Native Tongue - Lincoln, MA

Nico adds Spanish to his book of tricks

This morning I was out in the woods with my favorite sidekick named Coal. We ran into an older Asian man with his little fluffy dog, which was off-leash like my dog. I said "good morning" and he mumbled back. The two dogs ran and chased each other and played for a couple of minutes and I tried several times to converse with the owner. Finally it dawned on me that the man spoke no English.  After our dogs tired a bit, I waved at the man and we kept on our way.

My walks in the woods are when I most like to think about "stuff." Stuff like which summer camp my kids should do, whether or not there will be snow at the ski mountain this weekend and if we need milk. Important stuff. Also I wonder about which dead animal Coal is digging up and eating. Okay, other stuff too like what is happening with ISIS, the impeachable president of Brazil, will we ever sell our house there, etc.

This morning I thought about language and how it makes many Americans completely crazy. I can almost see the posts about how someone walked into the restaurant and didn't speak any English!! Can you believe it? Or asked for directions in a foreign language... or answered in an accent that was not understandable. I too am guilty of the occasional facebook post about Southampton soccer coaches whom I can't understand.

Here's the reality. We all need to get out of our country. Not as tourists. To live. I lived in Brazil for nine years. For the first six months of that tour of duty, I spoke no Portuguese. I tried and failed, and then asked the person if they spoke English. Most of the time, they did not. But never once did I get someone saying: "She can't speak Portuguese!! Can you believe it? She comes to our country to live and does not speak Portuguese!"  And I even had a major cheat sheet in BH, who was then BB (Brazilian boyfriend).

Within the first year I could speak passable Portuguese; now I am fluent. Unless the person is from the state of Ceará, and then I have no idea what they are saying to me. Much like how I feel when speaking to Brits and they say stuff like "poncy" and I say "hunh?" Fiona, I mean you. Also native  Bostonians: what are they saying anyway?

The truth of the matter is that I went home and cried every single night that I did not understand Portuguese or speak it. But no one gave me a hard time. When my stepson Pedro came to live with us in Miami at age 14 for one year, his English was terrible. And the kids made fun of his accent (teenagers are notoriously mean anyway, but still). I never saw him cry but he was hurt for sure.

My kids, age 8, have Brazilian accents. I only notice it when I talk with them on the phone. Their English is fine. And they are bilingual, so they have that going for them. Well, except for the fact that they have an American accent in Portuguese. If you make fun of them, you will have to deal with mama bear. That is me. I am frequently crabby.

So although you will find me making fun of Brits at regular intervals because seriously, how can you resist laughing when someone smells "pongy"? But I can guarantee you that I will not be giving anyone who does not speak English here a hard time. Chances are they are trying. Chances are they go home at night and cry because they are isolated.  Maybe they don't. But do you want to be part of the problem or part of the solution?

You are only allowed to disagree with me if you have lived in a foreign country that does not speak your native tongue for a period of one year or more.  Bring it.

100 Days - Weston, MA

The dawn of the 99th day

So today marks 99 days since our repatriation to the USA. You'll have to allow me a little license on calling it the first 100 days a day early--today being Halloween and a Friday, it means that I just won't have a spare moment during the weekend with the hyper-sugared kids.  

The boys are two weeks away from turning eight years old. They are out of their minds with joy for their first Halloween ever. They have had others--but only one in the USA when they were almost 1 year old and not trick-or-treating.  This morning they pushed playfully in their bus line--there are five boys between the ages of 6 and 10 at the bus stop and each has one day of the week that they get on the bus first. It is surprisingly entertaining to them each morning to line up--"today's Friday, I'm second!" or whatever. They are happy.

I am happy. I am in fact still in love with my new home, neighborhood and town. Aw what the heck, also my state and country. The honeymoon period has not yet passed--I expect the first cracks in the facade will come in December with days getting light at 7:15 am and dark at 4:15. That can't be good. I have no fear of the cold (yes, you can remind me of this in February) but I have fear of the dark. Yes, I will be taking the twins trick-or-treating tonight--not that kind of dark. Long dark. Cold dark.

