Struggling to resolve what to me is an ambiguity

[graviton]

Winston Churchill once described Russia as “a riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma”. True enough. But what would he have said had he been acquainted with a certain 'Angelica' from Mexico City? A riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma contained in a conundrum with the whole baffling thing converted into a thoroughly jumbled jigsaw puzzle of 10,000 pieces (some of which her dog ate) with no picture on the box? Probably so.


Exactly why I say that, Angelica, is best reserved for a less public communication.


But I can say this right here, right now: there are many areas of Spanish language and culture I truly would enjoy discussing with you—you're smart, and seem to have deep knowledge of not just two languages but of the two cultures that gave (and continue to give) each of those languages their nuances. But such discussions are only possible if you are willing to overcome this strange reticence you exhibit whenever I try to talk about something that goes beyond the proper use of the imperfect subjunctive (figuratively speaking). For example, I'd like to discuss the differences between the American reaction to certain books, films, TV shows, songs, events, and the Latin American reaction, or at least the reaction among your acquaintances, in the circles you travel in--not that I have the slightest idea what those circles might be: perhaps you live in a modest, middle-class neighborhood with reserved, respectable middle-class folks, or possibly the Billy-Joel-quoting rock 'n roll lover in you has decided a place in La Condesa is more your style, or it could well be that you are, right this instant, in a 40-room mansion in the Lomas de Chapultepec 'colonia', stretched out on a divan with a cocktail in your left hand, an iPad in your right—waiting for Consuela, one of your twelve servants, to carry out your order of: “Consuela, peel me a grape!” Who knows where you are, who can say what circles you travel in, but here's one overriding, undeniable fact—we can only converse about these very interesting subjects I have in mind if both of us are willing to tap the keys.


By the way, Angelica, speaking of “Ain't it wonderful to be alive when the rock 'n roll plays” and Billy Joel, I'm actually a bit of a 'piano man' myself, or these days I'm actually a 'Casio keyboard man', a hundred different instruments at the touch of a button. Fantastic device! And even though listening to a great song is marvelous—Angelica, does anything rock more than Billy howling “You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you're lookin' for”? I love the way he pronounces 'lunatic', he really sounds just a little bit like a lunatic at that instant--playing that music yourself on an instrument makes the experience so much more intense, as is always the case when you switch from the passive to the active role. And when you literally 'put your hands on' a piece of music, especially by playing it on a keyboard where all ten fingers get to have their say in complex cooperation with one another, you really grasp exactly what the contribution of each note is in carrying out the intentions of the composer.


But, assuming you didn't just quote Billy Joel because he happened to express the way you feel about rock 'n roll, but because you like his music—tell me, what are your favorites of his? And who else do you like? Do you, like most people, have an 'era' whose music you love—you know, the '60s, the '70s, the '80s, etc.? Surely these are questions you'll be willing to answer!!


Angelica, can I be deadly serious for a moment? I was reading a few of your old posts, where you were doing the usual-- helping people figure out the best way of translating some English expressions into Spanish. I actually found it quite touching. 'Touching'????????? 'Touching' seems just about the strangest reaction someone could have. But I observed how carefully and conscientiously you mulled over the various choices, pointing out why this one didn't quite capture the English for reason X, and how the noun form of this other Spanish word has slightly different connotations than the verb and so it wasn't quite suitable. As I watched the relentless intensity of your analysis unfolding, you reminded me of me! But all of your marvelous analysis was over such tiny points! If only you were willing to direct your skills to something bigger, something more worthy of them!


Angelica, may I tell you a little story? I must have originally read it when I was, maybe, fifteen—when I was in my “Zen” period. I don't remember any of the details, so I'll have to make them up—but I most certainly do remember the essence of the story—and its point.


The tale is set in China, many hundreds of years ago—or maybe thousands. A wealthy landowner required for his business a constant stream of high-quality horses, and for the important task of selecting them he had relied upon one man for many years. But now that man had died, and the landowner was frantic. Who could he get to perform this crucial task for him now? The landowner went to consult a very old man several villages away, who had a reputation for great wisdom—perhaps he could advise him on whom he could get as a replacement for his dead horse-procurer. So the landowner explained his predicament to the old man, who began stroking his chin and thinking deeply. Finally he said, “I have heard some very good things about Lao Quan, perhaps he might be the man you are seeking”, and he told the landowner how he could find Lao Quan.


So the landowner arranged with Lao Quan to procure high-quality horses for him, and not long thereafter Lao Quan reported to him that he had purchased the first such animal, and it would be delivered later that day. The landowner, pleased, asked Lao Quan what kind of horse it was. Lao Quan was puzzled, and replied that it was a horse of the highest quality. “No, no”, said the landowner, “I mean is it a male or a female, and what is its color? “Oh, I see”, said Lao Quan, who thought for some moments before replying, “It is ….uh....a dappled mare.”


Later that day the animal was delivered, and after one glance at it, the landowner flew into a rage, and immediately rushed back to the wise old man, several villages away. He shouted at the old man, “What kind of advice did you give me, telling me to hire Lao Quan?!! He came and told me he'd procured the first horse and it would be delivered later, and when I asked him if it was a male or female, and what its color was, at first he didn't even seem to know, and finally he said 'a dappled mare'. Now the horse has been delivered and I find that it's a black stallion!!!!!!” When he'd finished shouting, the landowner's face was red with rage, and sweating. The old man said nothing. “Well???”, said the landowner, “what have you got to say?” Finally the old man began to speak, and to the landowner's astonishment he appeared to be smiling! In fact, as he said his first words, the landowner distinctly heard a little chuckle!


