This morning I walked through Heilbronn at a time when I normally wouldn't. The city bus drivers, among other public service providers, are on strike for higher wages. We're a one-car family, and Markus hasn't yet replaced a recently stolen bike, his otherwise normal means of traveling six kilometers to work. So, we dropped Miriam and a neighbor at school and went into town to bring Markus to campus.
I walked in the city—returning DVDs at the library window, grabbing a coffee. The lady at the bakery remarked on the desertion in her store. Normally, school kids get off at Rathaus (City Hall) and flood her tucked away shop on their path to school. By contrast and for the same reason, I was the unlikely pedestrian/chauffeur this morning, and I was a solitary customer.
The walk along the Neckar River back to campus cooled my coffee, chilled my fingers. A flat-bed tow truck appeared in an ally off the wide pedestrian river walk. I worried about the planters edging a sidewalk café while the truck hurried around the corner onto the walkway. As I was wondering what his errand might be and reminding myself these drivers of large vehicles know what they’re doing, a business name appeared on the green and yellow vehicle’s side: geist-recycling.de.
Ha! Perhaps a family named “Geist” owns the business? Or maybe something more poetic is intended (there’s a little Casper-style ghost in the logo if you check out the web link). Regardless, the word’s associations are intriguing. “Geist” means spirit or mind or ghost. Der heilige Geist is the Holy Ghost. Just how are those recycled?
It bears mentioning, too, that a German person would pronounce that web address this way: “geist minus recycling punkt d e”. Any time a hyphen shows up in a web address, Germans call it a “Minus” and not a “Bindestrich” (the less pronounceable but correct word for hyphen). To my ear, amusing equations emerge. Another example from a call-in radio program with guest experts for various topics: “tausend minus fragen at swr punkt d e” (thousand minus questions). Folks here say it straight-voiced every time, so I assume it’s just me who’s amused.
On my way back to the car, I passed a peaceful cluster of people in yellow traffic vests holding signs against their thighs, drinking coffee, some smoking. They stood outside the city swimming pool and thermal bath, Soleo. Perhaps a strike is another form of recycling spirit?
~~I am inspired by writer/mentor/friend Abigail Thomas and her recently launched blog, which features short-shorts she's called "blogettes", to consider shorter posts. This one counts as short, for me.~~
Showing posts with label compound words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label compound words. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Monday, November 15, 2010
Erfolgserlebnis
I'll get to the title of this post in a few paragraphs. I'm assuming that, for non-German speakers, it's one of those German words that looks both indecipherable and unpronounceable.
Last week I went to the dentist for the first time here in Flein. True to compound word form, the German word is Zahnarzt (tooth doctor). You can also visit an eye doctor (Augenarzt), skin doctor (Hautarzt), women's doctor (Frauenarzt), nerve doctor (Nervenarzt), and so on. Quite practical. The Latin terms are also listed in the dictionary, as in Ophthalmologe, Dermatologe, Gynäkologe, Neurologe, but the more descriptive names tend to be what people say. In fact, the only medical specialty that I recall hearing in the Latin form with any regularity is Urologe (what would the compound word for that be anyway?). The dictionary mentions the word Dentist (or Dentistin, if she's female), but I've never heard anyone say that.
We found this particular dentist about three weeks ago when Miriam broke a tooth out while eating a snack at school. She was chewing on a Mamba (perhaps the stickiest, hardest candy there is), and off cracked a molar, followed by a gush of blood. She was alarmed, especially since she'd been unaware that the tooth was loose. When I came to her classroom to pick her up, I was alarmed, too, by the white flecks I saw on the napkin holding the tooth. We left the school, and I called the two new friends whose cell numbers are stored in my phone. One of the recommendations was indeed a short walk from the school, but the office was closed. The other was back in Flein, and the receptionist offered an immediate appointment.
Perhaps it's a symptom of the craziness of the move, but I wasn't clear if Miriam had lost a molar before or if this was the first one. I assumed it was a baby tooth, but I wanted to be sure nothing untoward had happened. We met a friendly dentist (Dentistin) named Dr. Jasmin Schallock, who speaks superfast German and who spoke fluent English with Miriam. It was indeed a Milchzahn (milk tooth), and all was well. Dr. Schallock pointed out four other loose molars. Miriam lost another one last week and was pretty mellow about the experience, blood and all.
