Tongue tied: Brain cancer as a stealthy thief
A striking characteristic of growing up in southern Ontario, more specifically in Georgetown and London, in the 1950s and 1960s, was exposure to how my father handled the English language, especially idioms and expressions. Clearly Dad mimicked the movie actors and radio talk of his day, so that a typical Jim McBryde diatribe would be peppered with gems like these:
“ You’re darn tootin’. I can’t win for losin’. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles. I mean, I’m in the dog house again with his nibs, but I’ll fix his little red wagon. Everything’s gonna be hunky dory. He may have a lot of scratch, the whole kit and caboodle, but – Holy mackeral there, Andy – no tickee no washee.”
Then he’d say to any little kid in the vicinity, “Who won the race?”
“What race?” the unsuspecting tot would ask tentatively.
“Why, the human race!” Dad would triumphantly reply.
Being raised by a colourfully verbose father marked me for life. It determined my career choices, as an English teacher, a radio storyteller, and a translator, as well as my passion for words.
As an Anglo linguaphile, I’ve always loved the way my wife Anne deals with our tongue, which is the fifth of seven languages she’s had to master, the others being German dialect, High German, Slovak, Czech, French, and Spanish.
Anne and her family fled to Canada in 1968, in the wake of the Soviet invasion of her home country of Czechoslovakia. None of them spoke a word of English when they arrived in Vancouver in the fall of 1968.
The Russians are coming/ Les Russes sont à nos portes August 22, 1968 – Robert McBryde
When I met Anne in 1979, she still felt linguistically insecure and would make the most adorable “errors” when using idiomatic phrases … or simply not know what certain expressions meant.
https://buildconfianza.com/challenge-of-idioms-for-language-learners/
My father’s monomaniacal monologues gave her immense pleasure; becoming part of our garrulous family, she felt like she’d hit the linguistic jackpot.
My heart breaks as the brain cancer which has invaded her grey matter like a venomous burglar begins to steal away her language proficiency.
My wife Anne has brain cancer/ Mon épouse Anne est atteinte d’un cancer du cerveau – Robert McBryde
Once again, like the helpless girl who arrived on these shores nearly 57 years ago, she finds herself running into a semantic brick wall.
But she hasn’t lost the soulful twinkle or enduring self-irony that keeps her standing tall, firmly on her own two feet.
As her primary caregiver, I’m constantly being asked to describe her case by hordes of attentive medical specialists who are trying mightily to keep her afloat.
Recently, after one such session, Anne gave me a long, puzzled look and opined, “Boy, you’re sure long winded.”
Your friend,
Robert
https://robertmcbrydeauthor.com/
Bon courage Bob and Anne:
I’m terribly sorry you have to go through such a difficult trial in your old age, although I must admit that old age, even without, such difficulties, is not for sissies. There are always trials and tribulations, as we go through our supposed “golden years,” a cruel euphemism, if you ask me!
Of course, the tragic political situation is enough to depress the most hardy of souls!
We thought that humanity and common decency had won the day and the slavery of human beings was a thing of the past; but here we are, facing AI digital slavery and a return to feudalism and once again, the oligarchs have won. They have hijacked our governments and are using our elected representatives as puppets in their quest for unlimited greed.
Bon courage. Nadia