If you stumble on this post first, go read the one before it. I can wait.

Ok, all caught up? Good, cause this is what I was originally going to post under that title:

In Nederlands voor anderstaligen niveau één (Dutch for other languages level one), my instructor at one point was discussing different types of shops and what you purchase in them. For example, you go to the bakkerij(bakery) to buy brood (bread) or the slagerij if you’re looking for some vlees (meat) or kip (chicken), etc. When we got to the supermarkt (do I really need to translate that one?) we started discussing fruits (vruchten) and vegetables (groenten). So you have your apfel, your pampelmoes, your banaan, your ananas and so forth, but then the teacher drew a bunch of little circles in the shape of an upside down triangle and wrote “druiven” next to it. Well no shit sherlock, that must be the word for grapes! She asked, “Wat kleur zijn de druiven?”

Ooh, ooh, I knew this! I raised my hand and said proudly, in my best Flemish, “Rood en groen.”

“Nee.”

Huh? Druiven aren’t green or red? Well what the hell are they then??

The correct answer was witte druiven of blauwe druiven (white or blue).

Well damn, I must be pretty slow cause that picture sure looked like grapes to me but druiven must be something else, some other kind of clustering berry of some sort. Then the teacher caught my disgruntled face (trust me, if I’m confused it’s not hard to see it) and explained further that we make wine from druiven, so yes indeed, druiven are grapes.

White and blue grapes…riiight, damn colorblind Belgians.

So I took this argument home to CB, a most formidable opponent when it comes to comparing cultural/language stupidities.

“Grapes simply aren’t blue or white. They are green or red. Maybe black or purple…I can concede to black or purple, but white and blue? No…no that’s just dumb.”

“Well, we say they’re white or blue, that’s just how it is.”

“But green grapes aren’t white.”

“Do you call it white wine or green whine?” A look of triumph from CB as I stumbled over my next protest.

pause

“Do you call it red wine or blue wine?” Touché salesman!

So yeah, what do you all think? My Belgian readers please feel free to join this discussion as well.

What colors are grapes?

I have a final exam in two weeks.

I have an “interview” with my instructor to test my oral communication a week from Thursday.

I have my midterm tomorrow morning.

I should be much more nervous than I am. I think my potential stress* has been fried. No really, my body is entirely out of cortisol and I am chemically unable to feel anxiety. Hell, I should be across the room hunched over my workbook right now, scurrying to do all the extra exercises and rewriting the accursed list of irregular imperfectum verbs rather than sitting here blogging, but I have to write tonight. I overloaded Holly’s comment section a few hours ago with some words of encouragement that mutated into a three paragraph commentary on Starbucks, the universe, and everything (that one’s for you Cablegirl).

I really was studying just now, and off and on throughout the evening as well. I made a comprehensive list of when to use the “bijzin” sentence structure (one of many structures that has no English equivalent…those are fun to grapple mentally, let me tell you) complete with examples for each situation. I was just about to begin the extra exercises in the back of the workbook when I found myself pulled to the keyboard by an almost physical force (well duh, ok, my feet are a physical force, yes, but I’m speaking in terms of intangible urges…pardon me if my thoughts wax L’Engle-ian this evening. I’m home alone, it’s dark and quiet and that usually leads to this train** of thought) and a desperate need to write. It’s a rare feeling and typically when I follow it I produce something charged with energy, something dark and poetic and full of the fever that has pushed my fingertips into motion over the keyboard. I’m not sure what ignites this almost posessed state of mind other than it is usually the tip of a complicated iceberg moving just beneath the surface that occasionally breaks the thin grey tissue in my skull, leaving a tender, aching ribbon of confusion in it’s wake.

I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve returned to poems that I have written and not recognized the words. Amazing, touching creations that I can’t recall composing. And the thing is, I’m relieved that this evening’s inclination has only led to a blog post. I’m heaving a huge sigh on the inside because the music I have playing is starting to shatter the torrent of thoughts that were pouring out of my fingertips. That huge mountain of ice under the surface is not a good thing. The geysers of creativity that spout from the punctures it leaves are the only, and I mean only positive side effect. The rest is ugly and something that I fought to control for a long time. I keep reminding myself lately that I finally, finally have it all together. I look at where I am and I’m proud and hopeful and happily in love. But all those things are simultaneously eroding all the coping mechanisms that I spent years installing in the pitfalls and bear traps of my conscious mind. But there is no poetry tonight, only this post; my life is still sweet and good and driven by the desire to love and help and hug and care for others. Thank you, my following, for allowing me to struggle out loud.

*according to the study of thermodynamics, there are two types of energy: potential and kinetic. Potential energy is energy that has not yet been used while kinetic energy is energy that is in use. If you run out of potential energy there can be no kinetic energy. Just remove the word “energy” and replace it with “stress” and I think it’s pretty self explanatory.

**Did I spell that correctly? One of my pet peeves is when people spell expressions incorrectly, for instance when people write “for all intensive purposes”. That’s wrong, it’s “for all intents and purposes.” So if I did that with train of thought, please correct me post haste.