Sometimes, Jerry’s “isms” completely baffle me. This morning, as San-Geraldo-aka-Jerry and I were walking over to Emperador Trajano for breakfast, we saw a small delivery van barreling down the road in our direction. On most streets in the old part of Sevilla, sidewalks go from somewhat accommodating pedestrians to barely leaving room for a shoe width, and then back again. At moments, sidewalks may disappear completely. So, a walk in our neighborhood involves maneuvering at times alongside moving traffic. When Jerry first saw the little white van coming at us, we were in the road, there being only an extremely narrow sidewalk at that point.
|NO ROOM TO BREATHE.|
|JUST BARELY SQUEAKING BY. ONE OF THE WIDER STREETS IN THE BARRIO DE SANTA CRUZ.|
Jerry warned, “Uh-oh, better get out of the way. He’s coming at us booming like six-pins.”
“What?” I couldn’t even figure out what that was supposed to be. “Did you say, ‘booming like sixes?’ I asked.
“No,” he responded, and then continued with a question in his tone, “I said ‘booming like six-pins?” He paused. “But I have no idea what that means.”
|NOW OUR EVERY-MORNING DESTINATION: EMPERADOR TRAJANO.|
Well, this time he had lost me. I tried to connect this latest Jerryism with some reality based bit of American English. All I could think of was, “coming at us with six-guns blazing.” But, as I thought about it, I wasn’t convinced there was a “six” in that expression at all. Isn’t the expression simply “with guns blazing”? Yes it is.
|AFTER THIS MORNING’S VAIN BRAIN EXERCISE, I WAS TEMPTED TO HAVE
A SLICE OF TARTA DE QUESO (CHEESECAKE… DEE-LICIOUS) OR
CHOCOLATE Y NARANJA (CHOCOLATE AND ORANGE CAKE… SINFUL). I RESISTED.
Maybe one of the language schools here should offer a course in ‘Jerrynglish.’ Unfortunately, I don’t know who would teach it. I usually can translate him, but not well enough to teach a class. I only speak ‘broken Jerrynglish.’ And, although Jerry speaks perfect Jerrynglish (if that’s not an oxymoron), he himself often doesn’t understand what he says. As our friend Jim once wrote in poetic tribute:
“Who translates Jerry when others despair to?”
Well, I certainly try.