Category Archives: My Mistakes

A Hard Freeze’s A-Gonna Fall

Posted on May 16, 2013 | 5 Comments

. . . right in the middle of a doctor’s appointment you’re interpreting, at least if your day goes anything like mine did. It was just a routine allergies visit filled with words I hear and interpret almost daily: pollen, dust mite covers, saline solution, antihistamines, mold. So routine I almost do it on autopilot. And then the doctor said a phrase that jolted me awake:

hard freeze

Hard freeze? She had said something like, You can continue taking your medicines until the first hard freeze in November or so. And I went all Porky Pig, stuttering and stammering like an idiot. It’s so uncharacteristic of me to lose my cool, but lose it I did. Hard freeze? I think in ordinary circumstances I would have known what that was and recognized it, but it totally caught me off guard in this medical context. Hard freeze? A good description of what happened to my brain at that moment. Try as I might, I simply couldn’t thaw it in time.

Hard freeze? The more I scrambled, the further away I was getting from an answer. I was grasping at straws and not catching any of them. I couldn’t even picture a hard freeze in my mind–I just saw snowflakes on the ground every time I tried, and that wasn’t any help. Sometimes I wonder if I’m a city mouse or a country mouse, and this was one moment where it became embarrassingly obvious how removed I’ve become from the intricacies of nature and her rhythms. What takes place during a hard freeze, anyway? Or even just a freeze? I would settle for that. I can do a brain freeze, a hiring freeze, a credit freeze, a computer freeze– but an actual honest-to-goodness freeze? It had been far too long since I’d experienced one of those in English, and forget about Spanish. I lived in the city of eternal spring in Colombia. The book I’ve been reading is taking place in the sweltering heat of the Colombian coast. The music in my car right now is joropo from the Colombian plains–not much freezing going on in any of those places. I guess I’ll have to go scale some snow-capped mountains in Chile to authentically experience and understand a Spanish freeze.

Frosty rose

I ended up doing my best to explain the idea to the patient, but I was frosty–I mean fuzzy–on it myself. So, I came home with my tail between my legs and am now trying to do penance. I will never let myself be caught off guard by a freeze again–hard, soft, or anywhere in between.

It looks like a freeze is una helada. Looking on linguee.com, I see hard freeze translated as helada fuerte. Hopefully that would do the trick. Wiktionary defines a hard freeze as: A freeze sufficiently long and severe to destroy seasonal vegetation and lead to ice formation in standing water and hard ground. Three degrees Celsius below freezing is considered a threshold in the US. If I were interpreting at a gardener’s convention, sure, I’d make certain that everyone was clear on exactly what kind of freeze we were talking about. I don’t think meteorological exactness was necessary today, though. (But speak up if you don’t agree!)

I see that frost on the ground is escarcha. Ahh. Now I do have some experience with escarcha. When buying a refrigerator in Bogotá, I remember the units at the stores boasting on their tags that they were anti-escarcha– no frost. I’ve also heard the word used for glitter. Escarchar exists as a verb; a rather ugly one, to my mind. Thinking about freezers in Colombia, I remember once sticking a few pairs of new shoes stuffed with water-filled bags in my freezer in Medellín to stretch them out. When someone later opened it, their eyes bugged out of their head when they saw my footwear just chilling out in the freezer as if that were the most natural place for them to be. Crazy Americans.

Frostbite? Congelación, congelamiento, quemadura por frío, sabañones (chilblains). Even in English, it’s congelatio in medical terminology.

Frosty en español, Frosty in Spanish

(I’m sure there’s nothing like pairing an ice-cold Frosty with a hot, steaming Brosty [a popular name for fried chicken chains in Medellín].)

Brosty pollo Medellín

Jack Frost? Try Juanito Escarcha. Frosty the Snowman? Frosty el hombre de nieve, or Frosty el muñeco de nieve. Robert Frost? Roberto Escarcha. Easy peasy.

Just when I was starting to confiarme, it was good to get thrown for a loop. What was the last word to utterly discombobulate you?

(I know my play on words with A Man for All Seasons was a bit obscure, but if you don’t get the one in this title . . . ¡debería darte pena!)

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Posted in Interpreting, Jobs, Medical, Music, My Mistakes, Weather

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Those tricky verbs

Posted on April 14, 2013 | 11 Comments

Compared to the chaos that is English, I find Spanish to be so serene and tranquil. The supreme order and rationality that reign in its grammar, spelling, and pronunciation are beautiful. When I taught English in Colombia, I took pity on my students and tried to frequently remind them that I wasn’t the one who invented phrasal verbs or devised the diabolical spelling. Whereas English can be downright willy-nilly and illogical, Spanish just makes sense. And for this reason, I always think it’s interesting when the native speakers get it wrong.

