This is one that I have a lot of trouble saying. It's pronounced Ver-i-si-mil-i-tude. Kinda like Very Similar, which amazingly enough, is very close to it's meaning! Puns intended.
Verisimilitude means the semblance of reality or appearance of truth.
Websters: The quality or state of being verisimilar; the appearance of truth; probability; likelihood.
Douglas Harper: 1603, from Fr. verisimilitude (1549), from L. verisimilitudo "likeness to truth," from veri, genitive of verum, neut. of verus "true" (see very) + similis "like, similar" (see similar).
Or as the Encyclopedia Britannica would have it: the semblance of reality in dramatic or nondramatic fiction. The concept implies that either the action represented must be acceptable or convincing according to the audience's own experience or knowledge or, as in the presentation of science fiction or tales of the supernatural, the audience must be enticed into willingly suspending disbelief and accepting improbable actions as true within the framework of the narrative.
Why am I thinking of Verismilitude? Just wanted to expand your minds really. Plus I needed practice at saying it 'cause I often can't. And it's a fiction related term that crops up lots so I might drop it into conversation and would prefer that I be understood. Yes?
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Monday, 16 February 2009
On Grief / In memoriam
This is a heavy and long one so feel free to tune out for the duration but it's what's on my mind so I'm bound to expound.
I'm actually not sure how to do this. There are two parts to this episode... or, maybe four. There is the part where my teacher / substitute mother died last year, the part where 181 people so far have died in the Victorian bush fires and then there is my reaction to both which is sort of divergent and sort of not. I have held off on writing about Sue in my blog since early December last year because I have felt very strange about her death, but the amount of suffering and tragedy that is occurring right now with the fires has led me to think about her so often that I think it is time I do write it. But I'm also not sure if my grief now is for her, or rather not only for her, but also because there is a deep miasma of grief surrounding everyone in Victoria at the moment, and I'm also reacting to that. As my step-mum said, you can't not grieve when 180 plus people have been killed, and everyone knows someone affected. Either way, I'm feeling very sad, and everyone around me seems to be down too.
So how to start? Well I guess the trick is always to start at the beginning and to go on to the end and then stop. So I will do that. I will attempt to explain why I feel weird about Sue afterwards. First, I want to share some memories.
Sue Lincoln - O'Dwyer that was - has passed away. This probably means absolutely zip to 99% of you but it means a lot to me. She was my primary school teacher at Steiner you see, and unlike most schools, this meant that I had her as a teacher from year 1 right through to the end of year 6 - my formative years. I left Steiner in year 7 - in the Victorian system this is high school - so I'd already lost Sue so to speak, but that meant that of the eight years I was there, I spent six with Sue.
I heard recently from an old school mate (through the magic of Facebook) that she wasn't well and wasn't expected to last long, and so I started to write her a letter to say thank you; only it didn't get sent in time. I was going to write to her about all the memories I still have from Steiner. How much I loved it there. How much I respected her. How much I missed her when I left.
It's a bit late for that letter now and I didn't know any of the family or even my old school mates well enough to feel at all comfortable going to the funeral. It was a Steiner thing, or maybe it was only a Sue thing, but when someone dies, I (and I have since learned, my classmates) always light a candle to their memory. I think of it as lighting their soul's way on it's journey to wherever. I watch it burn and I think of the person and give thanks for knowing them. A sort of farewell / wake on my own. I've done it for everyone I know who has died. I didn't do it for Sue... I felt so very strange about her death you see, but more on that later. So here's my candle to Sue.
I think I remember the first time I met her. We were in prep and were gathered around and introduced to our new teacher. And somebody - I keep thinking it was Emile or Robin - asked if we could call her mum. Or it could have been me. I remember her being nice about it. And I did call her mum on several occasions. It's a bit hard to remember who's who when you're only seven.
