Today’s vocab word is “tubo.” It means “pipe“I learned it yesterday morning.  By the end of the day I’d heard it about 100 times.  Here it is in a sentence:

“Il tubo è esploso e l’acqua spruzzata ovunque.”

True story.  More to come…

Happy translating!

There’s a comfort in not knowing the language that’s spoken around me.  A liberation of sorts.  When I’m in a room of English speakers, I have a compulsion to know as much as possible about what is going on, about what is being said.  It’s like pieces of my brain are assigned specific tasks, gathering, analyzing, condensing and reporting back so that I can make an assessment of everyone else’s lives and actions in comparison to my own.  What a trap.  It’s quite exhausting really.

When I came to Italy in May, I noticed that my mind was more at ease.  In a room of rapidly speaking Italians, what I heard was a lullaby.  Stripped from the need, or even the ability to understand the conversations around me, I was able to relax, bathed in the emotion of the experience.  I came to regard the random English conversations of tourists and ex-pats as intrusions into the place I had found for myself.

During that trip, I had the experience that people would often speak to me directly when my family had Italian language interactions.  It was probably because I was the youngest in the group, and there was an assumption that if anyone knew Italian, it would be me.  But that was misguided, as my dad had spent a fair amount of time studying the language before the trip.

As these experiences happened, I found that trying to understand the words – to take apart the sounds and make sense of them – was not that useful, even with the college conversational Spanish I had.  What worked much better is what I call the “magic ear” method.  You remember those books “Magic Eye” from the 90’s?  The ones where you look at a seemingly random image of blurred dots, and by unfocusing your eyes, a 3-D image pops out?  I was never really able to make them work, but when it comes to understanding the conversations around me, I find that unfocusing the ear, and just feeling the experience leads me to a much more accurate understanding than trying to understand the words.

Of course, it’s not an exact science.  I met a lovely woman last night whose energy was gentle and powerful at the same time.  I just wanted to sit near her as she spoke with Sandra and Deb.  When I met her, I introduced myself and told her it was a pleasure to meet her.  Then she said a number of animated things, followed by a smile and “va bene.”  I know those words!  So I repeated, “si, va bene.”  She chuckled a bit and Sandra interjected to let her know I didn’t understand what I was responding to.  We all laughed and went to sit down.

Later that night, in a conversation about how Puritan Americans can be, Sandra told me that Fabiana had told me it was nice to meet me, but I needed not to be so uptight.  Within 30 seconds of meeting me.  Funny.  I guess it’s true.  If I’d been practicing “magic ear” I might have gathered as much.  The beginnings of conversations with new people, just the act of meeting them can be full of tension for me, full of potential, yes, but full of judgment as well.  Adding the element of a new language is a whole different thing.  There’s a twinge of the old tension, but it’s mostly overridden by the twinges of fear that I might say the wrong thing, or hear the wrong thing, or make someone else uncomfortable with my slow ability to communicate.

I guess maybe it’s time to practice “magic brain” or “magic heart” and let some of that go.  Okay, maybe all of it.  Eventually, I will understand the language, and the bliss of being able to hear the language around me as a beautiful song and to experience the emotions of the people in conversation as more pure, without the labels that speech brings, that will change.  I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, when that happens, I will find that I have changed a bit too.

Here is the English version of the Italian post from a couple of days ago.  I used a different online translator to convert it back from Italian to English.  I think it’s a nice demonstration of why I’m worried about not knowing the language.  I’m pretty sure this is what I sould like when I speak Italian:

The words are iportante. I say the all time. That he is l’ only thing that me renders nervous for my return in Italy and l’ adventure beyond. The words.

They have grown with a mother who was an English teacher. I have studied law and has written for a life. The words are my friends. They are my instruments, mine defense, my crews. More than every other thing, words mean humor. I am a funny person. In reality, I am enough funny.

But, my humour is in great part depends from intelligence and comic times. And ‘ something that I have cultivated so as to use in order to break off the ice with new persons, like diplomatic instrument in the tension situations, and equally general divertimento. Without mastery of the language, I will have to resort to the physical comicità.

I know that to this it allows me adventure to learn a lot on same me. It will be strip via what task I and leave me with my Core. They are ready to let to the shoulders the consumismo. They are ready to let to the shoulders ” l’ lawyer “. I am not thus sure that I am ready to let to the shoulders l’ humour. I suppose that it says something to me.

