My lace-thin ability to speak Dutch is an endless source of amusement to my kids, as is so much of what I do and say. Although neither one of them lives here, they know enough to know that after you sit down at a restaurant and the waitress approaches you, he or she is not there to take your full order. Rather, she is asking something along the lines of, "Wil je iets drinken?" (Do you want something to drink?). One part of my brain knows that, too. Why then do I plunge headlong into my entire order, you might ask. My kids say the problem is I either don't hear, or more likely don't listen very carefully. That may only be part of the problem. The main part I think it's because I am nervous. I'm valiantly trying to prove I do speak some Dutch. Then there's the fact that I'm hungry. Also, I am still thinking like an American; we are rushed into sitting, glancing at a menu, and ordering in one fell swoop. Here, there's a whole process that could take awhile. A long while. That's actually a good description of my journey to learn Dutch: it could take awhile. A long while. "Maybe tomorrow? Maybe someday?" That's what The Pretenders tell me.

You might think when you move to a different country, you should learn the language. You might think it's maybe not essential, but certainly helpful for managing everyday life. You might also think you won't ever be accepted in that new place if you don't learn the language. Funny how Americans living in the U.S. insist on newcomers - especially when they are Hispanic - learning the language, but we don't feel the same way when we are the newcomers. As our new president says, we need to speak a language in order to "assimilate".

Why then don't more Americans here speak Dutch? Let's start with the fact that so many Dutch folks speak such darn good English. From the check-out people at the local grocery store, to the restaurant employees, to the tram conductors, they can all speak English. Whether they always do is another matter entirely. The fluency seems to correlate with age (the younger you are, the more solid your English proficiency) and level of education/class. Soon after we arrived, I blogged about trying to fit in here [Getting My Dutch On, November 1, 2014], and alluded to my struggles with learning Dutch. I had modest expectations back then. "I'm looking forward to knowing enough Dutch so I can have some small conversations with people here, and not feel like an outsider," I wrote. Let's take a look at how that has gone for me.

Here are a few other random reasons we expats tell ourselves we are not learning Dutch: we are only here for (fill in the blank) years, we are too old to learn, we don't have time, we don't have the patience. I have a few friends who are really learning a lot of Dutch...but the majority of them have a huge incentive: they are married to Dutch men. Even those gals say they aren't close to fluent. Two of those Americans-married-to-Dutch-men and I recently teamed up to wish a member of our book group a Happy Birthday in Dutch. Can I tell you how happy I am to be able to sing along whenever the occasion arises? Talk about feeling like an insider.

In addition to the problem of not needing to speak it - use it or lose it - it's a difficult language. Your mouth has to move in ways it's just not used to moving in order to pronounce some of the words. Most people first notice the guttural "g", which appears in a lot of Dutch words and sounds like you are clearing your throat loudly and rudely. Although many find the language harsh, I discovered while writing this post that Dutch was recently voted one of the sexiest languages by no less a panel of experts than the members of a dating website. I would like to suggest that has probably more to do with how attractive the Dutch are, and nothing to do with the language. Anyway, the throat-clearing "g" sound doesn't bollocks me up so much. Rather, it's the vowel pairs like "ui" in the word zuid, or south. I live in that part of the city, so I should know how to say it: "z" and then OWWW, like you just stubbed your toe and then, just to confuse me more, the "t" and not the "d" sound at the end. Because I am trying to learn this language at such a late stage of my development, I have no "muscle memory" (or, truth be told, any memory at all) built up to say words like "zuid". Not having an ample supply of muscle memory used to be my excuse for never mastering a good vibrato - the process of moving your fingers move back and forth to make the notes more expressive - when I played the violin. I didn't learn it early enough in life. The notion is that if you practice something over and over again, your muscles remember how to move and they do it without your having to think about it. Dad, you were right: I should have practiced more. Is it too late to admit it?

In addition to the difficulty with moving my muscles, there is also the sheer (often preposterous) length of some Dutch words. As I mentioned in one of my first posts, the words look positively Dr. Seussian to me. I came across this one when I was trying to figure out if I needed Dutch health insurance: ziektekostenverzekeraar. It means health insurer. I think the urge to create ever-longer words may be related to the Dutch competitive streak. Ask anyone about that who has waited on their bike for the light to change and watched person after person inch in front of you to win that race home. Anyway, I enjoy trying to decode the meanings. How many regular-sized words can I find inside the jumbo-sized Dutch word? The Dutch may drink all their drinks in tiny cups, but they love their jumbo words.