There are many different kinds of errors we could look at, but lately I’ve been thinking about verb conjugations. Here are three examples that come to mind.

I went to a bachata festival in another city this weekend, and naturally I got to meet people from all over and speak a lot of Spanish. I met a guy from Spain named Gonzalo, and at one point I was telling him that someone didn’t satisfy me. Although we’d been speaking for several hours in Spanish without a hitch, I struggled to conjugate satisfacer in the preterite. ¿No me satisfació? ¿No me satisfajo? ¿No me satisfizo? With that last guess, satisfizo, I was half-joking, sure that there was no way it was actually that. Gonzalo wasn’t any help, either. Neither of us had the slightest idea, so for the sake of efficiency we decided to just say No me dejó satisfecha and leave it that. Good grief. Now that I’m back home and have looked it up, I see that it is satisfizo after all. Color me surprised, but I guess I shouldn’t be. I knew that satisfago is the first person present tense conjugation of satisfacer, so it makes sense that it mimics hacer‘s conjugations. I’ll make sure I have satisfizo at the ready the next time, though I have the feeling I’m going to sound like a pedantic little ñoña when I say it.

I also remember two language doubts that came up when I was in Colombia last summer. One time, I was with a large group of friends in Bogotá– there were probably about 40 people there. The person talking, Alejo, said something like, “I want us all to add something.” Quiero que todos añadamos algo. And then he wondered out loud if he’d said it correctly, commenting on how weird and wrong añadamos sounded. The room broke out into a linguistic shouting match, everyone taking sides. I think many people, perhaps even most, concurred that it sounded wrong, and thus couldn’t be right. Of course, it was right. If there’s one thing a half-fluent gringa can offer to a room full of native speakers, it’s hyper-correct Spanish (often to a fault).

Lay lie

Another time on that same visit, I was talking to my friend Fanny in Bogotá and asking for advice. She said to me, Yo solo sé que de lo único que nos vamos a arrepentir al final de nuestras vidas es de las cosas que no hicimos, que no intentamos y que no dijimos. I just know that the only thing we’re going to regret at the end of our lives are the things we didn’t do, didn’t attempt, and didn’t say. And I must have responded by saying something like, Yes, when we die . . . Sí, cuando nos muramos . . . I had to interrupt myself, though, and ask if that was how you say it. She wasn’t sure. We knit our brows, pursed our lips, and scratched our heads for a bit, only to give up. It seemed like it had to be right, but it sounded so strange. I asked my friends Lorena and Claudia about it later on, and neither of them was sure either. They both majored in philology and now work as teachers. So much for native speakers speaking perfectly. If they can’t be bothered, why should you? In the same way, I’ve never known if it’s swam or swum, hung or hanged, lay or lie, but that doesn’t stop me from speaking English confidently. Stop quibbling and start speaking.

What verbs have you heard native speakers get tripped up by? What verbs make you break out in hives? 

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Posted in My Mistakes, Verbs

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Te recuerdo mucho

Posted on January 4, 2013 | 5 Comments

Today, someone wrote me a short email and ended it like this:

te recuerdo mucho chaooooo

Since it was such a brief message, I read it quickly and didn’t dwell on it. I read that last part as “I remember you a lot” or “I remember you well.” I was about to go on with my day, when something gave me pause. I remember you a lot? We don’t say that in English. I remember you well? Surely that would be expressed better by Te recuerdo bien. In any case, it would be silly for this person to tell me out of the blue that she remembers me well. Of course she does. We’re extremely close, talk frequently, and have played very unique and unforgettable roles in each other’s lives. Remember me a lot? Se sobreentiende. As it would be impossible for us to ever forget each other, I knew that I must have been misunderstanding the phrase. It’s not like it would be the first time or anything.

Roque Dalton, te recuerdo mucho

Postal de Roque Dalton

So, what was she trying to express with te recuerdo mucho? That she thinks of me a lot. Ahhhh, now that makes so much more sense! The mucho refers to frequency, not extent. It’s like saying Te recuerdo muy a menudo. I think of you frequently. I bring you to mind often. I regularly recall memories of you. Another equally valid and natural option would be me acuerdo mucho de ti.

