I went to the Danforth to get my Greek fix. In particular, loukoumades: there's a pastry shop that makes them to perfection, light and airy little balls of batter drenched in syrup. On my way to the shop, an old lady dressed in black stopped me, said something in Greek and showed me a piece of paper. It was an address on the Danforth and she needed directions.
OK, a little explanation here: Yes, I do speak Greek, or at least I did when I was much younger; I don't get much practice now. You see, there was a time when I was obsessed with languages, especially ones most people wouldn't know, and since I'm blessed with a good ear, I found it easy to pick up a language. In fact, when I lived in Dublin, while my husband played rugby every Thursday evening, I went to Greek language classes to keep it up.
Anyway back to the Greek lady. I was so taken aback that I went dumb. My brain started looking for its Greek lexicon, searching frantically for words. I really wanted to help the woman, but I couldn't remember any Greek. My brain continued a mile a second, and out came one word, then another, and then I was giving her directions in Greek. She was so grateful, and I was left standing there wondering what happened, what an amazing organ the brain is to store a language I haven't heard or used in years and then let it out so I could help someone.
Now...I must go and practise my Greek (eat the loukoumades).