Category: this and that

How to Effortlessly Learn a Language the Natural Way

As you might know, I’m fluently bilingual. English or German, I can make my desires know: “Excuse me, where do you keep curtain hardware?” or “Wo ist die Zahnpasta, bitte?” It’s not a problem—I jump from one track to the other, and operate in either system without having to think about it.

And then I went to France. For the first time in my life, I was confronted with being struck deaf and mute. The extent of my French is, pretty much, Bonjour, Au revoir, and merci beaucoup*. In Paris, I understand nothing, and can communicate nothing. And let me tell you, it is astonishingly disconcerting. You don’t realize how much you rely on your verbal prowess until it’s taken away from you. So, I decided it was time I did something about it, and I set out to learn at least a little bit of French. You’ll be glad to know that as of this morning, I have learned to say “Un café au lait avec du sucre, s’il vous plaît, et deux croissants.” You know, the necessities of life. I do not yet know how to ask where the bathroom is, but as I most likely wouldn’t understand the answer, that’s just as well.

But this whole process got me thinking about how to learn languages. It’s really not that hard, we’ve all done it! Yes, you have too—you’re reading this, aren’t you? You learned at least one language completely fluently, effortlessly, grammatically correct, with flawless pronunciation. So, all it should take is to repeat that process with another language, and you’re golden. I’m by no means the first person to come up with that idea; I don’t know how many times I’ve seen language learning programs advertised as being “completely natural” and “just like learning your first language.” It should work, shouldn’t it? No problem.

Das Baby und die Katze.

Now, as luck would have it, a couple of weeks ago I had a front seat to watching the process in action, courtesy of a visit of a young relative. This young gentleman, who recently obtained his first birthday, is a remarkably intelligent individual (of course he is, he’s related to me), who is very interested in language and in the world around him, particularly the four-footed variety. I observed him closely, and I’m now in a position to tell you exactly how this language learning thing is done. Here you are:

LEARNING A LANGUAGE THE NATURAL WAY, IN EASY-TO-FOLLOW STEPS

Step 1.) (Optional, but helpful) Be as cute as you can possibly be.
Step 2.) Surround yourself with as many individuals as you can who adore you and are willing to repeat words to you on a continuous feedback loop.
Step 3.) Point to an object of your interest and make gurgling noises (example: the cat).
Step 4.) Wait for your adoring audience to supply the word in the language of their choice (“Die Katze!”).
Step 5.) Copy the word to the best of your ability (“Tz-tz!”).
Step 6.) Let your audience correct your pronunciation and try again. (“T-tz!”)
Step 7.) Repeat steps 3.-6. approximately twenty times per hour during all your waking hours, every day, for the next two to three years. Vary the objects labelled as required and improve your pronunciation as needed.

By the end of four or five years, you should be completely fluent in your new language and will be able to move on to instructing others.

There you have it: the one, the only, the infallible completely natural method to learning languages. It really works.

Now if I could only find someone to repeat le chat to me, over and over and over and…

Life, the Universe, and Natural Language Acquisition. It’s the only proven method.

*being Canadian, I can also read some French food labels: I know that fraise is strawberry, framboise is raspberry, and bleuet is blueberry. I know my yogurt flavours. But they’re of limited usefulness in navigating the Paris metro system or buying museum tickets.

The Things I Don’t Do Well

“Where do you get all those ideas from?” someone said to me the other day. “You have such an interesting life, you do so many things… You make things, and write books, and go to conferences, and go travelling…”

True. I do all those things. They are pretty special, which is why I write about them in this blog, and I’m very grateful that I can do them and that I can share them with you.

However, looking at the blog this past year, it has been rather full of stuff I do and places I’ve gone, and there hasn’t been very much about what my life really looks like in between all those “highlighty” events. You know, those long periods when I didn’t post anything, not even a “Wordless Wednesday” photo. When the blog was staring at me accusingly from the bottom of the long list of things that I needed to do, and that I, as per usual, didn’t do terribly well.

You see, while there are lots of things I can do, there are also lots of things I’m not very good at. I wish I were, but I guess there’s always a trade-off, isn’t there? You can’t be good at everything.