“I had heard some good reports about Lao Quan”, the old man said, “but I now realize they were not accurate. Lao Quan sees even more deeply and clearly than I suspected! Don't you understand, sir, that Lao Quan was so focused on the horse's essence, on the very profound and intangible traits that truly make a horse of the highest quality, that he didn't even notice the irrelevant and superficial details—such as whether it was a male or a female, or what its color was. I now realize that most assuredly Lao Quan is destined to evaluate things more important than the quality of horses! Go home now, sir, and wait a little while, and I'm sure you'll be eminently satisfied with the horse Lao Quan has procured for you.”


The landowner went home, and the horse indeed proved to be an extraordinary animal.


And I say, most assuredly Angelica is destined to evaluate things more important than 'should it be ser or estar'--if only she is willing to do it!!

[AngelicaDeAlquezar]

Oh, I'm overwhelmed, but undeniably flattered for having been the object of such colourful lucubrations. Thank you, I appreciate that.
However, look out; by no means will I accept that language is composed of petty issues. The mastering of these pieces of language, that are being unfairly considered an object of contempt, are the very reason why a clumsy author can plunge a good idea into pure boredom, while a bright writer turns a simple nothing into a shiny faceted diamond. The difference between being understood and confusing your conversation partner is never trivial.


About Billy Joel, I like much of his music and the quote is of course not gratuitous, as you have correctly inferred. For the rest, feel free to send me a private message. We can talk.

[graviton]

Angelica mildly admonishes me: “However, look out; by no means will I accept that language is composed of petty issues. The mastering of these pieces of language, that are being unfairly considered an object of contempt, are the very reason why a clumsy author can plunge a good idea into pure boredom, while a bright writer turns a simple nothing into a shiny faceted diamond. The difference between being understood and confusing your conversation partner is never trivial.”


Angelica you may be surprised to learn that your viewpoint, or one possibly even more rigorous, was powerfully represented and vigorously expressed during my childhood every day in my own home!! My mother was a teacher who, herself coming from not-very-well educated parents, re-created herself so that, by the time she had graduated from college at twenty-one, she was a veritable paragon--perfect grammar, flawless spelling, impeccable pronunciation in which she had somehow eliminated any trace of the notorious New York accent, and word usage that reflected an understanding of the subtlest connotative differences among words that are usually considered completely synonymous. And, incidentally, she was someone who casually dropped into ordinary conversation words--like “peregrination”--that would stump anyone but a few Oxford dons!


[As perhaps an amusing side note, when I was fourteen I was simultaneously learning French in school and the piano on my own, with the sheet music performance instructions, as they usually are, in Italian. One word my mother was fond of using was “forte”, meaning 'strong point', e.g. 'I'm a good cook, but, baking is definitely not my forte'. And she would pronounce it, as most Americans do, as a two syllable word: for-te. So one day, I'm playing the piano, and I see the instruction 'forte', meaning to play loudly—not that I ever needed a 'forte' to really bang the keys--so I was playing 'forte' with gusto, when I suddenly had an epiphany. I realized that, in terms of meaning, my mother's use of 'forte' was borrowed from the French, but her pronunciation was borrowed from the Italian. A quick dictionary visit confirmed my epiphany—the impossible, the unthinkable, what even God couldn't have imagined happening had actually happened: my mother was mispronouncing a word—and habitually so!!! At dinner that night, with both parents and all my siblings present, I very quietly delivered the bombshell! Remember, Angelica, going back to a time well before I was born, in fact, ever since my mother had graduated from college, no one had ever corrected her speech—now, it's true that no one ever had to, but even more true is that no one ever would have dared to—my mother was a very formidable woman! (as female teachers of my mother's generation often were) Well, I delivered the bombshell, and for the first, and only, time in family history there was a hush at the dinner table! (Have you guessed, Angelica, that I come from a family of talkers?) After ten seconds of dead silence (except for my younger sister whimpering slightly, afraid of what was to come), my mother (who despite being such a stickler regarding language, had a good sense of humor), finally said, in a tone of mock solemnity, “My son, I think you've just become a man!”]


Anyway, contrary to your suggestion, the mastering of the fine points of language is by no means held in contempt by me. Like you and my mother, I value it. In my own speech, I'm very demanding of myself, particularly with regard to the meaning of words—I recognize the truth of Mark Twain's wonderful comment, “The difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.” But I feel with real conviction that when someone (like you or Lao Quan) is capable of much more, it's valuable to society, and exceptionally rewarding to the person himself/herself, to exploit that greater potential. So of course it's entirely appropriate, in fact admirable, for you to help those struggling with Spanish/English translation issues, especially when you do it so well—I just feel you also would have very interesting things to say on larger issues of language.


And of course very interesting things to say on other subjects as well, very far removed from language! That's why I'm delighted at the prospect of conversing with you via PM, although I realize I'll have to always be on my guard: as Captain Alatriste himself realized almost too late, even the twelve-year-old Angelica de Alquezar was capable of doing quite a bit of mischief, even with her bare hands!

[AngelicaDeAlquezar]

Confronting parents is a necessary task, but never an easy one. It's an enormously enriching experience for healthy growing up if they're wise though.

[...]the twelve-year-old Angelica de Alquezar was capable of doing quite a bit of mischief, even with her bare hands!

Aw, that old cliché about inherent malice of women should be overcome. Anyway, she found her death young; I'm way older.