Learning English

Pegi asked me to proof-read a grant proposal, I marked a couple of places where the grammar was incorrect and changed a word that was awkward. Later, I'd come out of Sara office, like a deer in the headlamps, needing to pee and get a cup of coffee, after several hours of looking at things Carter had collected. I was distracted, in a time warp, Pegi saw me sitting on a chair in the common room, rolling a smoke, on my way outside for a break, wishing Sara and D were there, so we all could go to the alley and share a laugh, and asked me about a word. There's a playful tone to this, she punches me on the arm, and asks me about a specific usage. This happens fairly often, because I'm a word guy, and English is a deep language, with an absurd number of irregularities. I'm pretty good with it, alone with my dictionaries, two-fingering sentences late at night. It's always slow going, trying to say what you actually mean, and I'm sympathetic, more than that, I'm empathetic with the attempt to be accurate. She pronounces a word, 'wonderous', meaning 'full of wonder', and I spell out d-r-o-u-s, and cite several definitions. Dog and pony show. Trish cackles from her office that she knew I'd know it, and I'm wondering about Carter and his nude models. Over to the pub, after work, a pint, with a splash of whiskey on the side, watching sport highlights, muted, barely registering what was going on around me. Drove home the long way around, so I could drive up the creek and look at the dogwoods and redbuds. It's beautiful out there, striking, how different the landscape is with the addition of color. There's a trillium, down at the new bridal trail on Route 52, that's as large as a head of cabbage, it's almost unseemly. I have to think about that word 'bridal' for a few minutes: traces, harness, and horses. Even a bridal train makes a kind of sense, as a mare's tail. Sense is a relative term. Such that, when I see a sign that says 'Bridal Trail', I immediately think about having to clean up after the last wedding reception. Which is why my wedding was five people in a driveway in West Tisbury. I like that sentence, it might not be quite accurate, but it has a certain drive. Consonantal Drift. It's always unexpected, when I en-jamb letters in a way that becomes obvious; not meaning, so much as a time signature. I'm not sure what's being said. The way the smallest parts of language collect into words, the way we derive meaning from that. I was sitting out on the back porch watching the sun set, the light was broken into shafts by the tree-trunks, and the pollen was heavy, so the air was thick with motes swirling in convection currents. It was wondrous, as long as you could sit very still and watch the universe operate, but the minute you had to do something, get up and fry an egg, the shafted light became a distraction, an acid flash-back, and those charming motes were just another slug of snot in a couple of tissues from the box you keep close this time of year. The compost pile was ripe, because I had cleaned out the fridge, and who should appear but the vixen of my dreams, herself, fox-like in every way. Wary, with the new year, but willing to risk her appearance, for a shot at the mashed potatoes and gravy. She waited for me to roll her an apple, but I didn't have any, she, actually, was not even on my mind. Elliptical, but the point is, always have an apple at hand. Don't go there, I'm not ready to talk about vowels yet. I went inside feeling slightly guilty, and wrote you, it's what I do.