The Citizen, 1998-12-02, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 1998. PAGE 5.
Arthur Black
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There must be a
word for it
There's an old game Nye used to play, the
central theme of which was: if you were cast
away on a desert island and you could only
take one book with you, what would it be?
The politically correct answer, as I recall,
was the Bible. Some folks opted for a play by
Shakespeare or a novel by Tolstoy.
Eddie, the class doofus, always maintained
that he was willing to settle for the latest
issue of Playboy.
Me, I'd choose the dictionary. Any
dictionary, as long as it was good and fat. I
can't think of any other book that's given me
as much pleasure.
It wouldn't have to be a brand, spanking
new dictionary either. In fact, I'd prefer an
old one something like the 1918 Webster's I
have at home. It doesn't contain words like
"radar" or "laser", "Sputnik" or even "atomic
bomb". But it does have lots of words and
expressions you simply don't hear anymore.
For instance, do you know what "filliping"
is? That's the proper term for "snapping your
fingers". Now why would we ever discard a
perfectly good word like that?
You find curious word inversions in old
A second look
When you come back to a place for a
second time, there are, perhaps, two things
that you do without even realizing it. One is
to notice the things that have changed or
remained the same; the other is to become
aware of things that you didn't notice the first
time.
Czech drivers haven't learned any more
manners since I was here last year. They are
supposed to stop at crosswalks to let
pedestrians have a chance to cross the street
but the latter still take their lives in their
hands if they cross when a car is coming.
There are no flashing lights here as there
are in Canada but the rule concerning the
pedestrian is certainly honoured more in the,
breach than in the observance.
When you have 10 per cent inflation,
prices are bound to change, and so they have
here. My train fare to Ostrava has gone up 20
per cent since last year and the one-month
bus pass for $8 has disappeared.
Food is up by various amounts, as are
utilities.
The sad part is that many workers have not
received pay increases to keep pace and so
their standard of living has dropped. There
are no real signs of any change for the better
in my economic horoscope.
The Czechs had national elections while I
was away but the same old gang is still
dictionaries, too — words that have, for no
clear reason reversed some letters and taken
on new pronunciations. Did you know that
"butterfly" was once "flutterby"?
Makes a lot more sense when you think of
it. Those little, tlittering critters have nothing
to do with butter.
Another word that got flipped is
"sideburns".
Such furry facial adornments were
originally known as "burnsides", named in
honour of an American Civil War general by
the name of Burnside who was well-known
among the troops for his outlandishly bushy
cheek whiskers.
And if I couldn't take an English language
dictionary with me to my desert island, I'd
settle for a multi-language one, because
foreign tongues often contain words and
phrases that English just doesn't have.
The French have a phrase — esprit
d'escalier. It translates as "the spirit of the
staircase", but what it means is "what I
shoulda said".
Such as when you're at a cocktail party and
somebody zings you with a clever put down?
And you go "Ho, ho, that's a good one" — as
you fantasize about crawling under the table
and pulling the tablecloth over your head?
Then, on your way home you think of the
perfect comeback, a line you could have said
to skewer your antagonist and end up looking
like Oscar Wilde, except it's too late now.
around, shuffled a bit to present a slightly
different picture, but nothing much has really
changed. A lot of hard decisions have been
delayed. Sounds familiar!
The corruption which prevailed before is
still just below the surface with the unholy
trinity of the government, the banks and the
investment trusts. Last year I ran into
corruption in the customs service; this year it
is the police, but that is another story in
itself.
Gradually, businesses are pulling
themselves into a more up-to-date world.
Last year I used mail, phone and fax. This
year I have added E-mail to my repertory.
More stores are offering credit card
services, to the delight of foreign tourists, but
the Czechs, by and large have not taken to
credit cards with the intensity of North
Americans.
There are fast trains but only on the main
lines. One of the best is the express from
Ostrava to Prague and vice-versa. It is a total
of 358 kms., which takes four hours at about
90 kms. an hour.
This is certainly not a world-beater
compared to West European trains but it
really beats the 30 minutes it takes me to go
the 19 kms. from Frydek-Mistek to Ostrava. I
can almost count the flowers on the way.
There is still present that wonderful.
ingredient which I reported the last time I
was here. It is called Czech hospitality, and it
has continued to make my stay here in the
That's esprit d'escalier.
The Swedes have a great word that I think
we really ought to steal, uffda. That's what
Swedes say when they see someone else stub
a toe or sustain a nasty paper cut.
It's an expression of sympathy, something
like the German gesundheit for sneezing.
Uffda, so much more concise than Geez, I
bet that hurts, eh?"
