Cast your mind back about twenty-five or so years. Way back then, I was a student at the University of Washington studying--of all things--physics and astronomy. And one of the things I badly wanted to learn was the Russian language. Why? I have no idea. I'm not sure I even knew then, and I certainly don't know now. I simply remember that I wanted to learn Russian.
For two happy undergraduate years, I frolicked with the Russian language. I was Katya, and I was quite happy to tell all those pesky Young Republicans who hung out on campus soliciting voters to join their flanks that I was studying Russian *and* astrophysics, and then watched with great pleasure when, sputtering something about patriotism, they cautioned me against ever visiting the (then still Soviet Union) while in possession of Valuable American Scientific Knowledge.

MY FIRST YEAR RUSSIAN TEXTBOOK
Fast forward a couple of decades. The sum total of the Russian I could remember were pithy phrases like "Today, I have no mind" and "My name is Katya. I am an American student. Would you like to buy my valuable physics secrets?"
Now, I've always been fascinated with learning another language. And I have a small, very, very small smattering of many languages, usually just a few phrases because as we all know, I have the memory of maple syrup. And while I enjoy the process of learning languages (hence my desire to learn Greek last year, which failed when it became clear that Rosetta Stone's method of teaching was not working well with my brain), previous attempts of learning on my own have forced me to face the fact that I'm one of those people who really need an actual class with an actual instructor, and more importantly, actual interaction to learn languages.

ACTUAL PAGE WITH NOTES FROM RUSSIAN TEXTBOOK SHOWING THAT AT SOME POINT IN MY LIFE, I UNDERSTOOD THIS STUFF.
And since I'm busy writing books, and live in the boonies, and am a shy little hermit who refuses to go to metropolitan areas like downtown Seattle in order to attend such classes, I've had to simply wander the house with my arms flailing about vaguely while muttering things like, "Man, I wish I could speak French. Or Greek. Or Russian. Hey, I used to speak Russian!"
A few days ago, I decided to give the ole language-learning part of my brain another shot at showing its quality. But this time, I was going to attend an actual class. And rather than going for a language that was new to me, I'd go back to my old love, and try to resurrect the Russian that must surely still be stashed away somewhere in my brain.
Starting May 21s, I'll be attending an (online, true, but with streaming video hookups) ACTUAL LIVE RUSSIAN CLASS. My brain may never be the same.
Oh, and if you'd like some valuable undergraduate astrophysics secrets from 25+ years ago, let me know. I've still got the paper I wrote about the black hole at the center of the Milky Way.