matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

Payment Required :: Salvation, Mercy, and Logic, Part II

This is part two of a discussion on the Christian notion of salvation. Christians and apologists are encouraged to comment.

Willful Expose, in response to the last post, summarized the Christian understanding of salvation in fairly traditional terms. In other words, in terms of justice and omnipotence. She argued thusly:

God is omnipotent in that he is all-powerful, but not that he can “do anything” per se. For instance, God cannot sin, because sin is not in his character. It is because of this same character that God requires payment for sins. That payment had to be someone perfect, and only Jesus could be perfect.

Not to pick on Ms. Expose, but I’m not sure I see the logic behind connecting

  • God not being able to sin, and
  • God requiring payment for sins.

This “requiring payment for sins” is not an attribute of God, then, it’s simply a fact about it. I require my students to make up missed work within two weeks, but that requirement is not an attribute of my character, and therefore I can change it as I see fit. The same would be true of God. He might be perfect, but he doesn’t have to “require payment for sins.”

Further, it’s not logical why that payment had to be from someone perfect, someone “innocent.” If innocence is required, then I would think all the infants who have died in the world would more than make up for it.

Ah, but there’s a rub in that — “Original Sin,” a topic I’ll return to in part three on Monday.

Middle Ages

Your Honor, the State would like to conclude its case with two exhibits:

Exhibit A:

My client and his recently spent a weekend in Krakow. With Advent coming, that Saturday night was the last big party night for a while, and they were supposed to go to a club opening with some friends. It all fell through, and everyone ended up going back to my client's friends' apartment and having a small "impreza" there.

The aforementioned friend lives with five roommates; each of them has a girlfriend--throughout the evening, people were coming and going. The thought of living in such conditions was enough to make my client's steadily-approaching-middle-age entire body queasy. No privacy; no silence; an apartment always full of strangers; never pausing, let alone stopping -- my client got goosebumps just thinking about it.

Exhibit B:

When younger, my client swore to himself that he would never let these two sentences fall from his lips:

  • "That's not music!"
  • The stuff I listened to growing up -- now that's music.

And yet.

And yet my client has said those very sentences -- thankfully not to anyone but his wife -- about techno, which my client refers to as "that abomination, that assault to the ears."

Your Honor, on the basis of the case presented, it's clear that Middle Age is preparing a full attack on my client, and I, as his counsel, am forced to respectfully request a restraining order be placed upon Middle Age.

Salvation, Mercy, and Logic, Part I

The paths to salvation in the Christian religion are almost as numerous as the denominations. Fundamentalists like to talk about "once saved, always saved," and the moment they assured their salvation by "accepting Jesus" as their "Lord and Savior." Catholics talk about their "hope" for salvation and the necessity of living a Godly life.

What all semi-traditional Christians agree on, is that salvation, whatever the form, is

  • necessary (It's often framed in terms of "Original Sin" -- the notion that humans have inherited a blemished, sinful soul from Adam and Eve's rebellion in the Garden of Eden.); and,
  • available only through Jesus.

Coupled with the dual nature Jesus supposedly possessed -- completely human and completely divine -- this raises the question of whether Jesus was affected by Original Sin.

Quotation marks are not meant, in this piece, to indicate derision but rather semi-direct quotes of traditional Christian formulations.

Catholics solve this problem with the dogma of the Immaculate Conception: the notion that Mary was born free of Original Sin, and therefore did not pass it on to Jesus' human nature. Protestants, as far as I know, barely discuss it.

It highlights the one of the strangest aspects of Christian theology, namely the convoluted nature of God's act of salvation. It's a many-stepped process:

  1. Jesus had to live a perfect life and therefore not "deserve" the penalty of death.
  2. Jesus had to die in an excruciating manner.
  3. Believers have to know of Jesus' sacrificial death.
  4. Believers have to do something about this knowledge (and at this point, Catholicism and Protestantism part ways significantly).

And all this for forgiveness?