The Yiddish language has given us a raft of
useful words: shtick for a. performance piece,
schlemiel for an idiot, chutzpah for, well, we
don't really have an English word that
captures it. Brass, bravado, cockiness,
ingenuity, people who speak Yiddish get to
say all of that with one word: chutzpah.
But the Yiddish word we Canucks need to
adopt is farpotchket. It refers to anything that
is irretrievably fouled up, thanks to repeated
attempts to fix it.
Canada's sad sack Labrador helicopters
could be rechristened Farpotchkets.
And let's not forget the Italians. They, too,
have a linguistic contribution to make
towards life as it is lived today. That
contribution is ponte. It refers to that extra
day off we like to take, usually tacked on to a
weekend or a holiday.
Hey — I've just had an esprit d'escalier,
what's to stop me from taking a ponte right
now? After all, the day's pretty well
farpotchket and I've got a migraine too.
This is where you say uffda.
star category. They wouldn't hear of my
driving all the way from St. Gall to Frydek-
Mistek. They insisted on coming to Vienna
to pick me up when I delivered the car back
to the rental agency at the Vienna airport. It
saved me about 12 hours driving and $150 in
travelling expenses.
Needless to say, I was delighted!
Finally, (and I have left out a number of
observations), I am happy to report that the
spirit of Terry Fox is alive and well in the
Czech Republic. Last year a number of
communities held the traditional run to raise
money for cancer research. This year I can
report that the number of communities doing
so has actually increased.
I would presume that there are other
countries besides the Czechs that do the same
thing but it is certainly satisfying to see this
connection with Canada.
I have noticed that turkeys are being raised
here for meat, but only in small quantities.
Who knows? Perhaps some day there will be
a Czech family who will have turkey for their
Christmas meal instead of the traditional
carp.
Stranger things have happened.
A Final Thought
If you have much, give of your wealth; if
you have little, give of your heart.
— Arab Proverb
The
Short
of it
By Bonnie Gropp
. . Drwang me crazy
You might say it drives me crazy.
I think I'm a pretty good morn. I've made
my share of mistakes over the years, but
generally when my kids need me, I try to be
there for them.
Except when they're first behind the wheel
of a car.
I recognized, early on, that my neuroses
made me a less than qualified instructor. I
don't ride roller coasters because of my need
to be in control. So it's unlikely that I'm
willingly going to park myself as a
passenger while a novice navigates 3,600
pounds powered by 260 horses at 90 km an
hour against and with the flow of similar—
and even bigger— machines.
Unfortunately, circumstances the other
evening forced me to do just that. Another
child is yearning to wheel herself to
freedom. She has been patient, but the time
has come. As with anything else practice
makes perfect and with a night set aside to
do just that, 'and being the only licensed
driver home the onus was on me.
She should have started with handicap
points. She handled herself and the vehicle
without mishap inspite of the wreck beside
her. I craved a brake and steering wheel,
gripped doorhandles and dash, gritted my
teeth and prayed.
The next evening my fearless warrior
assumed the position and upon return noted
that our young motorist had been in spin
control. Emphasizing that she had done quite
well, he showed no signs of relief or surprise
at having car and himself returned intact. No
wide-eyed look or white-knuckled signs of
leftover terror. He actually almost appeared
to enjoy himself.
And so I am left pondering what the heck
is wrong with me. Perhaps, I rationalized,
my misgivings are rooted in the past.
As with many parents, I think mine
greeted the idea of me driving with mixed
feelings. While their badly paid position of
chaffeur would be eliminated, it was not
without a price — the concerns and worries
that accompany teenagers and cars. Yet,
with slight trepidation they were convinced
upon my 16th birthday, that the time had
come.
Here, for your amusement 1 offer a
sketchy retrospective of my first driving
days. For example, there was the time my
friend put me behind the wheel of her
parents' taxi cab. All would have been fine,
except I had a nasty tendency to forget to
bring the wheel back when turning and on
this occasion found myself smack into a
hydro pole.
Only a fool makes the same mistake twice,
right? Well, call me a fool. Dad took me out
shortly after this little faux pas and just one
block from home, I was again attracted to
wood. This time, however, I was surprised
to feel the car come to a shuddering stop,
inches from the post, on the wrong side of
the road. I looked chagrined at my father,
who sitting with keys in hand, was staring in
speechless stupefaction.
Then (and I'm sure you'll enjoy the irony)
there was the incident in the parking lot of
my father's body shop. I got just a little too
close to a parked car and proceeded to drive
along scraping from front to back.
Needless to say I soon became quite
familiar with the new visage my once patient
papa was sporting.
So as I thought of my poor daughter trying
to cope with the pressure of being a new
driver, while seated next to a tense and terse
teacher, I hoped that she hadn't taken it
personally.
Because clearly when it came to driving
anyone crazy — I was the master.
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