Segments of the Whole

   Where does a story actually begin? Stories, in essence, are specific segments of lives. They are highly edited, specifically focussed accounts of the riot and mess of lives, either real or imagined. So, does it quite matter where I start here? Probably not.

   It's Sunday morning - Father's Day for those who are tuned into holidays more than I am - and the first day of my work week. And I am tremendously fatigued, body and soul. I am bolstering myself with a Rock Star energy drink and the determination to be upbeat and engaging when I actually begin to interact with my fellow human beings today. 

   The sensation of being an empty tank is partially from family difficulties and demands, partially from an unusually busy work week, and partially from having no safe place to stop. All of that is not whining, I don't think, but simply observations of the current situation.

   Additionally, I realize that "everything always changes". The rhythms and rules of the current flow will be completely different this time next year. To quote the 1939 British poster, "Keep Calm and Carry On".

   I'm reminded at the moment of an idea I developed with my Siberian email buddy that we refer to as "the illusion of routine". Each day and moment, while it may seem mundane, is actually quite rare and precious. And, I suppose, boredom could be a symptom of being unaware of this.

   And, speaking of my Siberian email buddy - I'm picking up a bit of Russian. Having had an approximately six month period of a vivid, lively exchange of long emails and scores of instant chats with a lovely woman from Kemerovo who I will refer to here as Nadia, I was shocked, when we chatted about Skyping, when she told me that she could barely speak English. Reading and writing were fine, but she simply had little opportunity to listen to and speak English.

   After I picked myself off the proverbial floor from the shock that someone so articulate in written english, who had such a command of shades of meaning and complex ideas, couldn't actually speak the language, I decided to do something about it. 

   First, I began recording what I alternately refer to as "audio notes" and "Radio Joey", along with the transcription of what I said. I had to get over my microphone-phobia, but all things considered, I'm doing fairly well with it.

   Second, only after sending several of these audio notes did it occur to me that my learning a bit of Russian would be cool for at least two reasons. First, it would be a gentlemanly way to verbally meet Nadia "in the middle" so that effortless spoken conversations could happen a bit sooner. Second, learning a new language is learning a new way to see the world. In my fledgling initial efforts, I have made a few observations.

   Specifically…

   The American mouth making Russian noises is both pathetic and funny, but, I do seem to make progress. I've just about got the alphabet ("alphabet"/"azbuka") and can almost sound out most words, without, of course, yet knowing the meaning and where the stress lies in the word. And I do have a small but growing vocabulary. When listening to Russian online, there are times when a word I recognize will pop through the noise like a lighthouse beam shining through a dark, foggy night.

   One subtle but important differentiation I discussed once with Nadia is the difference between "house" and "home", the first denoting more the physical structure and the second implying a bit more about the emotional and relational connection. From what I can tell, and from what Nadia said, there seems to be no differentiation in Russian. Both seem to be covered with the word "дом" (doam).

   And one other interesting non-differentiation I found just the other day is the word "рука" (roo-kah) which is the word for both "arm" and for "hand". 

   One function of language, I think, is to differentiate one thing from another. That may seem overly obviously at first glance, but without language - without the labeling of objects and activities - the world becomes more homogenous. The advantage to that would be a sense of the connectedness of everything, but the disadvantage would be a perpetual ignorance of the properties and functions of separate items. 

   I could be incorrect about the word "рука", and I will check on it, but I was fascinated that something I took for granted - a linguistic difference between my arm and my hand - was something that not everyone on the planet does differentiate as automatically as I do. 

   And I thought that was cool.

   One final thing - Having so many things going on in my life can be wearing, but I guess it's better than being bored. I have found myself, in periods of a long grind, to enjoy things on purpose. A day may have kicked my ass, but there are bits that were pretty cool, so I enjoy those for all they are worth.

   In that vein, I appreciate the following picture taken during the Vancouver hockey riots. Destruction may be all around, but that doesn't mean you have to stop having fun!