It just seems an unnecessarily complicated method for an omnipotent God essentially to say, "That's okay -- I forgiveyou." And not only that -- it's conditional. The condition is Jesus. Without Jesus, Christianity says, you're unacceptable to God.

It seems an omnipotent God would just forgive -- simple as that.

"Dad, I'm sorry -- I screwed up."

"That's okay son."

The older I get, the more liberal I get in my theological outlook. Once a staunch atheist, I now admit that there are a great many things that are not explainable in a purely material framework, and I've reached a point that I can honestly say, "Who knows -- there might be a God." But one thing is for sure -- if there is a God, and he/she/it is one tenth of what theists of any and all stripes say about their God, he won't be doing any damning. He would be too wise, too patient, and too loving for that.

In other words, if there is a God, then there's a heaven, and if there's a heaven, we're all going there.

Glenn Gould :: Goldberg Variations (1981)

This is the first of several posts inspired by Wallfahrtslied. It's an effort to share with others some music that has changed my life for the better -- music I couldn't imagine living without. Desert Island Discs.

Glenn Gould recorded Bach's Goldberg Variations twice. The first time was in 1955, and those "in the know" refer to it as "revolutionary." He revisited the Variations in 1981, and this recording is the one I prefer. The 1955 Variations is too showy. While it's a masterful recording, it's still a bit immature. Despite the light touch, the music seems to be music performed by young man. It's excited, and passionate. The 1981 Variations shows a more mature Gould. The tempi are more controlled, and not to mention slower. But the biggest difference is the more human feel to the 1981 Variations. While the 1955 recording is far from robotic, it somehow lacks a beating heart that the 1981 version provides. It's more thoughtful, and with an occasional tragic whisper.

Both versions have been released under the title State of Wonder, and include a "radio drama"/interview with Gould just after having re-recorded the Variations in 1981.

Of course at the heart of both Gould's recordings are the twenty-five variations themselves. The variations express as many emotions as you can imagine: flirty youthfulness, mature joy, deep, resounding sadness -- it's all here. It's the human experience compressed into sixty some minutes of music.

You can hear excerpts from both recordings at NPR's web site .

Slip Sliddin’ Away

In the small village where I live, they don’t really scrape the snow off the roads until enough cars have driven over it to turn it into ice. By the time it all begins melting in March, it can be six or so inches thick. The roads underneath are, by then, a pot hole mess.

They don’t really shovel the sidewalks either — even in the neighboring town. From late November to early March, then, we all slip through our days rather than walking. No matter what kind of soles you have, nothing really helps when you’re walking on ice.

If someone slips and falls, well, it’s just her bad luck and worse balance. It’s not the shopkeeper or home owner’s fault for not having cleared the snow in front of his property.

Tabulaphobia

is, I’m assuming, a newly-coined (passive voice alert — subtly tooting my own cliche) fear: fear of blackboards. Rather, fear of cleaning blackboards. The joys of Iraq never cease.

Imagine having a serious discussion over who would eventually wipe clean the blackboard?

Got Soul? (Or “Where do we hang the thing?”)

I’ve been thinking about the idea of the soul lately, and I keep coming back to one question: what is the soul? Christian theology teaches us that the soul is the “real” us, the software, and that our bodies are just “temporary dwelling places” – the hardware. The “real” me is not something physical, but something spiritual.

But what is it? Where can we hang the soul in the body? The soul is synonymous with consciousness in many ways, but consciousness and all it entails (memories, emotions, personality, etc.) is merely a load of very complex chemical reactions going on in our brains. Brain imaging is mapping more and more of what we traditionally associated with the soul and showing these things are just that – physical things.

Furthermore, if the real “I” is a soul, how can things that seem to be so basic to the real “I” (personality, sense of humor, emotions, etc.) be affected by physical things? When someone gets drunk, their personality usually alters a bit; when one takes an anti-depressant, it changes an emotion; and of course, there are plenty of other examples. If the real “I” is a soul, then how does this happen?

