Ní labhraím Gaeilge

One – two – three – four – five.

A haon – a dó – a trí – a ceathair – a cúig.

A pen.

Peann.

One pen – two pens – three pens – four pens – five pens.

Aon pheann amháin – dhá pheann – trí pheann – ceithre pheann – cúig pheann.

Six – seven – eight – nine – ten.

A sé – a seacht – a hocht – a naoi – a deich.

Six through ten pens.

Sé pheann – seacht bpeann – ocht bpeann – naoi bpeann – deich bpeann

A person.

Duine.

One through ten people

Aon duine amháin – beirt – triúr – ceathrar - cúigear – seisear – seachtar – ochtar – naonúr – deichniúr.

Are you kidding me? Really? You need four numbering systems? Cardinal, ordinal, and separate ones for people and objects? And for objects between one and six, you add an “h” after the first letter if it starts with one of nine letters when not followed by some particular other letter? And for seven through ten, seven letters require various letters to be placed before them? Really? You are kidding me, right? And what the hell does tá mean? Is it a verb? Is it a combination of a verb and a noun? I mean when translate it to English?

So yeah, Irish. Now that we’ve finished our class, I think it’s time to ruminate on the Irish language. Why did we take Irish? I’ve always wanted to study Gaelic. In LA, I was taking German with my friend Meg because she wanted to take it, I already had some German, and my dad’s native language is German. Well, Germanic at the very least, but that’s story for another day. I like German, almost as much as I like French, and I was by no means done with it, but what better place to take Gaelic than where it is the official first language? Scott thought it a brilliant idea, and if not brilliant, at least interesting. For our anniversary, I bought us a fifteen week course. The Irish, by the way, all reacted the same: “Why wouldja do t’at? Well, good on ya! You probably know more now t’an I do!” and then they would rattle off something melodious and charming that probably meant you’re a bloody idiot.

Irish is the fourth language I’ve studied in a classroom. Languages are my hobby. I was that nerd diagramming sentences during the summer because I thought it was fun. I also did long division, and languages tweak the same part of my brain. I’m good with grammar in English, and I’m good with grammar (for my level) in French, German, and Spanish (Admittedly, my Spanish is non-existent now, but I’m good, really good, on the non-existent level.). Verb conjugation? No problem. Genitive versus subject? No problem. Cases? Yup, I understand it.

But Irish. . . . I think that I can sum up my entire knowledge of the language:

1. The verb goes in the front.

2. They have no yes nor no (That’s right! All answers must be phrased in the form of a complete sentence. Except for one answer to one specific question. I don’t remember what it is.)

3. The above rules for numbers even if they seem overly complicated.

4. Ag before a verb makes it a gerund (Tá sé ag cur bastí: It’s raining.)

5. An with a hyphen before … well, definitely an adv/adj but maybe a noun, too… means very (Beag: small; An-bheag: very small)

6. An also means the. Sometimes. Na means the in the plural. Sometimes. Sometimes it signals the genitive case.

7. In the present tense, verb and first person pronouns can be combined into one word. In the past tense, only the verb and the first person plural pronouns.

8. Is before an adjective/adverb makes it a surplurative (Sine: old; Is sine: oldest).

9. Is also means and when paired with a numbered age (Tá sé aon bhliain is fiche d’aois: He is one and twenty. It’s the poetic form of augus.).

10. Is is also a conjugation of one of the words meaning to be (As tú Michelle?: Are you Michelle?; Is mé: I am).

11. Bh is pronounced like a v. It’s a rule. Except when it’s not. Then it’s pronounced like a w.

12. Mh is pronounced like a w. It’s a rule. Except when it’s not. Then it’s pronounced like a v.

13. I don’t really understand the word is. Or an. Or na. Or tá.

14. Rain and snow don’t fall but are instead put. Somewhere. Everywhere. Tá sé ag cur sneachta. There is putting snow. I guess.

