When words fail would-be philologists, the feeling is akin to a linguistic trespass. The search for meaning, clarity, succinctness and le mot juste is not too common in daily American life. We use language with such harshness and lack of forethought. Those who do take the time to reflect before speaking are often drowned out by the whitenoise of insufferable "talkers", many of whom seem to be unaware of their volume and rudeness. Be it a co-worker blathering outside my cube walls or a retail associate at a chain store, I am reminded daily that Americans too frequently assume they are experts on every subject or that their conversation or monologue will engross every passer-by. The amount of vulgar personal information I have recently overheard could kill a horse. Maybe that is the price of an immature, open society- what we gain in personal freedom and so-called choice, we lose in basic courtesy, diplomacy, tact and decorum. Our individual rights are so valued or at least flaunted that we would rather honk our SUV's horns at the car allowing a pedestrian to pass in the crosswalk than to be held up for 10 seconds. If we can't yell our point in someone's face, that is the recourse. Brash, obnoxious lauts are constantly lauded for having the guts "to say what we are all thinking". Well, not all of us are thinking that and if we quiet down for a few minutes, some of the really great minds will have a chance to speak up and we may learn something from the talent that lies below the surface.

Language has come to the forefront in my thinking, once again. Why is it so important to speak correctly and articulately, when most of us agree it usually lacks the real communication we so desperately need when feeling is involved? How can there be such a plethora of synonyms when what we really crave is the touch of a hand, a caring gaze, maybe a nibble on the neck? Is it because hearing is the last of the evolutionary senses and human language came so late in the game? Do we often search for the simplicity of mom's caress on the forehead, a mere hushing sound? Why was I so able to understand my infant son, when I knew full well he didn't speak a lick of English or French? When does our fall from the grace of human comprehension actually occur? One beautifully written book I can recommend is by Dean Falk, Finding Their Tongues: The Rise of Motherese and How it Led to the Development of Language, Music and Art. This anthropologist's work on the evolution of mother and infant communication made me reconsider what it means to be a mommy and philologist, translator and learner. Not only was I completely enthralled by my son, but I was also observing him as a linguist might. In the past two weeks, he has finally begun to repeat two-syllable words in English and French, making his father and me truly proud. Then again, he also has to hug and kiss a girl or two when I pick him up from daycare. Yeah, Dad's French and Mom's a flirt. God help us all.

Michigan winter weather has come with its icy vengeance, retribution for amazingly warm days in November. The 3 main food groups are now carbs, chocolate and alcohol. I am currently imbibing. How else am I going to write?

The toddler turns two in two weeks and then we leave for France, where the 3 main food groups will be presented in style for Christmas and New Years. We haven't celebrated the holidays there in several years and it's really amazing how I integrate those traditions so readily with my own. Maybe it's a cultural chameleon act, maybe it's a search to be different.

During my coursework to teach ESL, my professor for Teaching Culture asked me if I felt bi-cultural, and I had to say no. While I love French culture, the language, history and my in-laws and friends, I know that I am the "other". I still make social gaffes and I cannot explain away certain things. Certain situations cause me great discomfort and at some point "Je perds mon latin".

Conversely, my fellow Americans find me an oddity, since I spent such a long time and great deal of money to study two foreign languages. Merely stating I love languages never seemed to satisfy those who haven't done so. What good would it do me to study French literature? The good, of course, was monetary. How could I make a living from that? How is that a serious subject? No matter how I would try to articulate my reasoning, the point wasn't made. I wasn't a serious adult all of those years. Why would I want to teach languages that would be useless to my students? "You only need English, after all. The whole world speaks it , and I won't travel where they don't." Some such argument was used against my choice for my future. It's interesting how we Americans always talk about freedom and then feel free to shove our opinions down someone's throat. I was often shocked by the narrow-minded, nearly xenophobic statements.

I am no longer so naive as to think that my intellectual pursuits should be taken for what they are, MINE. Happily, I am older, better spoken, more confident and less worried about pleasing the riff raff. And in the last 18 years, French has been my main source of income, to the dismay of some. And in the meantime, 2 foreign languages have opened doors to the homes and lives of many wonderful people. And no, they didn't all "just speak English". The richness of my experiences through travel and international work are not quantifiable. Rather, the beauty marks are imprinted in my memory and they guide my thinking and behavior toward that intangible "other" I keep meeting in various locales, exotic and domestic.