I remember her reading the Odyssey to us. I loved that book. I remember being the nurse to Odysseus who recognised him from a scar when washing his feat when we learned and performed the play. And making straps of leather into sandals and painting calico toga's in roman designs so we could dress up as legionaries. And being taught Greek. I remember performing the play 'The Importance of Being Ernest' and I was the butler and I didn't learn my lines and Sue was ever so kind to me and didn't shout at me as I deserved but made me feel so guilty instead that I learned them near perfect for the second performance.
She taught us to make mandala's too using our compasses (compii?) and I used so much of my derwent pencils, and drew so heavily, that it looked like I'd painted the colours on, not drawn them. I remember main lesson. I remember making puppets and mine had real silk hair - as in strands of - and a real satin dress. Pink. I remember free lessons. And she showed us how to make hessian cushions for our chairs. We made clay pellets and made our own hessian bags to hold them in which Sue used to teach us counting I think. I still have the cloth bag that my first set of six crayons came in - not sure where the crayons are though.
To this day I love singing 'The Sky Boat Song' as she taught it to us, she playing the guitar, we singing harmony. 'Autumn leaves are falling' was another favourite. And who could forget 'Morning has broken'? We sang that every day. I remember singing Faure's Requiem with the rest of the school which to this day is one of my favourites and which I listen to when I need calming. I remember her teaching us recorder - another Steiner thing I still have somewhere - and playing the sky boat song 'till mum hated it. I remember doing Eurythme in an apple green silk dress in the Eurythme room. I remember the dining room downstairs. But we didn't eat there every day. I can't remember when we did eat there actually. I remember the bell that called morning tea, lunch and home time was donated to the school by my grandfather, and was a ships bell.
I remember Sue getting as mad as hell at Robin so many times. I remember being envious of Honi and Jodi Downs 'cause they were the cool girls. I remember walking to Jodie's place throught the hundred acre woods and playing in her big back yard. I remember driving to school with Mariska and being baby-sat by Ben's mum. I remember pool parties at Cassie's place and the amazing atmosphere at Angela's. I always felt very awed at Angela's place, like it was somehow sacred. And I remember longing to play a violin like Emma T, and sleepovers at Emma H's with her numerous brothers and sisters. I remember writing a story about Fairies (my first ever finished story) with Isla . I remember going to Penny's I think and building a mud-brick chicken coop or something. And making glazed tiles to be added to it. I remember Penny's cello playing.
I remember the fete's at Steiner and how I always wanted, and could never afford, to buy the head bands and wrist bands encrusted with ribbons they had on display. I remember the dolls with no mouths, only eyes, so we could imagine them to have any expression we wanted. And I remember Sue teaching us May-pole dancing for a display one year and us getting it very messed up. I remember Sue as my teacher, but also my mother, my mentor and my idol.
So many memories.
Ok, so now back to the weirdness. I feel, because I left Steiner when I was 12, that somehow I have no right to be as sad as my fellow school-fellows about her death. I know this is nonsense, but I can't help feeling it. I have some kind of inferiority complex over the whole situation, like just because they spent more time at Steiner than I, they are better than me. This is patently silly of course, but I fell into a whole world of 'I'm not good enough' after Sue died from which I'm just emerging. I honestly don't know why.
Maybe because as I kid I had pretty much no confidence and the memories evoked by Sue's passing dragged this up again. And I do mean NO confidence. I was afraid to answer the telephone as apre -teen because I was scared I wouldn't know what to say and that the person on the other end would think me stupid or something. And I would have a screaming fit if mum asked me to call someone. That fear lasted even into high school I think. I spent an awful lot of time on my own too. These days I enjoy my own company and love being by myself. Back then I hated it but was terrified of intruding into the other kids games or conversations as they may not want me or may hate me and I'd never know what to say. I was called 'independent' by my teachers and by mum. I was 'quiet' and 'solitary'. I was scared was what I was. I used to hide in the bushes at recess so I wouldn't have to face or talk to anybody for fear that they'd hate me. Not all the time of course, but a decent percentage of it.
