Maintenant (right now), I’m sitting in Carol’s Hungry Mind Cafe.  I should be in grammaire classe, mais I just can’t take another lesson in grammar maintenant.  Je ne sais pas if the adjective goes before the noun or after or how the adverbe is used to modify le verbe.  Je don’t know quand (when) to utilise les relatifs, “qui”, “que”, “dont” or “où” in a sentence.  I also have begun to think mes sentences in half anglais and half français!  I need a little break.

Enough with the complaining.  Here’s what I like about being à Middlebury . . . . maintenant!

The professeurs françaises are the best.  They are passionate about teaching the language, and they know their stuff (don’t know the French word for that).  Simone, the prof for French literature, is profound with her knowledge of the history of a poem or novel, her interpretations, and her ability to share this knowledge with our class.  I could sit and listen to her lecture (en français, bien sur!) all day.  I never dreamed that I would be fascinated with Albert Camus or Sartre or Jean Rancine.  (I disagree with their individual philosophies, but they are all very interesting to learn about.  That’s a terrible sentence, by the way.  I told you I can’t do grammar!)  No matter.  Before now, I would have associated their names with baseball draftees.  Dunlaps are definitely into baseball. (By the way, how’s Kershaw doing?  I’m locked away on a campus with no English-speaking television!)

My other teachers are as good.  Corinne teaches French culture and expressions.  She’s the one who gives the great French idioms each day.  And she has a terrific way of explaining something that the class is having trouble understanding.  She never uses English to explain something; she may choose a different French phrase or word, but she always uses body language (like her finger running across her throat with her tongue out–to emphasize the word tuer (to kill).  It’s great!  Corinne’s teaching makes me want to know more about French songs and singers, the familiar expressions in French life and how the (very complicated) French education system works.

Véronique teaches French civilization (world civics, Francophonie).  Véronique has a great laugh.  She’s very French, but she also taught at the University of Arkansas.  So, of course, she can call the Hogs!  She’s probably the most laid-back of the teachers–something about her years in Arkansas, I think.  Her classes are about French people and French culture throughout the world.  We’ve covered the Boko Harem kidnappings in Cameroon; les cadenas (padlocks) à Paris (Look it up; it’s worth your time.); socialized medicine in France (Congress, save us from this!–oops . . . never mind); and how to text like a Frenchman.

The other night I told mon fils, David, that as hard as this has been–still is–I would do it over again.  It’s challenging in such a refreshing way.  It definitely gets me out of bed every morning. It’s not harmful . . . . unless you add up the dirty French words I’ve learned.  And I’ve met some very interesting, talented, intelligent people.  Students and teachers alike.

Maintenant, je vais travailler à mon devoir.  But first, I leave you with a poem by Victor Hugo.  It’s beautiful and sad, at the same time.  Written for his daughter, Léopoldine, on the 3rd anniversary of her death, it’s titled Demain, dès l’Aube.  We have to memorize the poem (en français) this week.  Take my word for it.  The French version is melodic.

Tomorrow, at dawn, the moment the countryside is washed with daylight,
I will leave. You see, I know that you wait for me.
I will go through forest, I will go across the mountains.
I cannot rest far from you for long.

I will trudge on, my eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Without seeing what is outside of myself, without hearing a single sound,
Alone, unknown, back bent, hands crossed,
Sad, and the day for me will be like the night.

I will not look upon the golden sunset as night falls,
Nor the sailboats from afar that descend on Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I will place on your grave
A bouquet of holly and heather in bloom.

à bientôt!

Debbie

En anglais sans google translate (compliments d’une amie)

It’s Saturday morning.  Glorious Saturday!

I’m sitting in a café located just off the central square of Middlebury.  And I’m enjoying a coffee with a blueberry muffin that actually tastes homemade–because I think it is.  A monumental taste change from the school cafeteria.

I haven’t posted anything the last week because I’ve buried myself in school work.  The second week was stressful in the extreme.  Last week, the third week, was much more productive for me, and the reason for that is because I cut off contact with most of the world.  My family (okay, a few friends also) is all I kept in touch with.  I’ve moved my gmail account into French; however, emails from friends (which are rare, I might mention) come to me in English.  I just respond in French.  Too bad if you can’t cut and paste into Google translate.  I have to say it’s worth it though because Google translate comes out so weird. It’s much better than the actual translation.

This last week I had to give a 15 minute presentation in French (with notes, of course), take an extensive grammar test (lots of mistakes, obviously), and maneuver a Prius through Middlebury.  I did okay with the first two.  The Prius is another story.  I’m sorry, but driving a Prius is like sitting on Tinker Toys constructed by my grandchildren and accelerating with a rubber band.  And it sounds like that, too!  I was sure that one of the rubber bands had snapped about halfway through my rental time.  And to make things more interesting, I was driving a teeny car with a big, fat ZipCar logo plastered on the side door.   Très embarrasant!  I’ll take my Buick Enclave any day.  Please.

