About Me and Languages (4)

In 'senior high' I was an 'arts' student (the exact word always hard to find since school systems vary both between countries and in time). Cumpulsory school in those days was 9 years, starting at the age of 7. As I have mentioned, we began with English in 4th grade, and with a second foreign language (for me French) in 7th grade. In 'senior high', a third foreign language was added, and now (between German, Russian and Spanish) I chose German. (In fact, I had made a headstart with a German correspondence course already in 9th grade.) On top of that, for the few of us who chose the classic program, came Latin...

I always hesitate to mention I studied Latin, because it might give people the false impression that I actually know Latin. I do not feel that I do! Our teacher in this ancient language of the wise and learned had been persuaded to give up retirement to teach it to a group of five optimistic teenage girls. He was a kind old man who had accepted that school was no longer what it used to be in his day. He was also the school librarian. Whenever we got tired of Latin (and one does, when one struggles with it for 7 or 8 school hours per week for three years), we could easily get him to talk about other things, like library books or history. He was especially good at demonstrating how Hannibal went over the Alps with the elephants.

That is pretty much what I remember from three years of Latin studies. Our greatest fear during the 3rd year was that our teacher would get sick and someone else would discover how little Latin we really knew. Luckily, he stayed healthy, all five of us got exactly the same good marks (over average), and I never had to decline a Latin verb again afterwards. Ego sum, tu es (I am, you are) is about as far as I got during those three years.

French, if my memory serves me right, I continued with for two years in 'senior high'. At the end of 9th grade, I thought I knew French pretty well. After two more years, I just found it getting more and more complicated. We also had a teacher who much preferred talking about the French wine (le vin) and the French women (les femmes) rather than the language as such. I can read French; but turn off the subtexts on a French film, and I'm in BIG trouble! I never went to France, and the most use I've had of it since school is probably when reading French quotes in classic English or Russian-translated-into-Swedish novels; written at a time when every well-educated person in Europe was supposed to speak it.

With German, I got on better, in spite of all the grammar; and in spite of right now not remembering a single thing about my 'senior high scool' German teacher - not even if it was a man or a woman! I will get back to German later. Before that, I still have a lot more English influence to speak of. But that, too, will have to wait until another day...

Nightmare and Dayscare

I woke up this morning from a rather confused and bizarre dream. Since I had just recently been discussing such things with blogfriend GB, I decided to try and catch this one before it withered away. I might have done it anyway, dreams interest me and over the years I think I have become rather good at analyzing my own. (With those of others, one can only sometimes make a suggestion. But I believe each person holds the keys to his or her own dreamworld. It just may take some work to "learn the language", so to say.)

Here's mine:

First I was at some kind of school with a lot of different buildnings. I was searching the school library at night for an audio tape. I also started listening to it, but when the tape ran out, I could not find the next one. At some point, I was also having a discussion with some teacher or professor, or maybe more than one.

Then, suddenly, I was in a hospital instead, going around the corridors in a hospital bed on wheels, with raised back support. Somehow, I was supposed to manoeuvre this bed like a wheelchair on my own, without help. I tell you, getting in and out of lifts/elevators was not easy! People kept sending me round from one ward to another, and I had no idea what treatment I was there for.

Finally I arrived at a desk where they told me that I was 20 minutes late, but they would try to fit me in. Fit me in for what? I wondered, and found them very hesitant to answer. They seemed to be avoiding telling me.

I saw a sign with a strange word that I could read, but not understand, and I saw that they were giving people injections. I demanded to know what it was all about. So they told me. It was an injection that might relieve pain, although it had not been properly tested yet, so they really could not say what effect it might have. I was very sceptical, but I was in pain, so I decided I'd try it. While I waited though, I felt I really needed to find a toilet. I was directed down some stairs into the basement. Fortunately, I could now walk. I went down, found the ladies room - and woke up.

The last part of it was the easy one. I very often find myself in search of a bathroom at the end of my dreams. Thankfully, I still always wake up in time to go find my own...

So what's behind the rest?
Yesterday, I was thinking back on my days at school, long ago. This will show up in blogpost(s) to come.
Shortly before I went to bed, I was thinking about one of my English professors at university. Libraries and old audio tapes had also been on my mind - and as usual, I had been listening to an audio book just before I went to sleep. I think that pretty much covers the school part of the dream.

The previous night, my friend G's wheelchair had been parked in my hall. (For real. She and husband B were staying the night.) G has been in and out of hospitals all her life; she's a 'fighter' but becoming more and more dependent on her wheelchair(s) lately. I also have some experiences of hospital myself. And I have pain problems. Right now, every day the newspapers have big black headlines like "We will not have time to vaccinate everybody" (against swine flu). Last time I had flu was a very bad experience; since then I've had vaccinations every autumn, and I really don't want to catch swine flu if I can avoid it. On top of that, the last thing I watched on TV before I went to bed was the first part of a mini crime series, in which two little boys were kidnapped and kept sedated by injections in hospitallike environment. The only clue the police had, was that on the pictures that were sent to them of the sleeping boys, there was a mysterious word printed on the sheets...

That's it.
No more nighttime scary crime series on TV for me!!!
And certainly no TV news...

The Spirit of Change and Order

There is always, still, something special about Mid August. In Sweden, the school holidays stretch from mid June to mid August. Most people have at least part of their holidays from work in July. In July, you rarely find anyone in their usual place or occupation. Official business that can be put off, is put off. In August, things slowly begin to move again. It's a time for getting back to Order. The stores are filled with notebooks, pencils, erasers, binders, school books and school bags. Every year, I still get drawn into the spirit of it, even though I'm neither student, nor teacher, nor parent, nor even employee any more. It's still there, in the very air we breathe: A season of Change; of getting back into Routines, and at the same time a New Beginning, a Fresh Start. In this country, because of the seasons, much more so in August than in Janary. We may make grand New Year promises; but we usually start September with much more energy and resolution.

So yesterday, I went out and bought myself two brand new notebooks. (See picture.)

And a new backpack. Not for school, but just for Me.