And it wasn't as if the kids weren't friendly or approachable. I had some great times at friend's places as mentioned above. And I loved Steiner. I adored being in such a creative atmosphere and loved the variety of knowledge available to us - and soaked it up like a sponge. I owe the richness of my life now to those early teachings. I was just scared of my own shadow back then.
Writing this, I'm only now realising just how far I've come. I was painfully shy as a child. I still occasionally have moments when I feel out of it, but now I can toss that over my shoulder and pretend I'm all good until I AM all good and I generally have no problem in social situations. Thank youVenturers and Gang Show! I don't think it was any body's fault, it's just the way I was. But I was a pretty timid pre-teen.
Wow. I knew that every cell in my body get's replaced regularly. I didn't know my heart and soul did too.
So, Sue's death was hard personally for me. I have been dragged back to my past to face some uncomfortable memories and some unhappy truths. Unlike the other children in my class at Steiner who grew into adults knowing Sue, I was stuck in my memories of her at age 12. A little young to process death really. And I never allowed that part of me to grow up.
As for the other people who have died in the Victorian bush fires, my deepest sympathy, compassion and condolences go to all those who have lost someone. They have been through so much. I will do all that I can to help.
I think that I now know that I am grieving with them... if that makes sense. I had no idea how much the Canberra fires had affected me until this last week. I still don't know if the way I am feeling now is because of that or just because it is such a huge tragedy or because of Sue, but when I was standing on the train platform last week and I saw the sun rise and it was the colour of blood... god I was so scared. I have been near the edge of tears so many times in the past week, while normally I'm quite a composed person, or so I'd like to think. I'm not sure about that now. My clothes and the air smell of smoke all the time and I like the smell of a camp fire but the idea that the smell comes from burning homes and ... well. I feel sick.
I just can't get my head around it. I think that when I can process it I will be fine. At least I have that luxury. How the people who have lost their homes are going to be able to process it, I can't even imagine. I wish them luck. With all my heart. Talking helps. As does writing.
And I salute all those who have helped in the crisis. Hero's one and all. Thanks just aren't enough but you have my thanks along with the rest.
Right. I didn't know how to start and now I don't know how to end. So I guess I just do. Thanks for listening.
Let it out, let it go,
Let it all unravel.
Set it free and it shall be
A path on which to travel.
...Leunig.
I'm actually not sure how to do this. There are two parts to this episode... or, maybe four. There is the part where my teacher / substitute mother died last year, the part where 181 people so far have died in the Victorian bush fires and then there is my reaction to both which is sort of divergent and sort of not. I have held off on writing about Sue in my blog since early December last year because I have felt very strange about her death, but the amount of suffering and tragedy that is occurring right now with the fires has led me to think about her so often that I think it is time I do write it. But I'm also not sure if my grief now is for her, or rather not only for her, but also because there is a deep miasma of grief surrounding everyone in Victoria at the moment, and I'm also reacting to that. As my step-mum said, you can't not grieve when 180 plus people have been killed, and everyone knows someone affected. Either way, I'm feeling very sad, and everyone around me seems to be down too.
So how to start? Well I guess the trick is always to start at the beginning and to go on to the end and then stop. So I will do that. I will attempt to explain why I feel weird about Sue afterwards. First, I want to share some memories.
Sue Lincoln - O'Dwyer that was - has passed away. This probably means absolutely zip to 99% of you but it means a lot to me. She was my primary school teacher at Steiner you see, and unlike most schools, this meant that I had her as a teacher from year 1 right through to the end of year 6 - my formative years. I left Steiner in year 7 - in the Victorian system this is high school - so I'd already lost Sue so to speak, but that meant that of the eight years I was there, I spent six with Sue.I heard recently from an old school mate (through the magic of Facebook) that she wasn't well and wasn't expected to last long, and so I started to write her a letter to say thank you; only it didn't get sent in time. I was going to write to her about all the memories I still have from Steiner. How much I loved it there. How much I respected her. How much I missed her when I left.
