.
Stace rode the bus to the grocery store. While at the store, she forgot that she didn't have the car with her, so she bought a huge amount of groceries. It wasn't until she left the store that she realized that she didn't have a car. So now, I'm going to meet her at the bus stop to help her haul all of the groceries back to the house.
I thought that after the surgery earlier this year, Stace wouldn't feel so much pressure to live up to the stereotype that her former appearance could sometimes create. Turns out that on the inside, she's still the same old Stace that we all know and love. The surgery didn't change that. I could give you dozens of stories. I've suggested that from now on, when she goes to the grocery store, I'm going to hang a "car" or "no car" sign around her neck.
It's a good thing she never reads this blog.
Wait. She's home now, and she's looking in the direction of the computer screen. Uh-oh . . . .
Stace rode the bus to the grocery store. While at the store, she forgot that she didn't have the car with her, so she bought a huge amount of groceries. It wasn't until she left the store that she realized that she didn't have a car. So now, I'm going to meet her at the bus stop to help her haul all of the groceries back to the house.
I thought that after the surgery earlier this year, Stace wouldn't feel so much pressure to live up to the stereotype that her former appearance could sometimes create. Turns out that on the inside, she's still the same old Stace that we all know and love. The surgery didn't change that. I could give you dozens of stories. I've suggested that from now on, when she goes to the grocery store, I'm going to hang a "car" or "no car" sign around her neck.
It's a good thing she never reads this blog.
Wait. She's home now, and she's looking in the direction of the computer screen. Uh-oh . . . .
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
"You're the worst family!"
Those were Lindsey's words when I made her stay in bed tonight. I had to fake-cough to cover up my laughter, because to her, this is a very serious matter. (She also threatened to bite me. And she has this vicious scowl that makes my blood run cold, at least until I tickle her.)
Stace tends to be a softie with this kind of thing, but I'm getting her more in a combat mindset. She has to realize that in Lindsey, we face an enemy so cunning, so devious, and so amoral that she will resort to the most underhanded tactics, including emotional blackmail. This is war. It's a war we're going to win (at least until Lindsey becomes a teenager, at which point we'll abandon all hope and immediately surrender without any expectation or hope of mercy).
Stace tends to be a softie with this kind of thing, but I'm getting her more in a combat mindset. She has to realize that in Lindsey, we face an enemy so cunning, so devious, and so amoral that she will resort to the most underhanded tactics, including emotional blackmail. This is war. It's a war we're going to win (at least until Lindsey becomes a teenager, at which point we'll abandon all hope and immediately surrender without any expectation or hope of mercy).
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Stace is aging
Stace turned almost-40 yesterday. We were going to take the train to Lucerne to walk around and get lunch, but the weather wasn't very nice, so we postponed that. We settled for buying some outrageously expensive truffles at the Bahnhof here in Zug. (But dang, they were good.)
Elderly Swiss women continue to express their concern that I'm not dressing warmly enough when I go out to climb our local staircase for exercise. One woman stopped me yesterday and kindly berated me with an unintelligible string of words that ended with the word kalt, which is "cold" in German. I tried to convince her that I was heiss, which is "hot." From the dubious look on her face, I could tell that she either didn't believe me or didn't understand me, probably the latter.
Elderly Swiss women continue to express their concern that I'm not dressing warmly enough when I go out to climb our local staircase for exercise. One woman stopped me yesterday and kindly berated me with an unintelligible string of words that ended with the word kalt, which is "cold" in German. I tried to convince her that I was heiss, which is "hot." From the dubious look on her face, I could tell that she either didn't believe me or didn't understand me, probably the latter.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
German words
Today, we got a letter from the Canton of Zug (a canton is the Swiss version of a state, I suppose). The letter contains the following word: "Krankenversicherungspflicht." I kid you not. That's a real German word. I believe it means something like "proof of insurance." German loves nothing more than a nice, juicy compound word. I'll bet you can't think of a lot of words in English words that are 27 letters that you could casually roll off of your tongue at your next party.