The pictures next to the words don't always answer all my questions either. This photo was taken under cover of darkness. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, after all.

Then there's the matter of the words that look identical to English words, but mean something very different. If someone tells you are slim, it has nothing to do with your body. It means you are clever. A pet is not Casey, but a cap. And a bank could mean a bank, but it also means a sofa. A jongen should be a young'un, or child. Nope. It means boy. Now you have some idea of what I'm up against. I'm taking a Dutch history class now, and I realize that most of those words were taken by Americans from the Dutch, so it's probably our fault for changing up the meaning in the first place. Regardless of who is to blame, it makes for muchos difficulties in learning.

When I first arrived, I liked to imagine that this was a college where I could go to learn to tell a joke, without botching the punchline every time. But no, joke doesn't mean joke. It's a common Dutch first name for men. — When I first arrived, I liked to imagine that this was a college where I could go to learn to tell a joke, without botching the punchline every time. But no, *joke* doesn't mean joke. It's a common Dutch first name for men.

On the other hand, once you have started to crack the code, you begin to realize that Dutch can be easier to decipher than English. That's because so many words are so literal. For example, handschoenen (literally, hand shoes) are gloves. A werkgever, or work-giver, is an employer. And a werknemer, or work taker, is an employee. A stinkdier, a stink-animal, is...a skunk. When I can't figure things out on my own, in many cases, Google Translate comes to the rescue. How did expats survive without it? At times, however, it only adds to the confusion. Peter once set off to the grocery store in search of vegetable broth. He found one made with paddenstoel, which Google Translate unhelpfully told him was a toad chair. They meant to say "toadstool", otherwise known as a mushroom.

Like any good student, I take classes. I started off with a tutor who came to the house, and who was paid by Peter's company. That was a nice perk. Then there's the app, Duolingo, which has the advantage of being free and online, so you can learn in your P.J's. When I ran out of private lessons, I turned to a Dutch conversation class at our neighborhood community center. It's like the U.N. General Assembly in that room: we hail from Uganda, the Philippines, Brazil, Spain, France, South Korea, Sweden, Peru, and the U.S. For two hours every Monday morning, we talk in Dutch about how we spent our weekends, what we ate, where we have travelled. My brain hurts by the time I get home.

Here's Rudy, from the Philippines, who invited the class members over for lunch at the end of the year. He serenaded us after we ate. He is the class clown: always trying to get my attention with a joke. I'm usually game.

Rudy's building is an outstanding example of the Amsterdam School of architecture. He gave us a tour of the building, which was built for single people and is still subsidized by the government. His rent is ridiculously low.

Now that I lost my good friend Vera to Tokyo (yet another expat friend who has up and left me) I have also lost my Dutch "Babble" class that she set up. Truth be told, we tried to speak Dutch, but it often quickly dissolved into talking in English about trying to speak Dutch, and then into speaking English about things that have nothing to do with Dutch, and then into just drinking wine and laughing. We did watch a great, trashy Dutch TV show Gooische Vrouwen, a cross, I'm told, between Desperate Housewives and Sex and the City, neither of which I have watched. Somehow in Dutch, watching Gooische Vrouwen was like watching PBS to me: educational programming. Vera, our fearless leader in Dutch-talk, isn't even Dutch. She's German, but since she is married to a Dutchman, and lived in the Netherlands for many years, she is Dutch-ish.

Here's Vera and her daughter Rosanne at the beach this summer with Rachel and me. Was it ever hot enough here to go to the beach? Miss you, lieve dame!

Aside from my classes, I learn the most when I go out into the world and speak Dutch. At the Saturday market near our apartment, I try to speak only Dutch. My best teachers there are the cheese guy, and the folks at The Nut House (love that name) - the stand that sells nuts and dried fruits. Food is a great incentive for me. If I ask for it correctly, I get what I want. My other teachers are the lady at the dry cleaners, everyone at Casey's vet's office, and a few of the instructors at my gym. Thanks to the gym gals, I can count, I know my body parts, and I know a lot of words of encouragement: Gaan we! (Let's go), Nog één keer! (One more time), Goed gedaan! (Well done). it makes my day when I manage to have a conversation at any one of these places.