It's a bit late for that letter now and I didn't know any of the family or even my old school mates well enough to feel at all comfortable going to the funeral. It was a Steiner thing, or maybe it was only a Sue thing, but when someone dies, I (and I have since learned, my classmates) always light a candle to their memory. I think of it as lighting their soul's way on it's journey to wherever. I watch it burn and I think of the person and give thanks for knowing them. A sort of farewell / wake on my own. I've done it for everyone I know who has died. I didn't do it for Sue... I felt so very strange about her death you see, but more on that later. So here's my candle to Sue.
I think I remember the first time I met her. We were in prep and were gathered around and introduced to our new teacher. And somebody - I keep thinking it was Emile or Robin - asked if we could call her mum. Or it could have been me. I remember her being nice about it. And I did call her mum on several occasions. It's a bit hard to remember who's who when you're only seven.
I remember her reading the Odyssey to us. I loved that book. I remember being the nurse to Odysseus who recognised him from a scar when washing his feat when we learned and performed the play. And making straps of leather into sandals and painting calico toga's in roman designs so we could dress up as legionaries. And being taught Greek. I remember performing the play 'The Importance of Being Ernest' and I was the butler and I didn't learn my lines and Sue was ever so kind to me and didn't shout at me as I deserved but made me feel so guilty instead that I learned them near perfect for the second performance.
She taught us to make mandala's too using our compasses (compii?) and I used so much of my derwent pencils, and drew so heavily, that it looked like I'd painted the colours on, not drawn them. I remember main lesson. I remember making puppets and mine had real silk hair - as in strands of - and a real satin dress. Pink. I remember free lessons. And she showed us how to make hessian cushions for our chairs. We made clay pellets and made our own hessian bags to hold them in which Sue used to teach us counting I think. I still have the cloth bag that my first set of six crayons came in - not sure where the crayons are though.
To this day I love singing 'The Sky Boat Song' as she taught it to us, she playing the guitar, we singing harmony. 'Autumn leaves are falling' was another favourite. And who could forget 'Morning has broken'? We sang that every day. I remember singing Faure's Requiem with the rest of the school which to this day is one of my favourites and which I listen to when I need calming. I remember her teaching us recorder - another Steiner thing I still have somewhere - and playing the sky boat song 'till mum hated it. I remember doing Eurythme in an apple green silk dress in the Eurythme room. I remember the dining room downstairs. But we didn't eat there every day. I can't remember when we did eat there actually. I remember the bell that called morning tea, lunch and home time was donated to the school by my grandfather, and was a ships bell.
I remember Sue getting as mad as hell at Robin so many times. I remember being envious of Honi and Jodi Downs 'cause they were the cool girls. I remember walking to Jodie's place throught the hundred acre woods and playing in her big back yard. I remember driving to school with Mariska and being baby-sat by Ben's mum. I remember pool parties at Cassie's place and the amazing atmosphere at Angela's. I always felt very awed at Angela's place, like it was somehow sacred. And I remember longing to play a violin like Emma T, and sleepovers at Emma H's with her numerous brothers and sisters. I remember writing a story about Fairies (my first ever finished story) with Isla . I remember going to Penny's I think and building a mud-brick chicken coop or something. And making glazed tiles to be added to it. I remember Penny's cello playing.
I remember the fete's at Steiner and how I always wanted, and could never afford, to buy the head bands and wrist bands encrusted with ribbons they had on display. I remember the dolls with no mouths, only eyes, so we could imagine them to have any expression we wanted. And I remember Sue teaching us May-pole dancing for a display one year and us getting it very messed up. I remember Sue as my teacher, but also my mother, my mentor and my idol.
So many memories.
Ok, so now back to the weirdness. I feel, because I left Steiner when I was 12, that somehow I have no right to be as sad as my fellow school-fellows about her death. I know this is nonsense, but I can't help feeling it. I have some kind of inferiority complex over the whole situation, like just because they spent more time at Steiner than I, they are better than me. This is patently silly of course, but I fell into a whole world of 'I'm not good enough' after Sue died from which I'm just emerging. I honestly don't know why.
