I’ve been thinking about Spanish lately. Writing several entries on our Spanish vacation of five years ago is one reason. Plus we’ve had a couple visits from our niece and her Spanish husband and one from his delightful cousin and the cousin’s wife. On top of that, I’ve taken in a few episodes of La Señora’s novela.  

I love the sounds and feel of many Spanish words (even if my brain is often too slow in processing those spoken and my mouth too gringo to form them properly). So today’s Friday List will be some favorite Spanish words and phrases. 

I discount Spanglish, that amusing amalgam of Spanish and English that includes such delights as tu-bey (that play in baseball known in English as a double, or two-base hit), cliquear (what you do with a computer mouse), and jaiescul (pronounced “hi-ya-skool”; the school you attend to prepare for college). Maybe another day. 

10.    sinvergüenza (adj. “shameless” or n. “scoundrel, rascal”) I’m not sure why, but this was the first word that occurred to me when I thought about this list. I love the addition of the prefix sin- ("without") and its effect on meaning ("shame" converted to "shameless"). I love the z. I love the fact that it can be used as both adjective and noun. Also that you need tone of voice—indignation or a chuckle—to know whether “ése sinvergüenza” is the world’s most outrageous bastard . . . . or a rather charming rogue.  

9.      tie: gana (n. “desire, will”) This small word says much. It describes a want that enters into a hunger. A gana is more than just a want; it’s a gotta have. Less than lust (though you can probably have a gana for some hunk or babe), but more than a pregnant woman’s craving.        

And desarrollo (n. “development”) Double r (practice your trills) and double l (which counterintuitively makes a y sound). The appeal of this word is all about the sound.   

8.      cumpleaños (n. “birthday”) In Spanish, you don’t celebrate your birthday; you celebrate the completion of a year. You’re not looking back to the day you were born; you’re marking the fact that you’ve gained a year of seasoning, a year of experiences. This word, much more than birthday, recognizes that marking another year in your life has the significance of a mini-rite of passage.  

7.      poquito (n. “very little”) Spanish has great flexibility, as shown in its ability to extract shades of meaning from the addition of diminutives like -ito (and the opposite in the expansive suffix -ote). So when you want just a bit more arroz y frijoles, you can ask for un poquito. (If you only have room for a smidgen more flán at the end of a feast, you might use the superlative  -issimo, which not only exalts the great, as when added to general, but also diminishes the small.)

Of course, you don’t ask for un poquito if your suegra (mother-in-law) cooked the food. Then you better ask for a lot. You want an ally.  (Trust me, it's an effective strategy.)

6.      de vez en cuando (“once in a while”; “from time to time”) Besides the fact that this phrase flows out of the mouth so much more beautifully than “once in a while,” it says more than that simple declaration; it says, “from some time to whenever.” It’s deliciously vague. When you do something “de vez en cuando,” you do it very irregularly. No schedule, but, you know, it happens some times.  

5.      se me olvidó (v. “I forgot”) Literally, this reflexive verb phrase means “that is forgotten to me.” Now, you can say that this is emblematic of Spanish circumlocution (Spanish needs more words to convey the same ideas as English) or a denial of responsibility. I see it differently. I think this construction reflects the truth that ideas and memories have wills of their own, and sometimes, out of puckishness or malice, they choose to elude your efforts to corral them and put them to use.  

4.      dámelo, tráigamelo, dímelo (v. plus d.o. and i.o.: “Give it to me”; “Bring it to me”; “Tell it to me”) At some early stage in learning Spanish, I was impressed by its capacity to yoke direct objects and indirect objects with verbs in the imperative voice. This compacting runs counter to the usual Spanish manner of using many words to say something (because Spaniards and Latinos know there’s plenty of time); instead, it condenses the idea into a brief unit.  And since it appears in the imperative, the condensation has the effect of emphasis: "There's no other recourse: give it to me."

3.      plátano (n. “plantain”) Here I’m cheating. Plátano makes me think of delicious meals (either maduros, the softer, somewhat sweeter ripe ones; or tostones, the crispy, twice-fried green version), so it's not the word as much as the associations. But, then, the word also conjures the amusing adjective aplatanado, once applied to me by one of our kid’s Spanish teachers, a Cuban, to acknowledge that this gringo adapted (somewhat, at least) to cubaneo.   

2.      tío (n. “uncle”) This is strictly personal. Anybody with nieces or nephews can be an uncle. I’m a Tío.  

1.      corazón, alma, vida (n. “heart,” “soul,” “life”) These are collected because all three are terms of endearment that one may use about or towards a loved one—not just a lover; they could be applied by parent to child. English endearments like darling and sweetheart and honey pale in comparison. In Spanish, the one you love is more than some bon-bon or sugary delight.  He or she is part of you.

When La Señora and I got married, we received a gift from a Cuban family friend, who signed the card with his and his wife’s name. After hers, he added “mi vida” (“my life”). I laughed at the time, thinking it a bit, you know, over the top. Now, many (many!) years later, I realize how right the old guy was. The person you love is your heart, the vital core of you; she is your soul, the spirit that informs you; she is your very life itself, a life that become unimaginable without her. That’s endearment. That’s what Spanish allows you to say.  

Words and pictures © 2009 AtHome Pilgrim.

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