My son will be bilingual and bi-cultural if it's the last thing I do.

And you? Do you have a heritage language? Is it an integrated part of your life? Was it an embarrassment or impediment? How can I help my little one understand his two distinct countries? It's new territory for me.

Haven't posted in some time, as I am sure no one is reading this and I am still hiding behind an easily identified persona. Currently, I am in a great translation gig-automotive of course. In a seriously happy coincidence, the major language at the company is my minor-German. In my search to find fluent speakers of German, I have run across some seriously intellectual and thoughtful people. We don't always agree on everything, but it's not a problem. All I ask is for open minds or hearts. Luckily, I found both in a number of people, making the work day and lunch much more bearable after being away from the field and working life for a lengthy amount of time. And the best part is I now read bilingual editions of Rilke.

For various reasons, identity in all its rich meaning has been on my mind lately. Beyond the obvious professional and national identities, it must be one of our more serious preoccupations.

In the past few days, the newscasts have shown townhall meetings interrupted by screaming and name-calling. Every time I hear a quote from talkshows the words evil, facist, socialist, communist and Nazi come up. There is no deep analysis, no classic debate, no actual quotations from current bills in Congress, merely a simplistic label, meant to terrify and vilify. Everyone on the left is anti-American.

It's a completely disturbing trend, not all that new, but in an age of instant information and messages limited to 30 seconds or 250 characters, it sets us up for more screaming and no understanding.

So, back to identity, I think Americans enjoy harkening back to their heritage. I myself am a complete mutt and have added French to my son's lineage. I wonder if any of it will matter to him later. After all, how do you divide 1/168th Cherokee by two? I can't name that great grandmother, but I have seen her photo. In a pluralistic society, it should cease to matter, but it still does.

We Americans wear t-shirts and have bumper stickers letting the world know our backgrounds: "Kiss me I'm Irish"; "Italians are better lovers", etc. The architectural styles of homes in my neighborhood are named for some fanciful notion of Europe, such as Italianate, English tudor, French provincial, Dutch colonial and Greek revival. Actual people from those actual countries must shrug and snigger.

Mr. Horton over at the Union Herald reminded me of linguistic identity in a post about teaching ESL. I am currently reading Pierre Bourdieu's Langage et pouvoir symbolique and need more time to digest it before I can comment intelligently on language groups and dialects. Maybe I'll set up a Twitter account and lambast that damned socialist sociologist.

Tonight I attended my hometown's Homecoming Celebration with one of my first friends from school. Not only was Rick Springfield playing live, but my trip back to Ferndale was far enough west that I got an Ann Arbor station on the radio which was playing Nina Blackwood's New Wave Nation. Now before the gigantic antennae on Eight Mile Road interfered with the reception, I was completely back in high school on a serious nostalgia trip. I have read that our favorite music through life is what we listened to from age 14-22. It's sad, but pretty true. It at least takes us back to a certain time and place, when your choice in music trumped class and political persuasion. Today I know for sure that people my age are involved in marketing at an executive level, as I hear so many songs from that time on commercials and in films. I wonder if my mix tapes would bring in some cash, especially since I rocked out to the Sparks "I Predict", which appropriately faded on the last lines "... and this song will fade out." Ah, ninth grade. Bartender, a little more rose, please.

Just back from a quick trip to Michigan's upper penninsula and am awaiting the arrival of my sister-in-law and her husband from France today. It's been a few days of mini family reunions and that has made me a bit nostalgic and happy that I actually like my family.

We all know family relations are challenging and our friendships sometimes are closer and more important. I have seen really tight families and others who barely speak. I see people repeating the same mistakes and traumas they have always lived with and think there must be some comfort in the familiar, no matter how disturbing that may be.

The summer is usually the time for weddings, graduation parties and reunions. Have you had any lately? How were they? Do you have coping skills or advice for those who dread these events, yet attend them anyway? How much has family affected your outlook, career, personality? What about the "orphan fantasy" we see in literature and film? Should we all raise ourselves, with some Annie- plucky spirit?