So in the name of balancing out the record a bit, here are a few things that I’m not good at. Never was, and, most likely, never will be.

–Growing plants. I’ve posted pictures of my garden that make it look quite lovely, but, oh my. Those are very select images. The amount of money I’ve spent at nurseries on seedlings, the number of vegetable varieties I’ve tried to grow, the labour I’ve invested in trying to establish garden beds, all of which just… died… As for indoors, the houseplants I’ve killed are myriad; I only keep plants around that can tolerate the utmost neglect* (“Oh, you poor thing, you look dead! I probably should have watered you a month ago…”).

–Keeping my house clean. On my “About” page I claim to live with, aside from my family and Steve, “a large number of dust bunnies.” That is not a joke. Okay, fine, it is—please laugh at it. But it’s also true. Well, I actually call them dust kitties, because they consist of a considerable proportion of cat hair. It’s not that I don’t see them congregating in the corners, I just don’t get around to dealing with them. And boy, can they ever pile on the guilt trips! For something that doesn’t have any eyes they can sure give you a nasty look every time you walk past them.

–Oven-roasting or barbecuing meat. I make a mean pot roast, but oven-cooked beef or barbecued steaks tend to fall in the neighbourhood of shoe leather, while an oven-roasted chicken is either still half-raw or overcooked, but hardly ever tender and juicy and succulent and cooked all the way through when I want it to be.

–Being consistent with things I ought to or even want to do. Like writing blog posts. Or going for walks. Or flossing my teeth. Or practising drawing or music skills. Or any of the many other good things we all know we should or would like to be doing.

I could go on for some time here, but you get the picture (I won’t post one of the dust kitties. Because, eew).

The chief contributor to the dust kitties in his pear-shaped glory

Earlier in the year, I wrote a post about Mme Curie and the Parallel Lives Fallacy. A friend of mine responded and pointed me to the work of Oliver Burkeman, who recently published a book called Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals.

In a nutshell, what Burkeman points out is that we’re all on limited time here on earth. Four thousand weeks, give or take (which amounts to roughly eighty years), that’s it, that’s all each of us gets. And, as I was saying with my analogy of the plate full of meatballs, you cannot pack more into those four thousand weeks than what fits. If you choose to spend Week #2834 on one particular activity (say, digging a garden bed), you’re not going to spend it on another (writing a blog post, for example). Poof, that week is gone. There is only one week in a week, etc. And what that comes down to, Burkeman says, is that you have to choose. You have to choose what to do well, choose what matters. And choose what to suck at.

I suck at things—and let me tell you, it sucks. When you’re born a perfectionist, it hurts to not be able to do all those things that you’re told by—well, something, somebody, the last novel you read, the ubiquitous “they”—you should be able to do. But the reality is, that’s a hurt we have to live with. That I have to live with. It’s embarrassing to be this way.

But also (and again I’m quoting Burkeman here, in spirit, if not verbatim) to realise your limitations is also immensely freeing. I can’t do everything, and that, as I’m trying to get through my head and into my heart, is okay. Because it’s true for everyone; it is, in fact, to be human.

I’ll never definitively win the battle with the dust kitties. But maybe we can come to a truce. And meanwhile, I’ll admire those of you who have lush, thriving gardens and tidy and serene homes, with a juicy roast in the oven that you return to after your daily run. You are a gifted person, and I salute you.

Life, the Universe, and Things I’m Not Good At. And that’s okay.

One of the houseplants that has managed to survive the treatment it gets around here

*Spider plants. Spider plants are amazing.

#ThrowbackThursday: Olympic Hockey

Seeing as it’s the Winter Olympics again, I thought it might be time for this repeat blog post from February 2014, written during the Sochi Olympics:

Steve ready to cheer Canada in the Olympics

I don’t give a rip about hockey. Oops, did I say that out loud? I might have just jeopardised my chances of ever getting Canadian citizenship. Oh, wait! Wait! Before you send me hate mail, delete the link to my blog, unfriend me on Facebook and refuse to ever speak to me again, hear me out.