I should really come up with one more learning, make it an even fifteen, but even thinking about it makes my brain hurt. All the Irish with whom I’ve mentioned Irish say the same thing (after the first same thing they say): They don’t really teach it right [sic] in schools; they cram it down our throats; and it’s a shame really. Some say the problem is that they teach it like a foreign language when really it should just be taught as a spoken language. There is some validity to that. The Irish use the English alphabet. When reciting the alphabet in Irish, all the letters sound just the same as the do in English, but the alphabet is the conqueror’s language, and I swear, someone must have said, we’ll show those bleeding English! Dun Laoghaire is dun leerie; Deireadh Fómhair is dare-a for; and aghaidh is I-ig (respectively: town south of Dublin; October literally meaning late autumn; and face). In truth, the diversity of vocabulary and pronunciation of both Irish and English during the times of invasion and the evolution of both languages probably caused the lack of symmetry.

Perhaps I really should ask why the standard Irish is not technically spoken anywhere except by officials. I picked up a grammar book because, well, that’s what I do. Nancy Stenson wrote:

It should be noted that, unlike standard English, the Official Standard does not represent a colloquial dialect actually spoken by native speakers. Rather, it combines elements of the three major regional varieties for the official use. It is worth knowing and recognizing the standard forms, which are encountered frequently in publications, but they should not be taken as in any way superior to or more correct than the colloquial usage found in the Gaeltacht regions. . . . Those interested in speaking the language are therefore advised to pick one regional variety and to aim for competence in that, while learning to recognize alternative forms as well.*

Personally, I believe the difficulty in Irish is that in truth, it’s not taught as a foreign language. Our instructor, a truly lovely individual, teaches in the secondary school. As often as not, perhaps more often than not, when I asked a grammar question such as whether nouns had gender and how they affected the sentence or when I asked a question using grammatical terms such as the infinitive version of some verb we were using, a brief explanation was typically necessary before she could answer, and as often as not, she didn’t know the answer on what I consider to be a basic language question. In her defense, most of her students have at least a smattering of Irish or were raised exposed to it, and we just inherently understand certain tenants of our native languages. We don’t question them until a foreign speaker asks.

However, Irish is not the first tongue of most of Ireland; English is, though sometimes they sound like they’re speaking it like a second tongue. The lilt of the Irish? That’s the lilt of Gaelic, and it’s lovely, isn’t it?

I’m glad we took Irish. I’m glad it’s done. As words and phrases start to fade into the pleasant fog (coemhar [key-ower]) that happens when one studies a language for just a short bit of time, I think of something an Irish friend said of traffic planning: It’s a very Irish solution to a very Irish problem. The Irish language is either the epitome of that or the cause. I have yet to decide.

*Stenson, Nancy. Basic Irish: A Grammar and Workbook. London and New York: Routeledge, 2008. viii.

We've Been Away....

Ah, ye ole abandoned blog! So quiet in your solitude! So superb and magnificent while you wait, amongst the others who cry and wail in the forgotten wires of stretching across the vast valley and ridges of cyberspace! You remain, ever vigilant, ever hopeful.

Right then. Now that we’ve finished with that apology, on to your language fact of the day. No, we haven’t done a language fact of the day, and no, we’re not beginning a language fact of the day. I have decided not to let that concern me.

Ye. We see it often: Ye Ole Curiousity Shop (which is, or used to be, maybe ever will be, in Seattle and probably countless other cities); Ye Ole King’s Head (Santa Monica, CA. Lovely fish and chips); Ye Ole … Actually, I think I’ll let you fill in the blank at this point. The examples are, though not endless, endless. When I was small, I always thought that “ye” was just how people used to say “the” in the Middle Ages or at least eighteenth century pirates in the Caribbean (Ye be ye daughter of ye gov’nor, aye?). However, in truth, “ye” was never the way anyone said “the”. It was the way they wrote “the”. Yes indeed, our use of the word “ye” dates from the sixteenth century and is an alteration of the Old English þ, or “thorn” which was in fact pronounced something like “th”. Thus, “ye” is really the function of a misunderstanding of a font. My darling husband is utterly sick of me mentioning this little bit of linguistic history. Perhaps actually writing it down and posting it will remove some of the desire I have every time I see it.