Maybe because as I kid I had pretty much no confidence and the memories evoked by Sue's passing dragged this up again. And I do mean NO confidence. I was afraid to answer the telephone as apre -teen because I was scared I wouldn't know what to say and that the person on the other end would think me stupid or something. And I would have a screaming fit if mum asked me to call someone. That fear lasted even into high school I think. I spent an awful lot of time on my own too. These days I enjoy my own company and love being by myself. Back then I hated it but was terrified of intruding into the other kids games or conversations as they may not want me or may hate me and I'd never know what to say. I was called 'independent' by my teachers and by mum. I was 'quiet' and 'solitary'. I was scared was what I was. I used to hide in the bushes at recess so I wouldn't have to face or talk to anybody for fear that they'd hate me. Not all the time of course, but a decent percentage of it.
And it wasn't as if the kids weren't friendly or approachable. I had some great times at friend's places as mentioned above. And I loved Steiner. I adored being in such a creative atmosphere and loved the variety of knowledge available to us - and soaked it up like a sponge. I owe the richness of my life now to those early teachings. I was just scared of my own shadow back then.
Writing this, I'm only now realising just how far I've come. I was painfully shy as a child. I still occasionally have moments when I feel out of it, but now I can toss that over my shoulder and pretend I'm all good until I AM all good and I generally have no problem in social situations. Thank youVenturers and Gang Show! I don't think it was any body's fault, it's just the way I was. But I was a pretty timid pre-teen.
Wow. I knew that every cell in my body get's replaced regularly. I didn't know my heart and soul did too.
So, Sue's death was hard personally for me. I have been dragged back to my past to face some uncomfortable memories and some unhappy truths. Unlike the other children in my class at Steiner who grew into adults knowing Sue, I was stuck in my memories of her at age 12. A little young to process death really. And I never allowed that part of me to grow up.
As for the other people who have died in the Victorian bush fires, my deepest sympathy, compassion and condolences go to all those who have lost someone. They have been through so much. I will do all that I can to help.I think that I now know that I am grieving with them... if that makes sense. I had no idea how much the Canberra fires had affected me until this last week. I still don't know if the way I am feeling now is because of that or just because it is such a huge tragedy or because of Sue, but when I was standing on the train platform last week and I saw the sun rise and it was the colour of blood... god I was so scared. I have been near the edge of tears so many times in the past week, while normally I'm quite a composed person, or so I'd like to think. I'm not sure about that now. My clothes and the air smell of smoke all the time and I like the smell of a camp fire but the idea that the smell comes from burning homes and ... well. I feel sick.
I just can't get my head around it. I think that when I can process it I will be fine. At least I have that luxury. How the people who have lost their homes are going to be able to process it, I can't even imagine. I wish them luck. With all my heart. Talking helps. As does writing.
And I salute all those who have helped in the crisis. Hero's one and all. Thanks just aren't enough but you have my thanks along with the rest.
Right. I didn't know how to start and now I don't know how to end. So I guess I just do. Thanks for listening.
Let it out, let it go,
Let it all unravel.
Set it free and it shall be
A path on which to travel.
...Leunig.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Tragedy
I heard, like everyone else, the comparison before hand. Friday night they were warning of climatic conditions similar to the Ash Wednesday fires. I rang Mum and she said she was going into work the next day at 2pm, along with all her colleagues, to be ready just in case.
She ended up spending the whole night there working right through.
It was just an extreme weather day until lunch time. The news was making a lot of the fact that it was Melbourne's hottest February day on record, and then Melbourne's hottest day ever. It reached 46.4 in the city and 47.9 out at Avalon. The winds gusting around 200km were quite frightening. It felt like stepping into a fan-forced oven outside and it was a really bad idea to ware my metal watch out there.
Then, after lunch, the fires started being reported. We heard the first snippets on the news. Someone suggested the ABC radio, for which Dad had to make aerial post-haste as he'd not used the AM band in this house. And then we sat, mesmerised, listening to the number of urgent alerts from the CFA, the increasing numbers of road closures, the endless numbers of communities under threat.