The slid week, my mother has asked to me if I have fear. I have said that I am not – and I am indeed not. I feel as if you were ready in order to know same me. Creed that not only I expected l’ learning would have begun thus soon.

This post is dedicated to my friends in Italy. The ones who put up with my English and force me to speak a little Italian every time we talk. Thank you for your patience…you’ll need it with this one.

Le parole sono iportante. Io dico lo tutto il tempo. Che è l’unica cosa che mi rende nervoso per il mio ritorno in Italia e l’avventura oltre. Le parole.

Sono cresciuto con una madre che era un insegnante di inglese. Ho studiato legge e ha scritto per una vita. Le parole sono i miei amici. Essi sono i miei strumenti, le mie difese, le mie armi.  Più di ogni altra cosa, parole significano humor.    Io sono una persona divertente. In realtà, io sono abbastanza divertenti.

Ma, il mio umorismo è in gran parte dipende dalla intelligenza e tempi comici. E ‘qualcosa che ho coltivato in modo da utilizzare per rompere il ghiaccio con persone nuove, come strumento diplomatico nelle situazioni di tensione, e altrettanto divertimento generale. Senza padronanza della lingua, dovrò ricorrere alla comicità fisica.

So che questa avventura mi permette di imparare molto su me stesso. Sarà strip via quello che penso io e mi lasciano con il mio core. Sono pronto a lasciarsi alle spalle il consumismo. Sono pronto a lasciarsi alle spalle “l’avvocato “. Io non sono così sicuro che io sono pronto a lasciarsi alle spalle l’umorismo. Suppongo che mi dice qualcosa.

La settimana scorsa, la mia mamma mi ha chiesto se ho paura. Le ho detto che io non sono – e sono davvero no. Mi sento come se fossi pronto per conoscere me stesso. Credo che non solo mi aspettavo l’apprendimento avrebbe cominciato così presto.

Since my return from Italy, I’ve made a good faith effort to learn some of the language. I bought an old Berlitz book, a verb guide, and some flashcards. The most helpful part of my study, however has been instant messaging with my friends from Italy who force me to write a little in Italian each time. I blunder along with a mix of college Spanish and on-line translation that results in a lot of “???” on the other end. Eventually I ask them how to say something, and then I stare furiously at the screen, willing my brain to remember.

It’s funny to realize what’s important in my speech. While I’ve picked up a little of the grammar and word useage, the bulk of what I’ve lerarned has been exclammations. I’m guessing it’s because I use words like “awesome” and “rad” far more than the average bear. Along with “which letters don’t you use in Italian?” I’m often asking for the appropriate exclamation.

I’ll be sharing these as featured vocab words, but for now, they’ve given me insight into much more.

My grandmother’s family is Italian. She didn’t come from Italy, but she grew up with folks who spoke some of the language. To us she’s “Nana” or “The Nun.” She’s great. From her I’ve learned wonderful things like the importance of embracing life, and how Italians are better than Greeks. I’ve also learned Italian slang – I just didn’t know it.

As kids, my sister and I picked up words that the Nun used – some of them we thought were made up. She’d rub our arms and recite the equivalent of “this little piggy” complete with tickling. She’s tell us “sta siede e mangia” (sit down and eat) or tap her temple and say “che pazzo” whenever she thought my grandfather was being strange.

Of course, nobody in my immediate family spoke Italian, so what we heard and repeated was “statseat” and “kapots.”

But, a chat last week with an Italian friend blew open 30 years of funny phrases. In response to something I said, she responded “accidenti!” I didn’t recognize the word, so I quickly plugged it into my handy (and notoriously untrustworthy) online translator. “Accidents.” Clearly I was missing something. Apparently “accidenti” is used to communicate surprise. Along with “accidenti,” I learned “sticazzi” which communicates a similar sentiment is a less G-rated way.

Typing words is great, but I wanted to make sure I had the pronunciation right so that I could exclaim appropriately (or inappropriately as the case may be). I took the opportunity to practice my new words while driving home from work. I’d said “accidenti” out loud about three times when it hit me. I could hear my nana saying “ah chidand” in exasperation. “Ah chidand” sounds remarkably like “Accidenti.” Of course! How fun.

I had a hearty laugh and called my mom to share. Only in the past week have I thought to take these phonetic phrases apart to understand what was really being said. The more I examine, the more I learn about my family. Aparently I’m not the only one with a proclivity for exclamations. I can hardly wait for the next discovery!