More differences between Switzerland and Minnesota
Pickles taste different. And toilets flush differently.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Lindsey Wood, Sufferer of Injustice
Nothing to do with Switzerland this time, just Lindsey. This is just an example of the stuff that makes us crack up. This happened while I was in Minnesota, so I wasn't around to actually witness this, but here's what I'm told happened.
Stace wouldn't let Lindsey have more dessert one evening, which has been one of the great sources of parent/child conflict throughout recorded history. Lindsey worked herself up into a crying fit. Stace tried to sympathize but finally told Lindsey that she needed either to stop crying or to go to her room. Lindsey chose to endure her torment alone in her room. After a few minutes, without comment, Lindsey's bedroom door opened, and a small hand taped a picture to the outside of her door. You can see the picture at the bottom of this posting. (This is scanned as a pdf and then copied as a screen shot from my computer, and I'm too lazy to do further cleanup.)
If you look closely, you'll see that each eye has its own tear. Imagine the suffering and the anguish of our poor daughter. Lindsey's parents had no idea that they had mistreated her so. Upon seeing this picture and its eloquent depiction of the injustice that had been visited upon Lindsey, her parents felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and vowed never again to deny their daughter the extra dessert she so desperately needed---
Oh, hang on a sec. We interrupt Lindsey's fantasy with a dose of reality. What actually happened was that Lindsey didn't get any additional dessert, but her parents did get a kick out of her silent protest and her subsequent admonition that we must never again make her "cwy."
She's a kick. We've allowed her to have various art supplies in her room, although we do run the risk of her gluing a window shut or something like that. Last night, she strung several strands of masking tape between her walls and door and hung various works of art from the tape. This was her attempt to get an early start on her Christmas decorations. Lately, rather than sleeping with one of her dolls, she's started sleeping with a pair of scissors so she can dream of what to create when she wakes up in the morning. (Don't worry--they're dulled kid scissors. She can't hurt herself by rolling over on them.)
Stace wouldn't let Lindsey have more dessert one evening, which has been one of the great sources of parent/child conflict throughout recorded history. Lindsey worked herself up into a crying fit. Stace tried to sympathize but finally told Lindsey that she needed either to stop crying or to go to her room. Lindsey chose to endure her torment alone in her room. After a few minutes, without comment, Lindsey's bedroom door opened, and a small hand taped a picture to the outside of her door. You can see the picture at the bottom of this posting. (This is scanned as a pdf and then copied as a screen shot from my computer, and I'm too lazy to do further cleanup.)
If you look closely, you'll see that each eye has its own tear. Imagine the suffering and the anguish of our poor daughter. Lindsey's parents had no idea that they had mistreated her so. Upon seeing this picture and its eloquent depiction of the injustice that had been visited upon Lindsey, her parents felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and vowed never again to deny their daughter the extra dessert she so desperately needed---
Oh, hang on a sec. We interrupt Lindsey's fantasy with a dose of reality. What actually happened was that Lindsey didn't get any additional dessert, but her parents did get a kick out of her silent protest and her subsequent admonition that we must never again make her "cwy."
She's a kick. We've allowed her to have various art supplies in her room, although we do run the risk of her gluing a window shut or something like that. Last night, she strung several strands of masking tape between her walls and door and hung various works of art from the tape. This was her attempt to get an early start on her Christmas decorations. Lately, rather than sleeping with one of her dolls, she's started sleeping with a pair of scissors so she can dream of what to create when she wakes up in the morning. (Don't worry--they're dulled kid scissors. She can't hurt herself by rolling over on them.)
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Swiss currency
I've included a picture of what some bills look like in Switzerland. As I mentioned before, the currency is very colorful. Each demonination is a different size so that you can tell what you've got by touch. (There's a case working its way through U.S. courts right now that might result in the U.S. having to redesign its currency so that people with disabilities can tell the different demoniations apart. That would be interesting.)
Large denominations are much more common around here than in the U.S. When's the last time you paid for something in the U.S. with a hundred-dollar bill? Here, though, we toss around one- and two-hundred franc bills without thinking about it. I'd be a little embarrassed in the U.S. to make a small purchase with a large bill, but around here, no one cares.