Now back to topic. We’ve been away from the blog for awhile now, ahem, almost two months for some of us who shall remain unnamed. What can I say? It was the holiday season. When I look back on it, the last two months don’t strike me as that busy. However, something about the holidays makes everything more urgent, doesn’t it? “I have so many days to finish my holiday shopping which means if I ever want to sit down and read my book, I must do it right this minute. And the next minute, and the minute after that because who knows when I’ll have another chance? Now where did I put that port that so-and-so sent us. . . .” And so goes the evening, and the next, and the next.

To be brief in the recap, we had a lovely holiday. My dad came to town (photos to be posted), and we visited all the museums and cultural hot spots on my mental list. National museums in Dublin are free. Nice, yeah? I’ve decided to visit the National Gallery, conveniently located just a few blocks away, once a week or so. Of course, I haven’t been back since, but really, I’m going to start going! It has a lovely coffee area perfect for escaping the apartment for a change of writing scene! Any day now….

We wandered around the old English barracks, museums, bookstores, a castle, and a cemetery with our necks trying to scrunch deeper into our scarves, hands shoved in gloves and more gloves and pockets, and with a stiff gait to stay upright. Everyone here told us snow doesn’t happen in Dublin. Dublin is never really that cold. You won’t need more than a lining in a rain coat. Yeah, whatever. Not only did it snow, but it was windy. Tá sé gaofar! Tá sé an-gaofar! No one mentioned the freaking wind. One day, not long before New Years, Dad and I decided walk to the Luas, one of the light rails, to visit the National Museum of Decorative Arts and History. The Luas is only about a fifteen minute walk from my apartment. However, after the wind had trashed my umbrella, one of our good ones, and then caught my coat and pulled me a few good steps backwards, not just bringing me to a stop, but actually backwards, as the rain pelted me in the face, Dad said, “Are you sure you want to do this today?” I was already turned when I said, “I’ll meet you at home.” If you stood just right on the ice, the wind could sweep you along it with no effort on your part but for a little arm swinging to stay on your feet rather than your ass. Oh yeah! Dublin in the winter! And all of you in truly cold climates, stop laughing at me.

Really, though, we had a great holiday. I even bought Scott a live Christmas tree. I thought we would donate it to a park or something after the New Year. He’s adopted it and every time I mention donating it or that maybe, just maybe we can’t move it to London, his eyes go kind of big and he says, “But isn’t it going to be our Christmas tree in London?” Now, in addition to finding us an apartment as good as the one we have in Dublin, I apparently need to find one where we can take a small but growing evergreen. I think a dog might have been easier.

The LaPlante Holiday Letter

Happy Holidays, Friends and Family!

Two Thousand Nine

This year, we decided we were going to do it. We were really and truly going to write a holiday letter. We’d talked about it for the last six years, each time, more and more determined that we would write said holiday letter. Next year. We would write it next year. It’s finally next year, and here we are, writing a holiday letter. It’s our first time so be gentle, and despite grave misgivings, we shall forge ahead.

Ireland. We are living in Ireland, to be specific, Dublin. Baile Átha Cliath [ballia aha clee-a]. All of you know that, right? We did tell everyone, didn’t we? Suppose we ruined the surprise if we didn’t. It’s our big news of the year.

2009 started quiet for us; Scott worked at Shopflick (right down the street from a lovely children’s books store, might we add), Michelle worked on her novel and volunteered at 826LA, a free writing center for youth. And LA was brilliant, warm, and sunny with lots of palm trees. At the end of January, Michelle started studying German with her friend Meg, and in February, Scott ran his first half marathon. We took a jaunt around the western Caribbean with thirty of Scott’s family members on a really big ship. Yes, truly, thirty, and it was fantastic. We visited turtle farms, played with sea creatures, wandered around Mayan ruins and Mayan caves (called Shibaba, Underworld, in Mayan and believed to be the site of human sacrifices as well as the favorite destination of the local runaways). And when we were somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, Scott’s work called (Hooray for international roaming rates!), and we learned that the company was in dire financial straits.