It’s true, I’m afraid – I don’t care about hockey, and I really know nothing about it. But one thing I do know, and that’s that Canadians care passionately about this game. I found out just how passionately four years ago, this very Sunday, during the Vancouver Winter Olympics 2010. The Man and I wanted to go for lunch, and we made the mistake of picking the local pub to get our eats. We got into the pub, and it was crowded – really crowded. Maple leaf motifs everywhere. And there was such a sense of excitement the air was practically crackling with it. We did get a seat, and then we realised that on the big TV screens there were guys on skates, and a big arena – that, in fact, they were winding up for the gold medal game, the final day, the BIG ONE – men’s hockey, Canada vs. the USA (which tells you right there where our heads were at; we didn’t even know it was on that day). I tell you, it was just a little scary. We were there early enough to be able to get our food and get out of there before the game started – slink out, rather. It would have been more than my life would have been worth to say out loud what I just said up top there; the crowd might have just torn me to pieces and fed me to the nearest coyotes. Besides, we knew our seats would get snapped up the minute we left. So we went home, and the Man and the offspring watched the game on TV – I went and had a nap, I’m afraid. But when I got up from my nap, I found out that Canada had, indeed, got the gold; at overtime, in a very dramatic play, no less.

And you know what? I was thrilled! I was so very, very excited. Not because the game means anything to me, but because the whole country erupted in celebration. All around me, people were ecstatic. The atmosphere of triumph, of victory, was fantastic. And it was EVERYWHERE. To have won the gold medal in Canada’s sport on Canadian home soil – there was nothing like it. Canada was one big party zone that day. It was wonderful.

The 2010 Olympic Flame coming through our little town

I might not care about the game, but I care about the people who care about the game – so I guess, in a sense, I do care about hockey, after all. I care because others care. I care because I live in Canada, and Canada cares about hockey. I’m actually quite nervous about the game that is being played as I write this, Canada vs. the US in the semi-finals. I’m not watching it, because, other than the fact that I really don’t know what’s going on on the ice, I find the tension hard to handle. There are too many people to whom this matters so very much. As for the men’s gold medal game on Sunday, I’ll be sure to stay out of the pub. I might just stay off the internet, too, until it’s over – just tell me who won afterwards, will you? If it’s gold for Canada, I’ll be very happy.

Canada is terribly passionate about hockey – my boys got to watch yesterday’s women’s gold medal game in school, one in math class, the other in the school theatre on the big screen while they were supposed to have gym class. I ask you, what other country would put their high school classes on hold so they could watch a sports game? Canucks have their priorities.

Life, the Universe, and Olympic Hockey. I guess I’m a hockey fan by proxy.

The Story of Steve

“These are the chronicles of a writer and her stuffed bear…” So begins a blog post, in a galaxy far, far… well, actually, no, not far away at all. Right here, in fact. The chronicles of a writer—that’s me—and her stuffed bear—that’s Steve.

If you’ve been with us on this blog for a while, you’ll have encountered Steve quite a lot over the years. But it occurred to me that lately, he’s not been much in evidence. So I thought we could re-introduce him to our esteemed readership, and while we’re at it, give you—Ta-daa!—THE STORY OF STEVE.

The Story of Steve starts with Christmas quite a number of years ago. Truth be told, I’m not sure how many—it might have been 2007? “Nobody ever gives me any stuffed animals for presents!” I lamented. The eldest Offspring took it to heart. Enter: a small brown teddybear.

He was a Gund, and his tag said his name was “Aiden”. As anyone knows, when you adopt an animal, you rename him to properly make him part of your family (Louis the Cat was called “Sugar” at the SPCA. Yeah, no). So what to call this little brown guy? “Call him Steve,” the Offspring suggested, “because Steve’s a nice name!” That’s a quote from the movie Over the Hedge, in which the woodland animals are frightened by the sudden appearance of a hedge in their forest, and they decide to name it Steve in order to be less scared of it. For some reason that line is eminently quotable. So I laughed, and Steve it was. (The incriminating “Aiden” tag got removed in a labelectomy some years later.)