They've done a cool thing in Switzerland that we should do in the U.S. (but we won't): get rid of the penny. Everything you buy here ends in a 0 or a 5. The smallest coin we use around here is the Swiss version of a nickel. Another nice thing is that tax is already figured into the posted price of goods, so if you see something on the shelf that costs 2.05, it really costs 2.05--no more tax is added in.
For those of you who are really curious, here are the coins (bear in mind that "rappen" are the Swiss equivalents of cents): 5 rappen, 10 rappen, 20 rappen, 50 rappen, one franc, two francs, and five francs. Here are the bills: 10 francs, 20 francs, 50 francs, 100 francs, 200 francs, and 1000 francs. (No, I haven't tossed around a thousand-franc bill yet.) I'm not fast enough yet to be able to tell the differences between the coins based on size, so I just have to hope that the cashier is being honest in giving me the right amount of change. In Switzerland, that's a pretty safe bet.
Given the fact that you get coins for everything up to five francs, you can guess that the abundance of coins can result in an unmanageable amount of change kicking around in one's pocket. Stace, for some unknown reason, embraces the coin lifestyle. She likes to accumulate them. I try to spend them as soon as I get them. Once in a while, I help her out by taking all of the 10- and 20-rappen coins out of her purse, going to a bus ticket machine, and dropping in 25 or 30 coins to get a bus ticket. She'll be overwhelmed with gratitude at some point when she realizes how much good I'm doing for her.
Large denominations are much more common around here than in the U.S. When's the last time you paid for something in the U.S. with a hundred-dollar bill? Here, though, we toss around one- and two-hundred franc bills without thinking about it. I'd be a little embarrassed in the U.S. to make a small purchase with a large bill, but around here, no one cares.
They've done a cool thing in Switzerland that we should do in the U.S. (but we won't): get rid of the penny. Everything you buy here ends in a 0 or a 5. The smallest coin we use around here is the Swiss version of a nickel. Another nice thing is that tax is already figured into the posted price of goods, so if you see something on the shelf that costs 2.05, it really costs 2.05--no more tax is added in.
For those of you who are really curious, here are the coins (bear in mind that "rappen" are the Swiss equivalents of cents): 5 rappen, 10 rappen, 20 rappen, 50 rappen, one franc, two francs, and five francs. Here are the bills: 10 francs, 20 francs, 50 francs, 100 francs, 200 francs, and 1000 francs. (No, I haven't tossed around a thousand-franc bill yet.) I'm not fast enough yet to be able to tell the differences between the coins based on size, so I just have to hope that the cashier is being honest in giving me the right amount of change. In Switzerland, that's a pretty safe bet.
Given the fact that you get coins for everything up to five francs, you can guess that the abundance of coins can result in an unmanageable amount of change kicking around in one's pocket. Stace, for some unknown reason, embraces the coin lifestyle. She likes to accumulate them. I try to spend them as soon as I get them. Once in a while, I help her out by taking all of the 10- and 20-rappen coins out of her purse, going to a bus ticket machine, and dropping in 25 or 30 coins to get a bus ticket. She'll be overwhelmed with gratitude at some point when she realizes how much good I'm doing for her.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The King's English, roasted chestnuts, and jet lag
First: Lindsey continues to become more British. Recent phrases we've heard from her include "let's give it a go," "become ill," and "you're making me cross." On the other hand, she did proclaim that she was "desausted" after we'd climbed the hill and the steps leading to our apartment, so she's still got a way to go.
Second: Roasted chestnuts actually exist. I always thought they were just a made-up part of the Christmas song. (You know, the one about kids spying to see if reindeer can really fly.) Since the weather turned colder a couple of weeks ago, street vendors have appeared near the Bahnhof (train station) and the stores. They sell roasted chestnuts. I was walking around with Lindsey today, and we decided to be real Europeans and buy some roasted chestnuts. Problem is, I didn't actually know how to eat a roasted chestnut. Do you need a nutcracker? Do you break them open with your teeth? Can you just eat them straight? I didn't want to look any dumber than I already do as a non-German speaker. So, we sat near one of the vendors in the Bahnhof for a while and watched people who bought the chestnuts. It looked like they just pulled them out of the bag, peeled them, and ate them. We mustered up our courage and bought a bag. Sure enough, the shells fall off very easily, and then you eat the chestnut inside. They were good. Lindsey didn't like them so much, but I've decided that when you're wandering around on a cold day, eating some warm, roasted chestnuts isn't a bad way to go.