A related question would be when the soul enters the body. Catholicism says it’s at the moment of conception. Steven Pinker, in The Blank Slate, writes,

Sometimes several sperm penetrate the outer membrane of the egg, and it takes time for the egg to eject the extra chromosomes. Where is the soul during this interval? Even when a single sperm enters, its genes remain separate from those of the egg for a day or more, and it takes yet another day or so for the newly merged genome to control the cell. So the “moment” of conception is in fact a span of twenty-four to forty-eight hours (225).

And what about fertilized eggs that split and become twins? When does that extra soul enter into the picture? And what of the phenomenon when two fertilized eggs merge into one embryo which, as Pinker writes, “develops into a person who is a genetic chimera: some of her cells have one genome, others have another genome.”

I posed this question on Catholic.com’s discussion forums, but I didn’t get any satisfactory responses.

One individual responded quoting F. J. Sheed’s Theology for Beginners:

Our ideas are not material. They have no resemblance to our body. Their resemblance is to our spirit. They have no shape, no size, no color, no weight, no space. Neither has spirit, whose offspring they are. But no one can call it nothing, for it produces thought, and thought is the most powerful thing in the world—unless love is, which spirit also produces.

The soul is like an idea – you can’t measure the color or size of an idea, so the argument goes, and so it’s immaterial. Not quite.

What is an idea if it’s not remembered, recorded somehow? If I have the idea, it’s recorded in my brain in a sequence of proteins and such; if I write it down, it’s recorded on paper; if I tell another person, it’s protein sequences in her brain. But it always depends on something physical. An idea must have a physical medium to survive, else it ceases to exist in a practical way.

This is the same analogy Chuck Missler uses when he talks about humans, hardware, and software. He asks, “How much does a piece of software weight?” He points out that you can load a floppy disk or CD with data, weigh it, and it still has the same weight as it did empty. This is intended to prove the non-material nature of software, which of course is the soul in humans, according to this analogy. But it suffers from the same problem as the “color of an idea” analogy. Software also depends on something physical – a magnetized plate of metal called a hard drive; radio waves as its transmitted from a wireless modem; the scrap of a napkin on which the programmer scribbled a particular algorithm.

And so this is indeed not a proper analogy for the soul, for the soul is not supposed to be dependent on anything physical. Ideas and software are dependent on their storage mechanisms. The soul isn’t supposed to have a storage mechanism.

Blinded by science? Most likely not — probably just not interested in questioning a taken-for-granted belief.

Tom’s Diner

English has twelve tenses; Polish has three. It’s a nightmare for beginning students to keep all that straight. We spend a lot of time drilling, doing “boring” written work, etc. but from time to time, I’m able to think of something completely original and — dare I think — even entertaining.

It happened one evening that I was planning lessons, thinking, “I need a good, fun lesson for present continuous,” and wondering what I would come up with. (Present continuous, for those of you who don’t know, is, for example, “I’m reading a book at the moment.”) I put some music on, sat down, and began planning.

Gradually, I found my attention drawn to the music I’d begun planning, and I sat there, jaw open, as I listened to the perfect present continous lesson (not to be confused with the not-so-perfect present perfect continuous lesson) — Suzanne Vega’s “Tom’s Diner.” It had everything going for it: the whole thing is in present continuous; it’s very popular in Poland, especially the DNA mix; the vocabulary is relatively simple.

In the intervening years, it’s become one of my most successful lessons.

It goes like this:

  1. Students get a worksheet that has the lyrics printed out, but without the verbs, and in the incorrect order. For each verb, they’re provided the necessary infinitive, the tense necessary, and any additional information/words (like “not” or “already”).
  2. After students take fill in the verbs, we check them all, and make sure they have a basic understanding of the meaning.
  3. Then, I just put the song on and watch — who is going to catch on? Eventually, I point out that it’s the worksheet we’ve been working on and tell them that the next task is to put the stanzas in the correct order. We talk about what the song means and make sure they understand it all, or, they translate it all for homework — depending on how much time we have.
  4. The next day, they’re divided into groups and prepare to act out the song in time with the music — a live music video, I tell them. This takes only a few minutes, and then we do something else. The actual video is the next day.
  5. Show time — and some classes take it very seriously and come in dressed up, with props and materials.