My own dental appointment was routine. Here's the routine: Wow, you have really good teeth. (To the hygenist) Take a look at these teeth. You don't see that every day. A tiny bit of gum recession here, a surface filling there, nice bite (did you have orthodontia?). You do have some calculus (Zahnstein--tooth stone) on the front lower teeth, but otherwise, I can see we're not going to make any money on your mouth! It's a nice routine. Dr. Schallock was even complimentary of my bite guard, which was fabricated for me in Salt Lake City. I've ground my teeth (especially at night) for a long time, and I finally went for a bite guard in the fall of 2004. In the early months after my son died, I would wake up to find that I'd loosened a few teeth in the night. The bite guard still fits tight and looks "pretty good" (I think that's a relative perception because the plastic has yellowed, and I think the thing looks pretty icky). Gouges into the plastic from my lower teeth attest to the fact that my grinding habit continues.
I attribute my good teeth mostly to the fluoridated water I drank as a child in the 1960s and 1970s in Ohio. It's a perception fostered by my parents, both of whom have significantly more difficulty with tooth decay and breakage. A little research shows me that the debate on the usefulness and safety of water fluoridation and fluoride supplements continues. Interestingly, Utah was introducing water fluoridation, county-wise, when we moved there in 2003. Miriam and Simon drank fluoridated water in Ann Arbor, and both had sturdy teeth.
Aside from brushing (I'm a twice a day brusher: very first thing in the morning or I feel like I'm going to die of morning mouth and again at bedtime), I have become a pretty proficient flosser. I did not grow up using dental floss, but I've managed to instill the practice in my forties. A particularly painful tooth cleaning in Salt Lake City seems to have been the impetus I needed to take better care of my own gums. When Dr. Schallock asked while admiring my gums if I use Zahnseide (tooth silk), I was happy to say, Ja!
And that brings me to the word Erfolgserlebnis. I felt good about myself while riding my bike home from the dentist. I felt good about being from the USA, where we seem to know how to take care of teeth. Moving to a new town, especially in a different country, inevitably brings moments of frustration, feelings of not belonging, and plenty of time feeling just plain lost. My forty-five minutes in the dentist's chair yielded a solid bit of positivity, an Erfolgserlebnis (literally, success-experience).
So much for the meaning of the word. But how do you pronounce it? The biggest secret to any German word is determining where the syllables and word parts divide. In this case: Er-folg-s-er-leb-nis (air-folks-air-layb-niss). Erfolg=success. Erlebnis=experience. The "s" in the middle is a genetive (possessive) sort of connector, imparting the sense of "experience of success." Each word part happens to begin with the prefix "er-" (whose meaning is abstract and difficult to define); folg is from folgen=follow; lebnis is a noun derived from leben (to live). For a German speaker, grouping words into their components is a matter of course. It helps me a lot to locate suffixes, prefixes, and word roots (i.e., what's the underlying verb). If I can do that successfully, I can see the word for its parts. Then, mercifully, German pronunciation follows a rigid and easily learned set of phonetic rules.
I was hoping to offer a gender rule here for all nouns ending in the -nis suffix. It's "das Erlebnis" (so it's also "das Erfolgserlebnis"). However, I just found a listing of "die Kenntnis" (from the verb kennen) at BEOLINGUS (the online dictionary I usually consult). So, I'm stumped. This sort of suffix can almost always be counted on for gender consistency (like -chen is always "das," and -ung is always "die"). Does anyone out there know anything? Maybe it's that "t" on the end of the verb stem "kenn" in Kenntnis. Hmm. (By the way, once you're on to the prefix/suffix and compound word situation, it becomes a whole lot easier to look at words that have four (or even more) consonants blithely in a row, as in "Kenntnis." No problem.)
Last week I went to the dentist for the first time here in Flein. True to compound word form, the German word is Zahnarzt (tooth doctor). You can also visit an eye doctor (Augenarzt), skin doctor (Hautarzt), women's doctor (Frauenarzt), nerve doctor (Nervenarzt), and so on. Quite practical. The Latin terms are also listed in the dictionary, as in Ophthalmologe, Dermatologe, Gynäkologe, Neurologe, but the more descriptive names tend to be what people say. In fact, the only medical specialty that I recall hearing in the Latin form with any regularity is Urologe (what would the compound word for that be anyway?). The dictionary mentions the word Dentist (or Dentistin, if she's female), but I've never heard anyone say that.
We found this particular dentist about three weeks ago when Miriam broke a tooth out while eating a snack at school. She was chewing on a Mamba (perhaps the stickiest, hardest candy there is), and off cracked a molar, followed by a gush of blood. She was alarmed, especially since she'd been unaware that the tooth was loose. When I came to her classroom to pick her up, I was alarmed, too, by the white flecks I saw on the napkin holding the tooth. We left the school, and I called the two new friends whose cell numbers are stored in my phone. One of the recommendations was indeed a short walk from the school, but the office was closed. The other was back in Flein, and the receptionist offered an immediate appointment.