The next two months, needless to say, were a bit fraught with worry and tension. However, a friend of Scott’s from years back had happened to call him in January, and he happened to work for this really great company called EWT, and they happened to be looking for developers for their LA and Dublin offices. Just in case, Scott started the application process. On May 31^st, Shopflick officially became part of another company and Scott’s job ended. On June 2^nd, Scott flew to Dublin for the second round of interviews. A few days after that, we flew to Seattle just in case they offered him a job. Part way through the trip, Madison Tyler Europe, the European branch of EWT, offered Scott a job. We had a month and a half before we were to move, we already had a trip to Syracuse planned (just in case), and so we did what anyone else would do: We went camping in central California with friends.

Scott started at EWT/Madison Tyler just after we returned from Syracuse and Michelle started preparing for the move. Her dad kindly drove to LA to help with lost and delayed mail, incorrect new glasses, missed flights, and missing immigration papers, and at the beginning of August, we said goodbye to our MINI Cooper and moved to Europe.

And just like LA but not at all like LA, Ireland is lovely, cool with rainy sunshine and indecisive temperatures. We found an apartment near Merrion Square in the heart of Dublin, and when people hear, they say, “OH. Merrion Square.” It’s worse than when we said we lived in Beverly Hills, and everyone said, “OH. Beverly Hills.”

In September (Meán Fómhair [mahn-four, literally middle Autumn], Michelle started tutoring at Fighting Words, a free writing center for youth based on 826National. We started Irish lessons because Gaelige is the first language of Ireland, and we began going to plays at the Abbey, the national theatre. We, in fact, transplanted our lives to Ireland with a rainbow-gray-sky hue instead of a blue-blue sky hue. In October (Deireadh Fómhair [dara-four, late autumn], we caught our first soccer (sorry, football) game in Europe, Ireland versus Italy. We bought their colors, a shirt for Scott, a scarf for Michelle. Welllll, she bought the rugby scarf because she liked the color of the green better. We caught the Cork Jazz Festival before the city flooded out (Did we mention that water is free in the Republic of Ireland?), and one night, we went to dinner:

[With a glass of wine just after ordering]

Madison Tyler Europe’s main headquarters are moving to London.

[Pause, deep breath] What are you saying about your job?

-It’s moving to London.

-Are we moving to London?

-If you’ll move with me.

So, yeah, though we said moving to Dublin was our big news of the year, perhaps we should amend it to say that moving to Dublin and then to London in less than a year’s time is our big news. For Scott’s birthday in November (Samhain [Saw-when]), we went to London to see a play, and we wandered in and out of rain and contemplated that which is the magnitude of London. We returned to Dublin mildly dazed about the bizarreness of it all, and continued with work, plays, tutoring, and our Irish course.

Now it’s December (Nollaig [no-log]), and cold weather has descended upon us, and have we mentioned that we used to live in LA? Where it’s warm? Meanwhile, Scott is doing well at his new job, and Michelle has expanded her novel twofold and has started sending work to literary magazines. We’re having a great time in Dublin, and the time has indeed become more precious because we’ll be here only another few months or so before we move to London. We have Michelle’s dad for three weeks and Scott’s sister for a week in the near future. Far too few of you have taken us up on Dublin. We expect to see many more of you our way in the next year.

Nollaig Shona Daoibh

agus

Athbhliain Faoi Mhaise Daoibh

[nollag hoe-na ye-ev agus Ah-vlee-in fwee vasha ye-ev]

Happy Christmas and Happy New Year

The newest to span the river

Ever wondered what to do if you happen to have a surplus of witches
lying around?

Waiting for the bus

Thought I'd forgotten ya, didn't you? Truth be told, it's been far too long since I posted, and even longer since I put up another in the growing series of bronze friends.