Carta de Octavio Paz

Carta de Octavio Paz, 1985

As you can see, you don’t have to have forgotten someone to remember them, at least not in Spanish. All they have to do is come to your mind. So, which way do you prefer? Would you rather be thought of or remembered? I think I like the Spanish way better. (I know, shocker.) While you’re turning it over in your mind, here’s another post I wrote a while back where I pondered another facet of recordar. You have to give the verb some credit–he’s much more interesting than you’d initially think.

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Posted in Emotions/Feelings, Love, My Mistakes, Phrases, Verbs

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La corrida de un catre

Posted on September 8, 2012 | 7 Comments

When you’re at a loss in a conversation or while with a group of people, the eternal conundrum is whether or not you should say something and interrupt to beg for help or stay quiet so as to not derail the flow and everyone’s fun (and also to save your pride). Is mum really the word? I also hate to bug people, constantly forcing friends to be teachers. It is a little hopeless when you can’t understand a single thing being said around you; elucidation is much more likely when it’s just one key word or phrase that you can’t for the life of you wrap your mind around. Here’s a phrase that set my mind spinning for a few days in yesteryear.

I was with two friends, Antonio and Alba, at Alba’s house. This was when I lived in Bogotá. We were talking about another friend of ours, Leidy, when one of them said, Ella no se pierde la corrida de un catre. 

?????

They explained to me what a catre is– a cot. Well, that didn’t help me a whit. They also explained what they were getting at– in so many words, Leidy was up for anything, very active, enthusiastic, pa’ las que sea (papá). I remained mystified. Confusing corrida with carrera (race), I thought: She doesn’t miss a race of cots. She’s so social that she’d even go to an event where different kinds of sleep accommodations race each other. Hmm. Then I thought of another possibility for perder: She doesn’t lose a race from a cot! Even if the poor girl is sick and cotridden, she will still find a way to win a race while prostrate. She’s that eager.  You’re all permitted to laugh hardily at my expense now. Go ahead–I swear I don’t mind. My most embarrassing stories are safely stored away in a fireproof safe, and they’re accompanying me to the grave.

Still, its real meaning escaped me. Enlightenment finally came, thank goodness, when I learned that correr can also mean to move something (like a chair), so corrida is just the noun form. Oh, and it doesn’t mean a race. So, taratarán, No se pierde (ni) la corrida de un catre means: You don’t miss the moving of a cot. That is, if one of your friends is scooting a cot from one side of the room to another, you are right there in the front row. You wouldn’t dream of missing such an exciting event. Nothing is too mundane to escape the honor of your presence, the most miniscule of events merit a party, and you’re incorrigibly keen as mustard. That is, you’re the complete opposite of me. I wouldn’t attend a cot repositioning if Gabriel García Márquez himself were inviting me. I’m more of a homebody, I guess.

Isn’t it great? No se pierde la corrida de un catre. What a wonderful phrase! I looked into it a little more, and it seems that it can be used to indicate that someone’s chismoso, gossipy, sticking their little nose into everything. Or you might just be a social butterfly. And I’m pretty sure it’s a Colombian phrase– it’s in the Bogotálogo, after all.

Making our way back to correr, I think this meaning of the verb is an awfully good one to know. Move something (over), pull something over, scoot something over.

Corre esa silla y te pongo al día.

Bring that chair over and I’ll catch you up on things.

¿Podemos correr la mesa un poco pa’lla? Estoy que casi no puedo respirar.

Can we scoot the table out a little? I almost can’t breathe here, it’s so close to me.

Correrse is also divinely useful for people and telling them to scoot over. A definite must-know for when you try to squeeze four people (or more) in the back of a taxi. And if you haven’t done this yet in Latin America, you’re not being social enough. (Yes, I know about the sexual meaning of correrse in Spain. It seems that it’s probably best to avoid it on the peninsula.)

Córrete pa’lla, vamos a estar un poco apretujados pero bueno. Falta poco para llegar a casa. 

Scoot over a bit. We’ll be a little squished, but oh well. We’ll be home soon.

Córrete pa’ca, apenas alcanzo a escucharte.

Scooch closer to me, I can barely hear you.

Two out of three tildes ain’t so bad… it’s hard to find memes with any.

A similar verb that I learned about only a few months ago is hacerse. I first heard it on a Yo soy Betty la fea episode. Then I heard it a few weeks ago when I was in Bogotá. This may mean everything; this may mean nothing. I’m still not exactly clear on how and when it’s used, so please shed some light if you can!

Niñas, niñas, se me hacen ahí y no me hagan tanta bulla.