This was the most recent “performance” of the video. The day we were preparing the skits, several people were absent, who were then not absent when we were to perform it. What to do with them? Simple — they were a doo-wap chorus, and they even danced.

Most of the time, it’s very rewarding being a teacher. Sometimes, it’s simply fun, as well.

The Magic of Zamfir

Yesterday at school there was an unexpected “surprise” — a concert. Zamfir came, and brought his whole music-lite ensemble: a keyboard player. They began with a few classical-esque selections, but once the keyboard player got the programmed drum beats and bass going, there was no stopping them.

Many of the students were having trouble sitting still to such stirring music and would half leapt into the aisle to go Polka mad but for the fact that everyone was crammed like “herrings in a jar.” So they just tapped there feet and smiled merrily.

Some, moved by the music’s depth and power, sat in awe — I think I saw a tear or two trickle.

A couple of students whispered to me, “This is great, sir, but I sure wish we were back in class!”

Of course, ninety percent of this is made up. Ninety-nine, more like it. There was no Zamfir, no Polka sparkle in the eyes, no longing to go back to lessons. There was a concert, and it did include a young man of about twenty-five playing the pan flute while a woman accompanied. And the music was as artificial as you have probably been imagining.

I’m all for broadening students’ cultural awareness, but not in this way. Introducing them to such music as a way to get them interested in styles of music other than techno or metal (the two dominant preferences among my students) is doomed from the start, mainly because the students agreed to go (each class had the option of going or not, but they had to go as an entire class) in order to get out of lessons. Of course, I would have done the same thing at their age. Also, just giving a concert is not going to engage a sixteen-year-old male in any meaningful way if it’s the music he’s not used to, and he wrinkles his nose on first hearing it. Better to have a shorter concert, interspersed with explanations of the songs — their history, the period they come from, etc. — followed by perhaps short discussion afterward of the music. “Yes, that particular song did have a bird song quality to the melody. It’s because…” And for Mahler’s sake, don’t let it be simply a way to get out of class. That accomplishes nothing.

I try to introduce my students to various types of music throughout the year. One lesson I like to do toward the end of the year involves at least five different songs. It’s for intermediate students, and I simply have them do some free-writing (that’s where you just write uncritically what comes to mind — like most blogs, I would imagine) while I put on various songs. “Imagine you’re at the cinema,” I tell them, “and as the movie begins, this is the song you hear. What’s the movie about? What do you see happening?” And then I put on an incredibly eclectic mix: Ben Folds Five, Mozart’s requiem, Albert King, Ella Fitzgerald, and Johnny Cash come to mind as I recall past lessons.

The reaction is generally bad.

But at least once I held them in rapt attention. While doing some quite writing work (not related to the lesson described above), I put on Bruce Springsteen’s The Rising and told them that much of this album was connected to 9/11. Students who were usually squirmy sat and wrote quietly, while others just listened to the music, hands on folded arms, eyes wide open, utterly still.

I’m still at a loss, though, as to how effectively to broaden students’ musical awareness.

Shake and Freeze

The oddest thing for an inhabitant of Poland to be writing: we had an earthquake yesterday at around 6:20 in the evening.

It was a slight little hiccup by most standards: 3.6 on the Richter scale. Kinga was at home and said she felt the building shaking for about five seconds. I, on the other hand, was walking home and felt nothing. Reportedly in the nearest town, some houses were shaken enough that books fell from the shelves, and on the other side of the Tatra Mountains, Slovakians reported having felt it.

No reports of damage, but of course everyone’s talking about it.

Earthquake and Poland — they go together about as well as . . .

#$*@!