Third: I've decided that overcoming jet lag is essentially an act of self-deception. You have to convince your body that it's wrong about what time it thinks it is.
I left Minneapolis at 12:15 p.m. on Wednesday. After flying through Atlanta, I landed in Zurich at 8:00 a.m. on Thursday, which was 1:00 a.m. in Minneapolis. I dozed for a bit on the plane but didn't really sleep. Even though my body thought it was one in the morning, it was breakfast time in Switzerland, and who wants to go to sleep then? So I just pushed through the day. I finally went to bed around 11:30 Swiss time Thursday night, which was 4:30 p.m. Minneapolis time, which means that I went 34 hours without sleep. Needless to say, I slept pretty well that night. All of this transatlantic hopping around plays interesting games with a person.
The really fun challenge will be taking the kids home for Christmas. We leave Zurich at about 12:15 in the afternoon. Three flights later, we'll land in Salt Lake City at about 11:30 that same night, which will actually be 7:30 the next morning in Swiss time. The kids will be completely wiped out. Hopefully, they will have recovered by Christmas Day. Then we'll turn it all around and go back the other direction two and a half weeks later.
When I'm dictator of the world, I'm going to do five things, in this order: 1) put everyone on 110 V electricity; 2) have everyone use the same currency; 3) put everyone in the same time zone; 4) have everyone speak the same language; and 5) create world peace.
Fourth: (Yes, this is a bonus item. I don't want Stace to see this one. She's not very good at keeping up on my blog, and even if she reads this entry, I'm counting on the fact that her attention will have wandered by the time she's read this much, so she won't ever see what I'm about to say.)
My company announced that it's going to be hiring people in India and the Philippines to do some of our content work. Obviously, they'll need people familiar with our content work to be stationed over there to keep an eye on things. Since I've spent most of my career at West in content, I might be well-suited for something like that. Once we get this two- to five-year Switzerland gig out of our systems, maybe we'll be off to another overseas adventure . . . .
Second: Roasted chestnuts actually exist. I always thought they were just a made-up part of the Christmas song. (You know, the one about kids spying to see if reindeer can really fly.) Since the weather turned colder a couple of weeks ago, street vendors have appeared near the Bahnhof (train station) and the stores. They sell roasted chestnuts. I was walking around with Lindsey today, and we decided to be real Europeans and buy some roasted chestnuts. Problem is, I didn't actually know how to eat a roasted chestnut. Do you need a nutcracker? Do you break them open with your teeth? Can you just eat them straight? I didn't want to look any dumber than I already do as a non-German speaker. So, we sat near one of the vendors in the Bahnhof for a while and watched people who bought the chestnuts. It looked like they just pulled them out of the bag, peeled them, and ate them. We mustered up our courage and bought a bag. Sure enough, the shells fall off very easily, and then you eat the chestnut inside. They were good. Lindsey didn't like them so much, but I've decided that when you're wandering around on a cold day, eating some warm, roasted chestnuts isn't a bad way to go.
Third: I've decided that overcoming jet lag is essentially an act of self-deception. You have to convince your body that it's wrong about what time it thinks it is.
I left Minneapolis at 12:15 p.m. on Wednesday. After flying through Atlanta, I landed in Zurich at 8:00 a.m. on Thursday, which was 1:00 a.m. in Minneapolis. I dozed for a bit on the plane but didn't really sleep. Even though my body thought it was one in the morning, it was breakfast time in Switzerland, and who wants to go to sleep then? So I just pushed through the day. I finally went to bed around 11:30 Swiss time Thursday night, which was 4:30 p.m. Minneapolis time, which means that I went 34 hours without sleep. Needless to say, I slept pretty well that night. All of this transatlantic hopping around plays interesting games with a person.