These kind and patient teachers make up for the small number of people who get very impatient when I lumber along in Dutch, and finally ask me to, "Just say it in English." Like the lady in the bookstore who asked if I needed help. I told her I had already found mijn boek and held up Marilynne Robinson's Gilead. Then she asked me if I was Marilynne Robinson. I may be a reading snob, and I don't expect everyone to have heard of the Pulitzer-Prize winning author, but this lady worked in a book store! When I had a hard time explaining to her in Dutch that by saying "mijn boek" I didn't mean I wrote the book, just that it was the book I wanted, she finally said, "Just say it in English." That's what I want to say when I have to make a phone call to find out about taxes, or insurance, or a bill, and get a long-winded message in Dutch that leaves me winded myself.

In my Dutch History class, I learned I'm in good royal company in my quest to learn Dutch. Louis Napoleon, a Frenchman, who was the first king of the Netherlands, wanted to learn a little Dutch to show his Dutch subjects he was on their side. Proudly strutting his stuff, he announced that he was their konijn, mistaking konijn, the word for rabbit, for koning, the word for king. Still, he persevered. To this day, he is known as the Rabbit King. I feel your pain, King Louis. If he can do it, I can do it.

As I mentioned earlier, a big difficulty in learning the language has been my inability to hear/listen. Lest you think this is just a function of my getting older, I can assure you it is not. I have always had a hard time deciphering the lyrics of songs. In my defense, I think it's because the music has always been more important to me than the lyrics. If I'm closely listening to the music, I can't also concentrate on the lyrics, now can I? That may explain why I completely didn't get it when Bob Dylan was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. I first became aware of my listening problem when I was squeezed into a car with some friends heading "down the shore" (what we folks in N.J. call "going to the beach"). Neil Diamond's Forever in Blue Jeans popped onto the radio and I burst into song, belting out the lyrics: "Reverend Blue Jeans". My friends looked startled, unable to believe I wasn't trying to be funny, but actually thought those were the lyrics. Fast forward to driving with my own two teenagers in the car and the classic Whoomp There It Is comes on, and I sing out at the top of my lungs, "Whoomp, bare ass." Because wouldn't those be the most fitting lyrics to many songs from that era, and most of them now? Anyway, I'm thinking maybe I'm so busy listening to the sound of the Dutch language I can't pay attention to the meaning. Just a thought.

Even when I try really hard to eavesdrop on Dutch conversations or decode the meaning of Dutch songs, it's hard. Sometimes I can't even say for sure if the song lyrics are in English or in Dutch. Here's one from my Zumba class, which also functions as a Dutch class when she shouts out some directions about how to move and shake, or plays an occasional song in Dutch. Can you tell what language this one is in?

As if learning Dutch words isn't hard enough, there are all the idioms. To really fit in, you need to know how to throw a few of these into your conversations. One of my favorites is, "vreemde eend in de bijt" - literally "a strange duck in the pack" - which means a misfit, or someone who doesn't fit into a group. That's how I feel here when I'm surrounded by folks prattling on in Dutch. For those occasions when I'm cut off by someone on their bike (or to understand what someone is shouting at me from their bike) I need to brush up on my Dutch cursing. Again, one reason I haven't felt the need to do that is that so many people curse in English. I'm quite familiar with the many uses of the "f" word, but would like to round out my cursing expertise with some choice Dutch expressions. I have some studying to do.

All over Amsterdam I see these little rooms where I imagine myself sitting with a good book, or studying my Dutch. I see a post about the Amsterdam architecture in my future.