Ah #&@*, I did it again -- trying to stop cursing and let another one loose unconsciously.

Without the redundant profanity (a sorry attempt at a joke), that's what I thought last night when something irritating happened and, muttering to myself about it, I used "colorful" language.

Stopping cursing is about like stopping smoking, I'd imagine. Perhaps more difficult from a certain point of view -- you don't have to buy profanities. They're there, piled up in our heads, for free! And you never run out of them, so you can't really think to yourself, "As long as I don't stop by a convenience store and see a wall of cigarettes, I'm fine."

My parents tell the story of when my father was trying to stop cursing, he and my mother set up a system that each profanity cost some part of their weekly spending money. They were a young couple, and the purse strings were tight, so they allotted themselves only a few dollars a week as personal spending money. My father "spent" all his money and then some one afternoon waiting for, if I remember correctly, a "woman driver" to turn left.

What is it about profanity that has such a draw? It's so difficult to stop, and yet so easy to begin. You can sit with an infant, patiently trying to teach her how to say something -- anything -- and she, with stubborn resoluteness, sits and says nothing. Then you hear the soup boil over, exclaim something you shouldn't, and when you come back a second later, the infant is chanting your profanity.

It's not that children have an ear for the vulgarities of their own language. An acquaintance told my wife and me that her daughter has recently begun using "the 'f' word" because -- guess. It's a word that has no meaning in Polish, though it does sound like "Kwak," a somewhat common surname.

Nonetheless, there she was, running around the apartment saying, well, the obvious.

When I moved to Boston after having spent three years in Poland, I began muttering Polish profanity -- and it is a language rich in profanity -- at work when something was trying my patience. Then a Pole started working there.

In Polska, cursing is strangely culturally accepted. That's not to say that it’s universally practiced, for if everyone cursed, then it would cease to be profanity. Still, in the States someone out "in public" doesn't usually let the four-letter words fly at will. A bus driver, for example, wouldn't be sprinkling is conversation with a passenger with profanity, but here, it's a common occurrence. I've heard fathers let loose while their four-year-old daughters stand beside them, grandfathers going crazy while their five-year-old grandsons run around at their feet -- and then it's no wonder that you hear a five year old say the Polish equivalent of, "Hey, *#@$-for-brains, where they *#@! are you going?"

Why did I write *#@$ rather than "shit?" It's always amused me to read quotes in something like Sports Illustrated where instead of quote the pitcher verbatim, puts words like s*$# in his mouth. As if we don't know what it means, and, more importantly, as if we don't sound the word in our heads as we read it. Is "shit" any worse than *#@$ for conveying the same idea? It's even gotten to the point that without any context, we have a pretty good idea what *#@$ means, so what's the point?

I'm not sure if it's the rural environment, or Polish culture in general, but one does hear much more "in public" than one hears in the States. In stores, in bus stops, on the streets -- it's everywhere. In Polish, it's not "the 'f' word" but rather "the 'k' word" and it's shocking -- almost impressive -- to hear how many times a riled up Polish man of, say, twenty-five, can use "the 'k' word" in a sentence.

Perhaps it's a question of American culture's Puritan roots. After all, there are advertisements for soap in Europe that show women's breasts -- unthinkable in the States.

I'm curious about other cultures -- how is cursing viewed wherever you sit reading this?

Photo by Internet Archive Book Images

Gorecki’s Third

Holy Cross Church, ZakopaneUndoubtedly my favorite contemporary composer, Górecki often vies for “best composer of all time” in my opinion – it all depends on when you ask. It was his music, particularly his Third Symphony (subtitled”Symphony of Sorrowful Songs” – more information here) that was a major factor in my choosing Poland when I joined the Peace Corps back in 1996.

Since then, my appreciation of his music has only grown, particularly with my improved Polish and the ability to understand the texts of his vocal works.