Ladies, ladies, please stand over there and keep your voices down.

Hagámonos, así no nos mojamos mientras esperamos el bus.

Let’s move over there, that way we won’t get wet waiting for the bus.

Hazte a un lado, que no me dejas ver la tele. 

Move, you’re blocking the TV.

On the third to last page of García Márquez’ La hojarasca, I noticed hacer used transitively with this meaning. (Don’t pay any attention to my reading list–it’s hopefully behind the times.)

Rueda la silla, me toma de la mano y me hace a un lado para que puedan pasar los hombres . . . 

She pulls her chair, takes me by the hand, and tugs me aside so that the men can get by . . . (Gregory Rabassa’s translation)

What about you? Would you have understood that phrase if you’d heard it? How would you have understood it? What other colorful idioms have thrown you for a loop? Were you aware of these usages of correrse and hacerse? If you’re a native Spanish speaker, anything to correct, clarify, comment on or concur with? Can you give me any more examples with hacerse? What other verbs do you use for these actions?

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Posted in Describing People, Informal, My Mistakes, Phrases, Verbs

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You remind me of

Posted on September 1, 2012 | 6 Comments

Once you got out of the classroom and began accumulating some practical fieldwork in Spanish, you probably started picking up on different ways that recordar and acordarse are used. Very good. I’m sure we could share notes all day about their various uses, but I want to zone in on just one. Did you notice how to say that something reminds you of something else? So did I, but it took me a while to get it down pat. There was this pesky little de that kept throwing me off, and it was entirely a figment of my imagination. Maybe you’re haunted by the phantom de as well. Let’s cast him out together.

To say remind, recall, bring to mind, etc., you simply use recordar. Not the kind of reminding where you make sure that someone doesn’t forget something– I’m referring to when something awakens memories of something else. Easy enough. However, resist the great temptation to say recordar de. I know– in English we say, this book reminds me OF my second grade teacher. That Pitbull song reminds me OF an old boyfriend. What he said reminded her OF her first time on a boat. It’s so very understandable to want to say me recuerda de in Spanish, and it’s so very wrong. I did it for a long time, and it was a hard habit to stamp out once I realized my error. If you do it, nip it in the bud! I wouldn’t want you to be speaking otherwise flawless Spanish and have this one little two-letter word be your shibboleth.

Some examples culled from old emails:

Me recuerda el verso de Neruda: “Tal vez no seremos tan locos, tal vez no seremos tan cuerdos”. It reminds me of that line of Neruda’s: “Maybe we won’t be so crazy, maybe we won’t be so sane.”

Ahora que mencionas Cien años de soledad, eso me recuerda tu multa en la biblioteca, ¿ya la pagaste? Now that you mention Cien años de soledad, that reminds me of your library fine– did you pay it? (No, I never did. Soy una morosa descarada. So sue me.)

I got the idea for this post while listening to the song Esto no es una elegía by Silvio Rodríguez the other morning. Here are some of the things that the woman he wasn’t elegizing reminded him of.

Tú me recuerdas el prado de los soñadores,
el muro que nos separa del mar, si es de noche. 

Tú me recuerdas las cosas, no sé, las ventanas
donde los cantores nocturnos cantaban
amor a La Habana.

Tú me recuerdas el mundo de un adolescente,
un seminiño asustado mirando a la gente . . .
la maldición, la blasfemia de un continente
y un poco de muerte.

Of course, if the thing remembered is a person, you’ll have to say recordar a, but that’s just because of the personal a that always precedes people when they’re direct objects. Nothing special about recordar. 

Me recuerdas a mi hermano Drew.

You remind me of my brother Drew.

El olor de su loción le recordaba a su papá.

The smell of his cologne reminded her of her father.

I do so want to say recordar DE, and it takes some major self-control not to do so. Resist the urge. It’s worth it in the end.

Once you start thinking too hard about recordar v. acordarse and to remember v. to remind, I guarantee that your eyes will cross. It’s all the same thing, la misma vaina, but, oh, how they’re used differently. No wonder it’s challenging for those of us learning Spanish to stay on top of it; no wonder Spanish speakers learning English frequently have a terrible time keeping remember and remind straight. It’s always good to have a recorderis from time to time.

What about you? Did you get tripped up by this? Are there other examples of phrases where it’s difficult for you to avoid imitating English structures in your Spanish? If you’re a native Spanish speaker, anything to correct, clarify, comment on or concur with? 

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Posted in Music, My Mistakes, Phrases, Verbs

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