Bowing to the inevitable...

After two years—and the consumption of what was probably the most expensive produce in my life—I finally took Galina's advice and uprooted the jungle that had been my "postage stamp" garden in the back yard, behind the garage. It was fun, but it was a time sink for which I was never able to generate sufficient momentum to learn more about, or to maintain sufficient momentum to keep going, over the long term.

Cheers...

Language learning...

For some reason, I've always felt that expressions of desire, on the part of offspring and offspring of said offspring, to learn Russian has been done to sort of humor me, as if I'm supposed to give a little sigh, smile, and think pleasant thoughts of a family "tradition" being carried forward.

What it does is tell me that people have not been listening to to what I've been saying.

I frankly do not care what foreign language anyone cares to study, as long as it happens.

My granddaughter is now in her sixteenth year, and she has yet to be exposed to a foreign language. From the appearance of a postcard she recently sent me, she has also yet to be exposed to the art of cursive writing.

"There are more important things," educators might say, but frankly, I cannot think of what they might be.

The motto of my Live Journal—The limits of my language are the limits of my worldis a line from Wittgenstein. I think few would argue the truth of the observation, in the abstract, but when the rubber meets the road, nobody seems prepared to teach language, or even basic writing skills in one's own native tongue. And so quite narrow limits are created.

Anyone who says you can get along just fine by printing your way through whatever it is you find yourself wanting (less and less) to write is not doing civilization any favors. If you cannot write without discomfort—if you cannot read without effort—you will spend your life neither writing nor reading, but you will be in an ideal position to be relegated to the role of consumer of whatever those who can read and write choose to let you see.

And what is particularly hurtful is, that the educational system is lulling folks into what I believe is a false sense of security by awarding high marks for pretty much showing up to class.

That said, what really hurts is the disappointment and, yes, a certain degree of disgust I reserve for myself, for not being there and not being a curmudgeonly old fart who pushed and shoved and insisted the grandkids acquire such "outdated" skills.

Is it too late? I don't know. Things are what they are.

We can pick it up from there.

Cheers...