The really fun challenge will be taking the kids home for Christmas. We leave Zurich at about 12:15 in the afternoon. Three flights later, we'll land in Salt Lake City at about 11:30 that same night, which will actually be 7:30 the next morning in Swiss time. The kids will be completely wiped out. Hopefully, they will have recovered by Christmas Day. Then we'll turn it all around and go back the other direction two and a half weeks later.
When I'm dictator of the world, I'm going to do five things, in this order: 1) put everyone on 110 V electricity; 2) have everyone use the same currency; 3) put everyone in the same time zone; 4) have everyone speak the same language; and 5) create world peace.
Fourth: (Yes, this is a bonus item. I don't want Stace to see this one. She's not very good at keeping up on my blog, and even if she reads this entry, I'm counting on the fact that her attention will have wandered by the time she's read this much, so she won't ever see what I'm about to say.)
My company announced that it's going to be hiring people in India and the Philippines to do some of our content work. Obviously, they'll need people familiar with our content work to be stationed over there to keep an eye on things. Since I've spent most of my career at West in content, I might be well-suited for something like that. Once we get this two- to five-year Switzerland gig out of our systems, maybe we'll be off to another overseas adventure . . . .
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Interview with the Woods
Wow! I just noticed that our little blog now has a follower. I've never had a follower before. Welcome, Gretchen!
Anyway, I've abandoned the family to spend a few days in Minnesota. Coming to Minnesota this week has reminded me of one of the benefits of not being in Minnesota. As I looked at the weather forecast so I'd know what to pack, I saw that temperatures this week will vary between the 70s and the 20s. Now there's a wardrobe challenge. So I packed a little bit of everything: short sleeves, long sleeves, light jacket, heavy jacket, beachwear, skis, and so forth.
It also reminded me of how boring United States currency now looks compared to Swiss currency. It's all the same size and it's all the same drab green color. (And it's worth about 30% less than it was a month ago.)
But this isn't the promised post about Swiss currency, which I'll get to eventually. Instead, I'm just going to give you a link to an article featuring an interview with our lovely little family. It's at http://www.4family.ch/de/myfamily/interview-des-monats/november-2008. It's all in German, but here's an approximate translation:
"These parents have it so totally together and are doing an amazing job of raising their children." (It takes longer to say things in German than in English.)
Actually, Lindsey is already picking up some German. Stace had another headache and had to miss church on Sunday. One of Lindsey's teachers at church said, "Stacie ist krank." Lindsey said, "No, she's not sick; she just has a headache."
(Contrary to what you might guess, that sentence does not translate to "Stacie is cranky," which could never, ever be the case. I can't think of a situation in which one would ever use the words "Stacie" and "cranky" in the same sentence, unless one were saying something like, "Stacie is most definitely not cranky and has never been cranky, and it's inconceivable that she would ever be cranky, and, in fact, the words 'Stacie' and 'cranky' don't even belong in the same sentence.")
Anyway, I've abandoned the family to spend a few days in Minnesota. Coming to Minnesota this week has reminded me of one of the benefits of not being in Minnesota. As I looked at the weather forecast so I'd know what to pack, I saw that temperatures this week will vary between the 70s and the 20s. Now there's a wardrobe challenge. So I packed a little bit of everything: short sleeves, long sleeves, light jacket, heavy jacket, beachwear, skis, and so forth.
It also reminded me of how boring United States currency now looks compared to Swiss currency. It's all the same size and it's all the same drab green color. (And it's worth about 30% less than it was a month ago.)
But this isn't the promised post about Swiss currency, which I'll get to eventually. Instead, I'm just going to give you a link to an article featuring an interview with our lovely little family. It's at http://www.4family.ch/de/myfamily/interview-des-monats/november-2008. It's all in German, but here's an approximate translation:
"These parents have it so totally together and are doing an amazing job of raising their children." (It takes longer to say things in German than in English.)
Actually, Lindsey is already picking up some German. Stace had another headache and had to miss church on Sunday. One of Lindsey's teachers at church said, "Stacie ist krank." Lindsey said, "No, she's not sick; she just has a headache."