Perhaps it's a symptom of the craziness of the move, but I wasn't clear if Miriam had lost a molar before or if this was the first one. I assumed it was a baby tooth, but I wanted to be sure nothing untoward had happened. We met a friendly dentist (Dentistin) named Dr. Jasmin Schallock, who speaks superfast German and who spoke fluent English with Miriam. It was indeed a Milchzahn (milk tooth), and all was well. Dr. Schallock pointed out four other loose molars. Miriam lost another one last week and was pretty mellow about the experience, blood and all.
My own dental appointment was routine. Here's the routine: Wow, you have really good teeth. (To the hygenist) Take a look at these teeth. You don't see that every day. A tiny bit of gum recession here, a surface filling there, nice bite (did you have orthodontia?). You do have some calculus (Zahnstein--tooth stone) on the front lower teeth, but otherwise, I can see we're not going to make any money on your mouth! It's a nice routine. Dr. Schallock was even complimentary of my bite guard, which was fabricated for me in Salt Lake City. I've ground my teeth (especially at night) for a long time, and I finally went for a bite guard in the fall of 2004. In the early months after my son died, I would wake up to find that I'd loosened a few teeth in the night. The bite guard still fits tight and looks "pretty good" (I think that's a relative perception because the plastic has yellowed, and I think the thing looks pretty icky). Gouges into the plastic from my lower teeth attest to the fact that my grinding habit continues.
I attribute my good teeth mostly to the fluoridated water I drank as a child in the 1960s and 1970s in Ohio. It's a perception fostered by my parents, both of whom have significantly more difficulty with tooth decay and breakage. A little research shows me that the debate on the usefulness and safety of water fluoridation and fluoride supplements continues. Interestingly, Utah was introducing water fluoridation, county-wise, when we moved there in 2003. Miriam and Simon drank fluoridated water in Ann Arbor, and both had sturdy teeth.
Aside from brushing (I'm a twice a day brusher: very first thing in the morning or I feel like I'm going to die of morning mouth and again at bedtime), I have become a pretty proficient flosser. I did not grow up using dental floss, but I've managed to instill the practice in my forties. A particularly painful tooth cleaning in Salt Lake City seems to have been the impetus I needed to take better care of my own gums. When Dr. Schallock asked while admiring my gums if I use Zahnseide (tooth silk), I was happy to say, Ja!
And that brings me to the word Erfolgserlebnis. I felt good about myself while riding my bike home from the dentist. I felt good about being from the USA, where we seem to know how to take care of teeth. Moving to a new town, especially in a different country, inevitably brings moments of frustration, feelings of not belonging, and plenty of time feeling just plain lost. My forty-five minutes in the dentist's chair yielded a solid bit of positivity, an Erfolgserlebnis (literally, success-experience).
So much for the meaning of the word. But how do you pronounce it? The biggest secret to any German word is determining where the syllables and word parts divide. In this case: Er-folg-s-er-leb-nis (air-folks-air-layb-niss). Erfolg=success. Erlebnis=experience. The "s" in the middle is a genetive (possessive) sort of connector, imparting the sense of "experience of success." Each word part happens to begin with the prefix "er-" (whose meaning is abstract and difficult to define); folg is from folgen=follow; lebnis is a noun derived from leben (to live). For a German speaker, grouping words into their components is a matter of course. It helps me a lot to locate suffixes, prefixes, and word roots (i.e., what's the underlying verb). If I can do that successfully, I can see the word for its parts. Then, mercifully, German pronunciation follows a rigid and easily learned set of phonetic rules.
I was hoping to offer a gender rule here for all nouns ending in the -nis suffix. It's "das Erlebnis" (so it's also "das Erfolgserlebnis"). However, I just found a listing of "die Kenntnis" (from the verb kennen) at BEOLINGUS (the online dictionary I usually consult). So, I'm stumped. This sort of suffix can almost always be counted on for gender consistency (like -chen is always "das," and -ung is always "die"). Does anyone out there know anything? Maybe it's that "t" on the end of the verb stem "kenn" in Kenntnis. Hmm. (By the way, once you're on to the prefix/suffix and compound word situation, it becomes a whole lot easier to look at words that have four (or even more) consonants blithely in a row, as in "Kenntnis." No problem.)
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