When I was about to leave for Poland, I joked with someone that I was going to meet Mr. Górecki no matter what it took. I had my chance this weekend, in the most auspicious of occasions: Górecki conducting his Third Symphony in celebration of his seventieth birthday. In the end, I’m ashamed to say, I chickened out. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a babbling teen meeting some superficial movie star.

Górecki concertIt’s enough, I suppose, that I got to experience his Third Symphony, under his own baton (well, no – he didn’t actually conduct with a baton), in a location that was intimately connected with the text of the second movement.

The whole adventure was blessed by luck from the beginning. Kinga and I left at 1:40 in the afternoon, not knowing when we had a bus or even how long it would take us to get there. We arrived at the bus stop just as a bus to Nowy Targ was pulling up. The chances of that happening are miniscule. We made it to Nowy Targ, waited half an hour for a bus to Zakopane, with me babbling like a little girl going to meet The Back Street Boys. Hopped off the bus in Zakopane, took a cab to the church, and arrived half an hour before the concert started. Those without invitations had to sit in the small balcony. Though we arrived only half an hour before the concert was to begin, the balcony was virtually empty. We ended up standing at the railing of the balcony to get the best view, and by the time the concert started, there was quite a crowd.

The concert itself was something of a blur. At 60+ minutes, the symphony could, I suppose, be called “moderate” by some standards, but for me, it seemed to last about ten minutes. I blinked and the first movement was over, with an outbreak of coughing and sneezing in the audience – the backlog of half an hour silent, respectful listening, I suppose. The second movement, at only nine minutes, seemed a flash. And the third moment, at about twenty minutes, seemed about a tenth that. I didn’t take any pictures because the concert coordinator politely asked that we not.

Górecki concertAfter the concert, the orchestra performed “Sto Lat” (“100 Years”), the traditional Polish well-wishing song. Mid-way through, Górecki jumped onto the podium again and directed everyone, audience and orchestra alike.

After some well-wishing and chatting, the orchestra came back out and they did a playback recording session, as this is intended to be a DVD released sometime later. It was a strange thing – they were basically making a music video, playing along with their earlier performance. They played for a bit – most of the first movement – then suddenly the director stopped everything just as the music reached it’s most emotional point. Strange how art can so easily succumb to commercial needs.

In synagogue Saturday

My wife and I spent the weekend in Krakow. Saturday we went for a stroll in Kazimierz, the old Jewish quarter.

As I've mentioned before, Jews in Poland occupy a strange position. There are very few left in Poland today, and that's why we were able to find ourselves in an old synagogue on a Saturday.

"We shouldn't be here," I thought.

"This should still be in use. We should feel as if we're intruding, coming into the Jewish quarter on a Saturday as bumbling tourists."

Politely Declining (Or “Why Polish is really a nightmare”)

I recently wrote about Polish plurals and the strange fact that there are two forms.

That was only the tip of the iceberg. The easy part of the language. Today -- how to make a Polish sentence meaningful. Or "how to make sure you say 'The dog bit John' rather than 'John bit the dog.'"

In English, word order is an essential grammatical element. We know in the sentence "The dog bit John" that the dog did the biting, and not John, from the position of "The dog" in the sentence.

Polish, however, is an inflected language and that means that word order has no effect on the meaning of the sentence. In Polish, you could just as easily order the words, "John bit the dog" without any change in meaning. For that matter, "Bit John the dog" and "The dog John bit" are possible as well.

So how are they differentiated? By their ending. In Polish (in all highly inflected languages) you indicate a word as a direct object, an indirect object, a subject, or whatever by adding a suffix according to a given pattern.

An example may help. Imagine in English that subjects ended in "-doj" and direct objects ended in "-aldi." Our sentence would then look like this: "The dogdoj bit Johnaldi." In that case, "Bit Johnaldi the dogdoj" would have the same meaning, as would the following:

  • "Johnaldi bit the dogdoj."
  • "Johnaldi the dogdoj bit."
  • "The dogdoj Johnaldi bit."