On Saturday, Michelle and I went a bit out of our way to go to this little Mexican restaurant called Taco Taco. See, the thing is it's a universal law that says you can't get good Mexican in Ireland. It's just, I'm unwilling to accept it as fact, so I keep banging my head against a wall that I know is there. And man we've had some ... well maybe not bad per se, but certainly weird Mexican food here. Like french fries with salsa on them (not that I've ordered them myself). Seriously. And I'm not even saying it's disgusting, for all I know, it might actually be pretty tasty. But one thing for sure it's not, is Mexican. At least not how I know it to be. What I think happened is someone who's never been to Mexico started a Mexican restaurant, and they had a customer come in who had been to Mexico (or at least LA which is basically the same thing, culinarily speaking), and Mr. Customer said "yeah, I can't believe you don't have chips and salsa... every Mexican restaurant should serve chips and salsa!".

You probably already see where this bit is going, right?

Anyway, on our little jaunt back from the rumored-to-have-good-Mexican place I ran into these two birds, sitting and waiting for the bus. Nice ladies, but they're kind of rude taking up the whole bench like that, right? And I kept telling the one that it was probably raining inside of her purse, but she didn't listen.

Anyway, there they sit, and there you go: another installment in Scott's Bronze Buddies.

I could stop right there, but...okay, for just one moment, just for a little bit, can we talk about the sheer and utter ridiculousness for a city to pay workers to build a bench, and then pay other workers to throw some art on it and make that bench useless by the very people who paid for the bench? Mrs and Mrs Whatsit don't actually need to be sitting on the bench, right? We could move the bench four feet to the right and except for the falling over bit, they probably wouldn't complain a peep. Geez. Next thing you know cities are going to start creating whole buildings just to have a place to put art! I know, crazy, eh?

Makes you want to eat good Mexican food, in protest.

Technology Woes Part II

[In a jaunty little tune] I have new printer ink! I have new printer ink! Dooo, dah do, dah doooo.

[Insert new printer ink. No more jaunty little tune] Ah damn.

[Composing email] Dear Hewlett Packard. I have a printer-scanner-copier. It was bought in the US, but I now live in Europe. I was told, and the box says, that it needs HP338 instead of HP98. However, now, the printer is giving me an error code saying that HP338 cartridge is incompatible with my printer. What should I do? PS. I love my printer-scanner-copier. It's my friend.

[HP response] From your description, it sounds like the printer is giving you an error code saying that HP338 cartridge is incompatible with your printer. In 2004, HP started regionalizing things like ink to better suit the needs of their customers in different geographical regions. Press a bunch of buttons, it'll do a test, and then send the answers to the questions above.

[Talking to myself] You didn't ask any questions. Regionalizing ink? Are you kidding me?

[Pushing buttons, paper prints out] HOORAY!

[Printer makes unhappy noises and flashes not only on the printer but on the computer] HP338 cartridges are not compatible with this printer.

[Scan document. Start attaching it to email. Meanwhile, try to scan other documents for health insurance reimbursement. Printer hums.] An error is causing the program to shut down. Please make sure all cables are properly connected and all programs properly installed. Oh, and by the way, another error occurred while trying to attach the document. Try again?

[Doing one thing at a time, attach document, compose email to HP] Thank you for your quick response. Attached, please find the test. And while I have you, would all of this cause some kind of problem with the scanning function on my printer? Obviously I scanned the test, but now it won't scan anything else. PS, I love my printer. It's my friend. I don't want to replace my friend with a European model, and I think you're hinting that I may have to do that, and by the way,regionalizing ink? That is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard, and it's obviously that manufacturing printers that used either European or American voltage was more cost effective for you and this is just a way to eke just a little more money out of the relatively few people who move printers from continent to continent. You should be ashamed of your money grubbing ways. SHAME! PPS. I love my printer. It's my friend.

[To a jaunty big, long phrased tune] Replacing the new cartridge with the old cartridge to scan the receipts for the insurance company. Do dah, do dah.

[Printer]An error is causing the program to shut down. Please make sure all cables are properly connected and all programs properly installed.

[HP response] Yo, dumb ass, if you use European black ink, you have to use European color ink. DUH!

[Talking to myself] Oh, for fuck's sake!

Windy Flying

What no one wants to hear when landing in winds after turbulence:

"We will be on the ground shortly. Please make one final check that your seat belts are fastened, and please take note of your closest exit."