Language

This is a tough one.  MH talks to me...with me...in English, but her words are not often connected to one another.  As an English major, I am interested in the building of her sentences.  She corrects her grammar when it is wrong...although I would have no idea of the wrong-ness. She tries various forms of a word to get a feel for which is correct within the sentence, when actually none of them make sense.  The words she chooses are close in weight or tone to the ones that would fit the sentence, which is fascinating to me.  Tall=thick=deep.  I cannot imitate her, because she talks so quickly, and with certainty.  It is her own language, and there is a sense of it I am gaining, but proificiency seems far down the road.  Once last week, when she was telling me a story, we both laughed at the same thing, and laughed much harder than usual...we shared something fabulous....but I had no idea what it was.  Still, it felt wonderful.  I do not understand her jokes, but it is clear to me that she has a good sense of humor.  There is a casual quality about her that I like, and the ease with which we spend time together is growing.

I have always been so connected to language...to literature, to poetry, to songwriting.  To foreign languages.  My interaction with M leaves me both with a sense of lack and intrigue. I am tired when I get home after just 4 hours.  The concentration is intense.  She demands it.  She deserves it.  She appreciates it.  I truely feel that.  She knows I am not just elder-sitting her.  It takes about 20 minutes for me to settle into her cadence, and off we go about our day together.