(Contrary to what you might guess, that sentence does not translate to "Stacie is cranky," which could never, ever be the case. I can't think of a situation in which one would ever use the words "Stacie" and "cranky" in the same sentence, unless one were saying something like, "Stacie is most definitely not cranky and has never been cranky, and it's inconceivable that she would ever be cranky, and, in fact, the words 'Stacie' and 'cranky' don't even belong in the same sentence.")
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Parental irrelevance
Something has gradually dawned on me over the past couple of days: Lindsey doesn't need parents. Seriously. I realized that we don't really exist in her world except maybe for an annoying buzzing sound in the back of her head that she's learned to ignore.
When Lindsey wants to go outside to play, she goes outside to play. She doesn't worry that she's alone or that she can't get back into the building. (This is much safer in Switzerland than it would be in the U.S.) When Lindsey wants something to eat, she climbs up to the counter and gets it out of the cupboard. If we've put Lindsey to bed for the night and she doesn't want to go to bed, she stays up for an hour or more in her bedroom drawing pictures and writing notes to her friends. (The notes consist mostly of wavy lines across a page with a random letter thrown in now and then, which she considers to be writing.) If Lindsey wants to jump off of the balcony, she rigs up a contraption that will allow her to fly.
If we're in the store and Lindsey wants to go play on the escalator, she goes and plays on the escalator. Doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing at the time. She's not malevolent, just curious and independent, an interesting combination in a four-year-old. If Lindsey is going somewhere and I tell her not to go there, it makes no difference in her world. It's as if I hadn't spoken. Oh, sure, I can physically restrain her from going at the moment, but she will inevitably figure out a way to go. In short, Lindsey is a four-year-old adult.
She went outside to play the other day, and our plan was to send Tanner down after her. Tanner was delayed a little longer than we'd planned. A few minutes later, Lindsey reappeared at our door. We were a bit surprised since the outside door to the building is always locked. It turned out that on her way out, Lindsey had grabbed the key to the building. When she decided to come back in, she put the key in the lock and, in her words, "just twisted and twisted until it opened."
The funny thing is that she has an adult vocabulary but a four-year-old's pronunciation. Yesterday, she and Tanner were sitting on the floor playing with Legos. I heard her say, "You'll have to excuse me, please, Tanner. I have to go to da bafwoom." She doesn't climb "trees"; she climbs "twees."
It's going to be an interesting twenty years.
When Lindsey wants to go outside to play, she goes outside to play. She doesn't worry that she's alone or that she can't get back into the building. (This is much safer in Switzerland than it would be in the U.S.) When Lindsey wants something to eat, she climbs up to the counter and gets it out of the cupboard. If we've put Lindsey to bed for the night and she doesn't want to go to bed, she stays up for an hour or more in her bedroom drawing pictures and writing notes to her friends. (The notes consist mostly of wavy lines across a page with a random letter thrown in now and then, which she considers to be writing.) If Lindsey wants to jump off of the balcony, she rigs up a contraption that will allow her to fly.
If we're in the store and Lindsey wants to go play on the escalator, she goes and plays on the escalator. Doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing at the time. She's not malevolent, just curious and independent, an interesting combination in a four-year-old. If Lindsey is going somewhere and I tell her not to go there, it makes no difference in her world. It's as if I hadn't spoken. Oh, sure, I can physically restrain her from going at the moment, but she will inevitably figure out a way to go. In short, Lindsey is a four-year-old adult.
She went outside to play the other day, and our plan was to send Tanner down after her. Tanner was delayed a little longer than we'd planned. A few minutes later, Lindsey reappeared at our door. We were a bit surprised since the outside door to the building is always locked. It turned out that on her way out, Lindsey had grabbed the key to the building. When she decided to come back in, she put the key in the lock and, in her words, "just twisted and twisted until it opened."
The funny thing is that she has an adult vocabulary but a four-year-old's pronunciation. Yesterday, she and Tanner were sitting on the floor playing with Legos. I heard her say, "You'll have to excuse me, please, Tanner. I have to go to da bafwoom." She doesn't climb "trees"; she climbs "twees."
