For the first 22 years of my life I had absolutely no interest in religion. I'd been brought up in a home where my parents had become terribly offended by something that happened at the church they attended when I was around 3 years old. They quit going and never attended another church regularly. My brothers and I were more or less told if we wanted any kind of 'spiritual' life, we'd have to go find it on our own. That led me to a deep interest and involvement in the occult and satanism that began around the time I was 13 and lasted until I was 20. Then Dear Hubby came in to my life and I left that behind. Thru a lot of circumstances that led us there, we became Christians when I was 22 and a brand new mother. A person - at least a couple of decades ago - could hardly grow up in America without hearing about Noah's Ark and Adam & Eve, but, seriously, that was about as far as my knowledge went when I first walked thru the doors of the church I've attended for almost 32 years.
OK. With that said, I am not being facetious and smart-alecky when I say, for those out there who are reading this and don't know, this little clipart is supposed to represent the Tower of Babel. And the Tower of Babel is the story in the Bible, in Genesis Chapter 11, that tells about how God confounded the language of the world.
And now, with THAT said, let me tell you about another one of my encounters on a Chloe dog potty walk this morning.
As I was walking her along a side street we often walk down and approached a house we often pass by, I noticed a woman my age, maybe a little older, standing on the sidewalk plucking at some of the dead blossoms on the lush plants and bushes a young Russian couple had planted in their front yard and curbside when they moved into the house a couple years ago. As I came up to her, she turned and smiled at me and I said, "This is absolutely beautiful, how they've turned this yard into a miniature forest land!" She kept smiling but gazed at me quizzically, pointing at her mouth and saying, "No, no, no." I caught on. "No English?" I asked her, and her head began bobbing up and down, up and down. "Yes, no English." So we stood there staring at each other for a few moments. I spread my arms out, indicating the yard. "Pretty?" I asked her. Nope. Still no reaction. Ok, brain, think...what's the Russian word for Grandma? I kind of cocked my eyebrow at her and slowly asked, "Babushka?" tho I'm sure that's a head scarf, but I think a Russian Grandma is something like that. She thought for a moment. Shook her head. "No, no, no," she told me. So, now where do we go? She then pointed at the house and stated proudly, "Baby!!" Now, that word I understood! So I made the motion of an enormous pregnant belly in front of me and she got all excited. "Yes, yes!" she said, "Baby boy!" So I tried again. "You? Grandma?" and I pointed at myself. "Me, Grandma!" Understanding rippled across her face and she beamed at me. "Yes, Grandma!" "Oh, how lovely!" I said, pointing to myself again. And I held up 2 fingers and said, "Two!" Not to be outdone, she held up 3 fingers, pointed at the house, and said, "Three!!!"
I think the language of grandmahood is universal.