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This early afternoon, while taking a daily walk in my District of Columbia neighborhood, I heard three ladies (walking far faster than I ever could) speaking a language I did not understand, despite my many years as a Foreign Service brat in the old world (France, Belgium, Italy) and as a USA dip for some twenty years, mostly in Central/Eastern Europe.
When I asked these exceptionally rapid pedestrians (confessing to them that I never mastered any language, including English) what language they were speaking, their immediate answer was "from Europe." Then, one said (if I remember correctly): "Tulips." Another agreed with my sudden thought: "Canals" (no, she was not referring to "root canals".)
Yes, this intriguing trio was from Holland/the Netherlands, switching to English (in kind courtesy to yours truly) far better going from one language to another than I can ever aspire to achieve.
(BTW, French is my native language, having grown up in la douce France and attending as a pre-adolescent an école maternelle.)
After saying good-bye to the trio, and as I entered the local Giant supermarket to buy groceries (including garlic and an onion), I couldn't help but reproach myself (with, only, a slightly guilty conscience) with the all-American thought:
"If English was good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for me."
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