In the meantime, I still stare open-mouthed out my kitchen window at the maples, oaks and birches that shine on with yellows, oranges and sadly now a bit of brown. The New England fall is simply mind-boggling. Showers of leaves float down as I write this--the winds are up for the cold front tomorrow. Most of the leaves are on borrowed time. 

Yesterday I took a two-hour walk in the woods with a friend I chanced to find after 25 years. We now live less than a mile apart--we both have two rescued dogs, we both are off-ramped from our Seven Sisters/MBA/business careers to spend time with our kids. The big difference is that she runs ultramarathons (50 miles!!) and I eat large amounts of donuts. Oh yes, and do Kung Fu Fit.  I have new friends who I feel like I've known forever, and old friends who are better than ever. Happy. I am deliriously happy.

Of course there are the bad days. The bad days are the ones when I am frustrated with trying to get everything done--chimney cleaning (that's right now--I am tired of the vacuuming already), irrigation system winterized, doctors appointments, books back to the library on time. My kids mostly still want to sleep in my room--they are still scared of this three-story house. They have only ever lived in a one-story house. The dogs need walking, they need an end-of year boarding situation, and I need to see a dentist after two years ignoring that task. Life is busy. 

While I was chopping up the 4000000000000 apples that my kids picked during a Cub Scouts outing last weekend and tossing them into the pot for a year's worth of applesauce (I don't bake), I began to think about what makes me so happy here.  Besides the fall leaves. Besides the wild outdoors. Besides my awesome kids and dogs.  And I found the number one thing. And it has everything to do with ex-patriation and repatriation.

Confidence. It's the overwhelming sense of confidence here. It's knowing who to call when the chimney needs cleaning. It's knowing how to explain what is wrong at the doctor's office, or at Home Depot or at the car dealership. It's knowing that the Mass Pike sucks on Fridays. It's knowing that I will shortly be very tired of apples and pumpkins.

I am fluent in Portuguese. I can confidently say that. But I am not fluent in Brazil and maybe you can never be if you are not born there--Matthew Shirts, a longtime Brazil resident, might argue with me. But it's true. It took me 9 years living there to be able to phrase things in the subjunctive (polite) or in the third person (for older people) so that I didn't insult people. My phrasing, while mellowed, is forever American of Dutch background--I say what I mean and mean what I say. That is not Brazilian. 

I am confident chatting with the neighbors -- when they invite me over for dinner, they actually mean it. Not the Brazilian "we should have dinner sometime" which means roughly never.  I am confident that when I am told the price of something, that is indeed the price--not the price because I am a gringa, or because I haven't learned to negotiate or whatever it is. I never understood when I could negotiate in Brazil and when I couldn't. I probably have some enemies I am not aware of.

I am confident in who I am and how I can do things. I am taking these months left in 2014 to settle in, but I know that I can work again outside the home if I want to. Probably in a job that is less than full time, allowing me to spend healthy time with my kids and healthy time for myself. I never felt judged badly for staying at home withe the kids in Brazil--but nor were most Brazil jobs and careers made with parents in mind. Taking kids to private school, finding educated help for the kids in the afternoon, working until 9 pm because of bad traffic--São Paulo is tough for the two-career couple. I completely take my hat off to those who could make it work.

More than any other place I have lived since 1986 when I went to college--I feel at home. I am home. I loved living in San Francisco for five years after college--but it never felt like home. I liked Evanston, but it was not home. I never loved New Jersey and Miami where I lived at various moments. 

I love São Paulo, I truly do. But it was never comfortable, and never made me confident. So much I didn't and still don't understand about the politics, about the culture, about the people. I don't want to discourage anyone ever from taking an ex-patriate assignment--it was fantastic. It made me a more empathetic person and expanded horizons that a 2-week trip cannot possibly do. 

But the truth of the truth is: I am happy to be home.

100 days.