It's going to be an interesting twenty years.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
German
Okay, here's the promised post on the German language. (But first, I have to tell you that Lindsey started talking about a "tomahto" yesterday rather than a "tomayto." Those European types at the international school are really starting to get to her. Sheesh. Next thing you know, she'll start thinking that it would be a good thing for people to have health coverage.)
Now, before you start thinking that German doesn't make sense compared to English, take a second and explain to me why "tough," "though," and "through" don't rhyme.
On with the show. German has some interesting challenges. There are five different ways to say "the." There are four different ways to say "a" or "an." Which version you use depends on the noun that follows it and whether the noun is the subject, the direct object, or the indirect object. I rarely get them right when I'm speaking.
One of the other challenges with German is the word order. All but one of the verbs get shoved to the end. In English, I would say, "I can see Tanner." In German, that translates to, "Ich kann Tanner sehen." Translated word for word, that comes out to, "I can Tanner see."
Past tense also gets a little funky. They don't say, "I drove to Steinhausen." They say "I am to Steinhausen driven," or "Ich bin nach Steinhausen gefahren." They say, "I have bread eaten," or "Ich habe Brot gegessen," rather than "I ate bread." (They capitalize all nouns.) This is all just fine in the classroom, but when you try to have a conversation with someone, it's hard to get it all right on the fly. You just have to practice, which is not easy when I work in an English-speaking office and live with an English-speaking family. I do just fine in stores as long as the cashier sticks to the dialogue that's running in my head, but when they go off script, like asking me if I'd like a piece of twine strung through the handle of the bag so that I can carry it more easily (which happened yesterday), I have to retreat and go to my most-used German line, "Ummmmmmm, sprechen Sie Englisch?"
Pronunciation is also tricky. German doesn't have a "th" sound, so they can't pronounce "Ethan." It comes out as "aytan." "Wood" comes out as "voot." (In German, the letter "w" is pronoucned like our letter "v," and the letter "v" is pronounced like our letter "f." A "VW" is a "fow vay.")
And then, finally, there's the fact that in Switzerland, they speak a very different version of German. I can follow a good chunk of a conversation in high German, but I'm almost totally lost in Swiss German. They tend to drop the endings of a lot of words and lose a lot of the consonants. The German word for "no," which is "nein," becomes "nei" in Swiss German.
Now, before you start thinking that German doesn't make sense compared to English, take a second and explain to me why "tough," "though," and "through" don't rhyme.
On with the show. German has some interesting challenges. There are five different ways to say "the." There are four different ways to say "a" or "an." Which version you use depends on the noun that follows it and whether the noun is the subject, the direct object, or the indirect object. I rarely get them right when I'm speaking.
One of the other challenges with German is the word order. All but one of the verbs get shoved to the end. In English, I would say, "I can see Tanner." In German, that translates to, "Ich kann Tanner sehen." Translated word for word, that comes out to, "I can Tanner see."
Past tense also gets a little funky. They don't say, "I drove to Steinhausen." They say "I am to Steinhausen driven," or "Ich bin nach Steinhausen gefahren." They say, "I have bread eaten," or "Ich habe Brot gegessen," rather than "I ate bread." (They capitalize all nouns.) This is all just fine in the classroom, but when you try to have a conversation with someone, it's hard to get it all right on the fly. You just have to practice, which is not easy when I work in an English-speaking office and live with an English-speaking family. I do just fine in stores as long as the cashier sticks to the dialogue that's running in my head, but when they go off script, like asking me if I'd like a piece of twine strung through the handle of the bag so that I can carry it more easily (which happened yesterday), I have to retreat and go to my most-used German line, "Ummmmmmm, sprechen Sie Englisch?"
Pronunciation is also tricky. German doesn't have a "th" sound, so they can't pronounce "Ethan." It comes out as "aytan." "Wood" comes out as "voot." (In German, the letter "w" is pronoucned like our letter "v," and the letter "v" is pronounced like our letter "f." A "VW" is a "fow vay.")
And then, finally, there's the fact that in Switzerland, they speak a very different version of German. I can follow a good chunk of a conversation in high German, but I'm almost totally lost in Swiss German. They tend to drop the endings of a lot of words and lose a lot of the consonants. The German word for "no," which is "nein," becomes "nei" in Swiss German.
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