Steve spent the next couple of years hanging out on my bedside table. But his real rise to prominence came with my first ever blog post, August 1, 2010. I’d taken a course on how to blog, and the instructor said to never publish a post without a picture. So, I took a quick photo of Steve and stuck it in the post. “That’s Steve,” I said. “He’s better-looking than me, not to mention more photogenic, so he gets to have his picture in the blog first.”

Steve got popular quite quickly, being the designated cover model for the blog. He came along on coffee dates, he shoved in his oar on poetry and fairy tale studies, he wrote a blog post or two, he even acquired a Facebook page. (He claims I don’t let him on that page much, but, come on, when he has gone on he’s hardly posted anything.) He underwent a fashion makeover—from stylish bow to cosy knitted sweater—and he got several new friends in stuffed-animal-land .

He also came along on pretty much every trip I’ve been on in the last dozen years (except for the one where he was forgotten). He’s very portable, being so small and squishable. He’s been to writer’s conferences, family visits, sightseeing trips, weekend getaways, and once even a cruise; he’s seen Munich, London, Vancouver Island, Cambridge, and Stuttgart (mostly from the inside of my bag). I sometimes wonder what hotel housekeeping staff make of that small bear sitting next to my bed, and I live in dread of forgetting him someplace one of these days.

Steve writes poetry, but he’s never deigned to share it with me in a publishable format. He also has definite opinions on what stories I should write (they’re supposed to have bears in ‘em). Other than that, he’s a very restful roommate. At the moment, he’s hanging out with Molly the Plot Bunny on the bookshelf behind me in my study, keeping the print copies of my published books warm (he’s useful that way).

Steve has been a wonderful companion over these last few years. If you’ve ever considered inviting a stuffed bear into your life, do. I can highly recommend it.

So this, for today, was Life, the Universe, and the Story of Steve the Stuffed Bear. Stick around, you’ll see more of him. He’s that kind of bear.

New Beginnings

It’s a bit of a cliché, that. New Year’s Day, time for new beginnings! New goals, good intentions! If the calendar wasn’t already telling me that it’s that time of the year, a dead giveaway would be my social media feed, which is once again bristling with ads for exercise or weight loss programs (I ususally mark those ads as “inappropriate” or “offensive”). A friend of mine once stated that her goal for the new year was to stay fat and enjoy herself doing so – I can go with that, that sounds like an obtainable goal. (In other words, it’s a way of saying “My goal for the new year is to stop beating up on myself.” Alas, as with pretty much every other goal, it’s hard to stick to.)

However, having said that, I do have a liking for calendar markers. There’s something satisfying in having things happen at a specific day in the calendar. My nice DSLR camera decided yesterday, on New Year’s Eve, that its SD card had about as much as it could take – four years’ worth of photos filled it to the brim – and it quit just as I was trying to film a panorama shot of the last sun rays of 2021. So the next SD card and round of photos will start right at the beginning of 2022, and there’s something about it that tickles my fancy.

The sun going down on the Old Year
The last photo on the SD card

So all that to say, here we are, making a new start on the blog. I don’t think I need to say much about 2021 as a whole – it’s been pretty crazy all around the globe. Personally, I’d had all kinds of grand plans for what I was going to do during this year without blogging – finish books, publish books, build a big body of artwork for exhibitions, etc. Haha. Much like everything else during this year, that didn’t go according to plan.

But then, other things happened. I did a lot of knitting (aka thumb-twiddling with a purpose). I read a lot of books (most of them re-reads of old favourites – I’m almost finished with Ngaio Marsh’s Inspector Alleyn series, and it’s been interesting reading them in order, front to back. I have things to say about them… but that’s a topic for another day). I took a lot of pottery classes and workshops, a not inconsiderable number of them online. In fact, that’s one of the advantages that Covid has brought to the world, the proliferation of online offerings. Clouds and silver linings and all that jazz.

But I’ll stop boring you with the non-saga of our lives. I didn’t actually have all that much to say for this first post back in the saddle, so I’ll stop saying it. Just this for now:

This is Life, the Universe, and a Rebooted Blog. See you again soon!

Sunrise on a midwinter’s morning. (You can pretend it’s rising on the New Year.)