tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8472241.post6105367806452086931..comments2024-01-09T00:41:17.570+01:00Comments on Kolo kolo mlynsky :::: Unser SandmännchenJuliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02381204473168533313noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8472241.post-89017335923256137572011-12-01T16:41:05.510+01:002011-12-01T16:41:05.510+01:00Oh, I hope her letter gets chosen!
What a charming...Oh, I hope her letter gets chosen!<br />What a charming little show. There is something so special about the shows kids watch when they're little, isn't there?Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8472241.post-24270557869047814032011-12-01T13:36:27.706+01:002011-12-01T13:36:27.706+01:00Rouchswalwe - I thought of you when I posted last ...Rouchswalwe - I thought of you when I posted last night, wondering if you also had fond memories of Sandmännchen. I'm so glad to hear that you do. <br /><br />BB - Caroline has found out, and we hope that James will too, that knowing two languages fluently leads to three and then to more. (Learning to read German took a weekend rather than a year, she was elated). And understanding how to communicate in a language that is apart from yourself is a cultural bridge - a few words in a new language work wonders on playgrounds when we travel.Juliahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02381204473168533313noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8472241.post-50631280031984611132011-12-01T09:44:29.237+01:002011-12-01T09:44:29.237+01:00I'm conscious that J. gets missed out of most ...I'm conscious that J. gets missed out of most of my comments because C. occupies centre stage in the way I envisage your family. Belated apologies to J. Not that he needs any help from me. These pieces about language open up a wider and even more commendable subject: the way languages keep crude forms of nationalism at bay. Pride in being able to speak another language means there is less time and less inclination to dwell obsessively on one's accidental birthplace. I speak a small amount of French yet I live in a country where the French are, at best, merely joked about. At worst, detested. I find myself acting as a rather shaky bridge between the two countries, wishing I could do more.<br /><br />It's not too fanciful to think of C. and J. paying a sort of tax for being born into an Anglophone family. A tax all predominant monoglots should pay. The wonderful thing is that because of your attentions neither will see it as an onerous tax. It's fun and the languages become interchangeable. One night the Sandman will take them to bed, the next night the <em>Sandmännchen</em>. (Did Sandman shrink in the wash in Germany?)<br /><br />Yesterday I found myself humming a familiar tune but couldn't remember the name. Mrs BB said it was Don Octavio's <em>Dalla sua pace</em> (As you know, I'm not good on aria titles). Googled, heard Pavarotti sing it, the first time I've heard him do Mozart. A whole new vista. Wanted to write about that. But the boats are burned. How about a new blog - one that no one would want to read? Sorry, but we're still on language. I'll bet C. (not J. yet) could sing Dsp, the range seems comparatively limited. And she'd be flirting with Italian too. What a household.Roderick Robinsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16828395545197001637noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8472241.post-2218838527138098862011-12-01T01:25:40.774+01:002011-12-01T01:25:40.774+01:00Dear Julia, I've been reading your November po...Dear Julia, I've been reading your November posts with pleasure. Your timing is exquisite ... I've only just found the little wooden Sandmännchen given to me as a little girl. What wonderful memories you've brought back. Vielen Dank!Rouchswalwehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01393987883437907945noreply@blogger.com