And then the death toll started mounting.
At first, it was only 4, then 14. By dinner it was 25 confirmed and they were warning people to expect up to 40. At lunch time Sunday the confirmed deaths had reached 35 but the police and firies couldn't get into most of the affected areas. We stopped listening for the afternoon as it was just too depressing. At dinner Sunday, my stomach revolted when we heard 66. Then, this morning at Southern Crossstn , I lost my breath and my heart skipped a beat when I saw the number 93 on the screen. Now they're saying 107 with a possibility of that number doubling. In Ash Wednesday, they lost 47 (Feb 1983).
Holy cow.
I have (touch wood with a grip that turns my knuckles white) been no-where near the fires this time. The whole of Victoria can smell the smoke though. It brought back so many memories. That horrible sinking feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness. Facing the fact that there is literally nothing you can do but pack up the car and run. The black and blood-red sky. The choking smoke, the black leaves raining down and the ash coating everything. I have never been so scared as when I was when Canberra was on fire. But at least there were only four lives lost, although even one is too many.
I feel terrible for the poor people not only homeless but also now mourning. Property is one thing, lives an entirely different story. My heart goes out to them and my thanks, along with hundreds of thousands of others, to the fireies - CFA and DSE, the police, the ambo's and all their minions who are fighting this incredible beast with every fiber in their beings.
Just like back then, there are also a thousand inspiring stories of heroism and of courage, of generosity and of spirit that are rising like the phoenix. It's times like these that the human spirit truly shines. I just wish there had been no need.
Holy cow.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Acclimatisation
I find it fascinating how we as humans adapt to our surroundings. It may not be great changes we make, but it's the little things that really make the biggest impact. IMHO I believe people tend to try to fit into any new environment or situation they encounter. It may or may not be conscious but it happens regardless of whether you want it to or not.
Take for instance a new couple; they tend to use the same phrases, have the same attitudes to things and adopt the same mannerisms only after a couple of weeks. And when you enter a new country, or return to an old one, you look for ways to match your current way of thinking and being to that of those around you. Your accent alters, your key phrases change, your view of the world shifts to match that of your companions.
I'm living in Melton at the moment, a suburb of Melbourne that, let's face it, isn't in the highest socio-economic bracket. The amount of coarse slang and twanging Australian accents I hear at the local shops is quite amazing, or was to me, when I first moved there. I've noticed lately that I've stopped noticing. It no longer hurts my ears to hear the words 'gunna' or 'camon' or 'peul' and I don't really notice when a string of profanities hits my ear unless it's a really impressive explosion.
And today, I used the word 'darl' without consciousness of the fact, until five minutes afterwards, when I couldn't help laughing at myself. I hated being called 'love' in England, and here I am saying pretty much the same thing in pretty much the same situation that 'love' is used in the UK.
This ought to be interesting when I return to the UK. You'll gunna really heat moi accent boi then.
Take for instance a new couple; they tend to use the same phrases, have the same attitudes to things and adopt the same mannerisms only after a couple of weeks. And when you enter a new country, or return to an old one, you look for ways to match your current way of thinking and being to that of those around you. Your accent alters, your key phrases change, your view of the world shifts to match that of your companions.
I'm living in Melton at the moment, a suburb of Melbourne that, let's face it, isn't in the highest socio-economic bracket. The amount of coarse slang and twanging Australian accents I hear at the local shops is quite amazing, or was to me, when I first moved there. I've noticed lately that I've stopped noticing. It no longer hurts my ears to hear the words 'gunna' or 'camon' or 'peul' and I don't really notice when a string of profanities hits my ear unless it's a really impressive explosion.
And today, I used the word 'darl' without consciousness of the fact, until five minutes afterwards, when I couldn't help laughing at myself. I hated being called 'love' in England, and here I am saying pretty much the same thing in pretty much the same situation that 'love' is used in the UK.
This ought to be interesting when I return to the UK. You'll gunna really heat moi accent boi then.
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