NERBS

"Nerb" is a neat term used to describe nouns that are made to do the work of verbs.

Google, as in "to google something", is a nerb that is heard all the time. Blogging is another nerb that describes something done in cyberspace, i.e. "entering a post on one's weblog". (Does it also cover reading other people's blogs?)

Recently I came across some nerbs that I think should be expunged from the language.

At a conference for teachers a friend was told of the importance of truthing students. Presumably this meant telling the truth to them. Or did it mean encouraging them to be honest – to other people and in their work?

Last week I was asked: "Do you powerpoint?" I pictured myself prancing around thrusting my finger into people's chests and bellowing important and convincing things at them. "Yes, I can and do use PowerPoint," was my correct yet much more mundane response.

A nerb for wet winter days

Speaking of pointy things, this afternoon I was out walking with my large metallic-grey coloured umbrella. As the rain began falling, I was extremely thankful for its shelter. I was not so thankful for the many people walking towards me beneath their large umbrellas – I'd forgotten how awkward the meeting of large umbrellas on narrow footpaths can be.

Being tallish, my usual tactic is to raise my umbrella high to try to pass over the umbrellas of oncomers. This can be a dangerous approach if a low-hanging tree is overhead. Today I tried 'the raise' a couple of times.

After narrowly missing a tree – well, okay, I hit it, but it didn't completely drench me – I decided to try the tilt. This involved sneaking an advance peek at oncomers and trying to guess their and their umbrellas' courses, and then tilting my umbrella into the vacant airspace. This may sound easy, but try it when two or three oversized-umbrella-wielding suits are striding towards you.

It was two steely-eyed corporate types who zeroed in on me today. Using the tilt and some nimble footwork, I avoided them. However, being so intent on umbrella-work, I forgot about that important obstacle which must be avoided when you step off the footpath – cars! Three steps onto the road I realised this as a 4WD bore down upon me too fast for comfort. Umbrella still raised, I broke into a sprint and with much relief, heard the car woosh behind me.

Thinking back on all the raising and tilting necessary for me to keep dry and safe as I walked from the train station to my appointment, a nerb, especially suited to wet winter's days came to mind - umbrella-ing.

A Virtuous Mother (or: George Herbert Part II)

In reading about the English poet George Herbert, I've come across Izaak Walton's 1670 biography, "The Life of Mr George Herbert". In an excursus Walton describes Herbert's mother, Magdalene, and it sounds as though she was a fine lady. Here are a few snippets:

(1) She and her husband, Richard, had ten children - seven sons and three daughters (George was the fifth son). Of this, Magdalene said "[it] was Job's number and Job's distribution".

(2)When George was four, Richard Herbert died, leaving Magdalene a widow for twelve years.

(3) When her eldest son Edward left for university, Mrs H. moved from the family home, Montgomery Castle - yes, of course, it was a castle - to Oxford, so that she could spend more time with her son. (Edward was living in a university college.) Now I know a mother moving into town when her son starts university sounds like a recipe for disaster, but not in this case it seems. Walton says:

[She] kept him in a moderate awe of herself, and so much under her own eye as to see and converse with him daily; but she managed this power over him without any such rigid sourness as might make her company a torment to her child; but with such a sweetness and compliance...as did incline him willingly to spend much of his time in the company of his dear and careful mother.

(4) While living in Oxford, Mrs H. became friends with and a major benefactor of John Donne. He wrote an elegy for her called The Autumnal Beauty; as Walton says, "both he [Donne] and she were then past the meridian of man's life." Walton also reproduces a letter from Donne to Mrs H, in which he writes: "I commit the enclosed holy hymns and sonnets...to your judgment, and to your protection too, if you think them worthy of it."

All self-effacing aside, she must have been on good terms for Donne to have asked her to 'judge' his work. It's unfortunate that the hymns and sonnets which accompanied the letter have not survived.

I couldn't leave this summary without saying that an editorial footnote to Walton's short biography claims that it contains "many factual inaccuracies". Not about Magdalene I hope!

"George Herbert Part 3" will follow soon.

A Poem (or: George Herbert Part I)

I came across this poem by George Herbert (1593–1633) the other day. Some might find it quaint and moralistic, but I think it's simple, clever and encouraging.

My words and thoughts do both express this notion,
That Life has with the sun a double motion.
The first Is straight, and our diurnal^* friend,
The other Hid, and does obliquely bend.
Our life is wrapt In flesh, and tends to earth.
The other winds towards Him, whose happy birth
Taught me to live here so, That still one eye
Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high:
Quitting with daily Labour all my pleasure,
To gain at harvest an eternal Treasure.

^*daily

The words that run from the top left to the bottom right (in green) are a verse from Paul's letter to the Colossians. In fact, the poem is called Coloss. 3:3 Our life is hid with Christ in God.

God-honouring parenting?

Responses to comments on this blog are often a long time coming. In life outside the blogosphere, I amble at the best of times. Nonetheless, today, 13th July, I posted a response to some comments on my post of 9th June, God-honouring property development?. Here is an excerpt:

"When I think about responsibilities towards the elderly – or more specifically, toward my parents as they grow older – these words from the bible trouble me (1 Tim 4:8). In the sort of way that loving my neighbour troubles me so often!"

I would love to hear your 10c worth.

A Praiseworthy Monarch?

Henry VII (1457–1509), a friend proclaimed over dinner, is my favourite English monarch:

(1) Through fiscal prudency, he left money in the Royal Treasury – a rarity among kings.
(2) As far as we can tell, he was faithful to his wife – an even greater rarity among kings.
(3) He put an end to a civil war, The War(s) of the Roses.

Which raises at least one question: what the heck happened to his son, Henry VIII?

Hound Dog

The Japanese have always struck me as a strange and delightful people.^* What I learnt about Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi on Friday confirmed this.

Koizumi is a mad Elvis fan. Mad enough, it seems, for a reporter from the ABC's World Today program to describe his visit to Graceland, the former home of Elvis, as a "defining moment" in his US tour.

Mad enough that George Bush gave him a 1954 jukebox containing all Elvis' songs as a gift. (I don't know what the songs on the box are, but I've been told they're all by Elvis.) Mad enough that Koizumi released an Elvis tribute CD shortly after he became Prime Minister.


I'm trying to picture John Howard releasing an album of his favourite Seekers' tracks, perhaps as a farewell gesture before handing over the reigns of power to Peter C...I can't.

Apparently, Koizumi's brother was the President of the Elvis Fan Club in Japan; Koizumi was a member. Apparently Koizumi sung an Elvis song for George Bush's 59th birthday.

It's quirks such as these, often taken to extreme lengths, that I love about the Japanese.

For more information, see: http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200606/s1675509.htm

^*Just as, I'm sure, many people from overseas view Australians as strange and delightful.