English does indeed have a bit of declension. Some examples:

  • "-ed" to a verb to make it past tense
  • "-s" to make a noun plural
  • "-ing" to make a verb a gerund (i.e., "Swimming is a healthy activity.")
  • "-er" and "-est" in the comparative and superlative forms
  • "-'s" to denote possession (i.e., "Samantha's mother left for Switzerland.")

By and large, though, English is not an inflected language. "The dog bit John" and "John bit the dog" are very different sentences as a result.

Thanks to Oliver for the correction. Originally I'd mistakenly claimed that German has five cases.

An inflected language uses cases to differentiate functions and forms. Greek and German have four cases.

Polish has seven:

  • Nominative case -- The subject of a sentence
  • Accusative case -- The direct object of a positive sentence
  • Genitive case -- To denote possession (i.e., "That's George's bag.")
    • The direct object of a positive sentence for some verbs
    • The direct object of a negative sentence
    • For quantities of five and above.
  • Locative case -- To specify location after certain prepositions
  • Instrumental case -- To denote the method or tool used to do something
  • Dative case -- The indirect object of a sentence
  • Vocative case -- Used in addressing people (i.e., Did you take it, George?)

These changes even occur to names, providing a clear example of the complexities of Polish grammar. We'll use "Bill Clinton" as a direct object, indirect object, object of a preposition, etc, and see just how insane Polish is:

CaseExample
Nominative caseTo jest Bill Clinton. (This is Bill Clinton.)
Accusative caseLubię Billa Clintona. (I like Bill Clinton.)
Genitive caseSzukam Billa Clintona. (I'm looking for Bill Clinton.)
Locative caseMyślę o Billu Clintonie. (I'm thinking about Bill Clinton.)
Instrumental caseRozmawiam z Billem Clintonem. (I'm talking with Bill Clinton.)
Dative caseDałem Billowi Clintonowi. (I gave Bill Clinton... s'thing.)
Vocative caseWzia…łes›, Billu? (Did you take it, Bill?)

Because of declension, the word order doesn't make any difference. For example, if you want to stress that you gave it to Bill as opposed to George, you could say, with the proper vocal inflection to stress it, "Billowi dałem."

But learning Polish grammar is not simply a matter of remembering some endings, for all nouns in Polish have a gender (as in German, French, Spanish, etc.), so you have to learn a hell of a lot of endings.

  • Three genders
  • Seven cases
  • Singular and plural

So when you utter a Polish noun, there are forty-two possible endings, depending on whether it's singular or plural, masculine, feminine or neuter, and whichever case is necessary.

And the exceptions, for some forms are exactly the same except in given cases.

  • The accusative plural and the nominative plural of neuter nouns are identical, but feminine and masculine nouns are different.
  • The female genitive and locative cases are the same for singular nouns but not for plural nouns.

Aside from that nonsense, there are various considerations for exceptions. Is it a masculine alive noun? Does it end in "a"?

Shopping in Rural Poland

is a little different than its American counterpart. We’re used to express lanes and in-and-out shopping. In some supermarkets now, you can theoretically do all your shopping without interacting with a single employee. Just swipe your ATM card at the self-check-out and off you go.

Not so in rural Poland.

Until recently, even the notion of a self-service shop was unknown. Shops were organized like the old general stores we see in westerns: a counter, with all the goods on one side behind the owner, with you on the other.

Such was the setup in Poland when I first arrived. I went to the store and instead of shopping, told the shopkeeper what I wanted, and she ran around behind the counter gathering my purchases. It was strange at first, but excellent for my early language acquisition.

There are more and more self-service shops in Poland these days, and virtually all the shops in larger towns and cities are self-service.

But the old mentality lingers:

  • Some older women have a habit of doing their shopping as they check-out, so they bring a few items, then continually run through the store, getting this and that, while I stand, all my items in the basket, waiting.
  • Some much older women ask the cashier to run around the shop doing their shopping for them. Old habits, I guess.

Despite its inconvenience, I miss the old shops. You had to interact while you were shopping, and as a foreigner, the more the better.