The silver lining to the cloud of learning Dutch is that I think it has made me a better teacher. I have a lot of experience now with making mistakes. I am living proof of all those studies which say language learning is best done when you are young, before the brain calcifies and turns stubborn. I've been teaching English to two young French kids who have made astonishing progress. I like to think it's all due to my brilliant teaching, but I know it's because their brains are young and limber. They have no qualms about forging ahead in English conversations, with their adorable French accents. When I have to explain something to them in French, they see (and hear) me stumble and fail and persevere. Last week, Jeanne told me I was improving, and handed me two French picture books to help me practice. It really is hard to tell who is the teacher and who is the student sometimes. Later, when we were talking about the times of day, Max asked me for the English word for bûche. I searched my brain and thought of the Christmas dessert, bûche de Noel - yet another occasion when knowing my foodstuffs has come to my rescue - and explained it was "log". He proudly told me he, "slept like a log". He's on his way to being an insider if he can come up with a phrase like that. Those kids are inspiring me.

Also inspiring me are the women I've been tutoring to help pass a certification in culinary training. They are victims of human trafficking who are rebuilding their lives. They were born in countries all over the world - from Eastern Europe, to parts of Africa I need to look up on a map. They have not only learned English, but are now also learning Dutch. Thank goodness for Google Translate, which helps us navigate the divide between their native languages, English, Dutch, and the many culinary words and phrases that are in French. I walk away from each tutoring session thinking, "If they can do it, so can I!" I'm sure I'll write more about my work with this organization We Are Not For Sale, soon, but if you want to know more, or find out how you can help, please check them out.

For my readers who live in Amsterdam, if you haven't already eaten at Dignita, it's a must. All of the proceeds from the restaurant go to support the work We Are Not For Sale is doing. And yes, this brunch tastes as good as it looks. It's calle… — For my readers who live in Amsterdam, if you haven't already eaten at *Dignita,* it's a must. All of the proceeds from the restaurant go to support the work *We Are Not For Sale* is doing. And yes, this brunch tastes as good as it looks. It's called the *Benny Boy.* Heel lekker (very deliicious)!

I love that writing this blog gives me the chance to look back at my history as I think about my present. In my first job out of college, I worked alongside a lot of nuns at a preschool in San Francisco that served mostly children from the - at the time - heavily-Latino Mission District. I got my first exposure at the Holy Family Day Home to kids who didn't speak English as a first language. Most of them spoke much better English than their parents. All of them made me smile every day. Over the years and throughout the places I've lived - from representing troubled kids at Legal Aid in Brooklyn, to teaching 4th graders in Maplewood, N.J., to living in Amsterdam and adapting to a new language and culture - I have thought of them. It's amazing to think they are all in their late 30's now. This blog post is dedicated to the Spaghettios, the name for our class. Phillip, Jorge, Gabriel, Christopher, Erika, Mayela: I remember so many of their names, and every one of their faces. And, oh boy do I remember how much they loved singing Donde Esta Santa Claus.

When I think back to those four-year-olds learning English, even without any parental support, I realize I have it easy. "Ik doe my mijn best" (I do my best) I say when I get a compliment about my Dutch. It's not easy walking around feeling vaguely stupid, which is a big reason grown-ups don't like to learn languages. We're not used to making so many mistakes. The thing is, I've got nothing but time here, so I'm still plodding on, trying to learn. Recently, I've decided to go a little easier on myself. Rather than beat myself up for not knowing more, I'm trying to stay positive. I'm trying my best, but I'm only human. Just like the song tells me, "Maybe I'm foolish, maybe I'm blind. Thinking I can see through this." Cue the music.

I also like the way Corinne Bailey Rae tells me, "Maybe sometimes we feel afraid, but it's alright. The more you stay the same, the more they seem to change. Ooo, don't you hesitate." Plus, she's riding a bike while she's singing, so that seems very fitting for a blog about Amsterdam. The bike riding gives my body some exercise, and the Dutch lessons do the same for my brain. In a recent interview, the famous linguist/philosopher Noam Chomsky was asked how to account for his stamina and energy at age 87. His reply? "The bicycle theory. As long as you keep riding, you don't fall." Looks like I'll have to keep riding.

For fans of Casey, I staged this shot with the French and Dutch picture books I'm currently reading so you could catch a glimpse of him. He does sometimes take books down off the shelf in order to eat the covers off. His Dutch is steadily improving,… — For fans of Casey, I staged this shot with the French and Dutch picture books I'm currently reading so you could catch a glimpse of him. He does sometimes take books down off the shelf in order to eat the covers off. His Dutch is steadily improving, too, by the way.