I believe that I’m learning more and more each week.  But, I am still struggling with putting coherent sentences together.  I know the conjugations on paper, but I can’t seem to bring them up in my mind.  What and where is my mind?  (That’s an existential question.  I’m in an academic setting, after all.)  It’s all about memorization, but unbeknownst to me before I arrived at Middlebury, I’m no longer capable of memorizing. So, I plod along with my conversational skills.  What I enjoy the most in conversations with others is watching the puzzled looks on their faces as they try to make sense of my sentences.  Très drôle!  I can tell they’re trying hard not to ask me to repeat myself or not to ask me to stay quiet.   I think in an academic world it’s necessary to stay composed.  So, they’re all acting mannerly.  Don’t you know they want to just scream, “Fermez la bouche!”?  (Look it up in G. t.)

I would love to know the day, if ever, that I’ll be able to converse in French without having to plod along with the next word or phrase.  Hmmm, perhaps . . . .

Which brings me to another subject.  My favorite time of the day during the week is the beginning of my first class each day.  That’s when my professeur, Corinne, introduces one or two new French colloquialisms.  They’re called l’expressions d’idiomatique or l’expressions familière.

Here are a few:

Etre comme un poisson dans l’eau.  To be like a fish in water.
Après la pluie, le beau temps.   After the rain, the sun shines.
Il pleut des cordes.  Cordes is like a boat rope.  Basically, it’s pouring (huge boat ropes, I think).
This one is apropos:  Quand les poulets auront des dents.   “Les poulets” is chicken and “des dents” is teeth.  You know how we say, “When pigs fly.”?  (“Quand des cochons volons”)  Well, the French say, “Quand les poulets auront (have) des dents.”  When chicken have teeth.  Isn’t that great?   It’s all about the farm animals.
Then there’s this one:  avoir un chat dans le gorge.  Comparable to “I have a frog in my throat”, but “un chat” is cat!  Quite a catch in the throat, I think.  Or, une mauvais toux . . . very bad cough.

And here’s my favorite:  Il pleut comme vache qui pisse.  It’s the same as our saying, “It’s raining cats and dogs”, but in my personal opinion, much more descriptive.  By the way, “vache” is cow in French.  I think you can make out the last word on your own.  Thus ends your French lesson for the week.

I hope to post again soon, but going underground is a benefit.  So . . .

à toute à l’heure!

Debbie

Ici, c’est une poème:

Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un coeur qui s’ennuie
Ô le chant de la pluie!

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s’écoeure;
Quoi!  nulle trahison? …
Ce deuil est sans raison

C’est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon coeur a tant de peine!    Paul Verlaine  (1874)

La classe a été mémorisant ce poème pour une semaine, mais nous devons le dire demain dans la classe. Individuellement!   Quand je retourner à Dallas, je peux reciter à Bill.  Très romantique!  Si je pourrais seulement comprendre la signification du poème!  Je pense que je vais lui dire que la poème s’agit des sports.  Je juste dis “baseball” quelque fois.  Il va la adorer!

Mon devoir est très difficile.  Il y a trop, je pense.  Mais, j’ai pensé çela en college devant!
Et je n’ai pas eu terminer une année de travail en sept semaines.

J’ai presque fait mes valises aujourd’hui, mais mes enfants m’a donné un pep-talk.  Donc, je vais rester. Je pense je resterai pour une autre semaine.  Ensuite, je vais faire mes valises . . . Et aller à l’hôtel pour un week-end, peut-être.  Un hôtel avec télévision français, bien sur.

Demain, je vais vous dire ce que j’aime concernant Middlebury et Middlebury College.

En Anglais:

Here is a poem:

It rains in my heart
as it rains on the city;
What is this languor
which penetrates my heart?

Ô soft noise of the rain
by land and on the rooftops!
For a heart who is bored
O the song of the rain!

It cries without reason
in this heart which is sickened;
What! No treason? …
This mourning is without reason

This is well the worst trouble
to not know why
Without love and without hatred
my heart has so much trouble!      Paul Verlaine (1874)

The class has been memorizing this poem for a week, but we have to say the entire poem tomorrow in class. Individually! The good news is that when I return to Dallas, I can recite it to Bill. Very romantic! If I could only understand the meaning of the poem! I think that I’ll tell him that the poem is about sports. I’ll just say “baseball” a few times. He’ll love it!

My homework is very difficult.  There is too much, I think.  But I thought that in college before.  And I didn’t have to finish a year of work in seven weeks.

I packed my suitcases today, but my children gave me a pep-talk. So, I’m staying.  I think I’lll stay for another week. Then, I’ll pack my suitcases . . . And go to the hotel for a weekend, perhaps. A hotel with French television, of course.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell you what I like about Middlebury and Middlebury College.

à bientôt!

Debbie

Vendredi:

J’ai fini ma première semaine!  Il a été très difficile, mais je me suis toujours debout!   . . . . je pense.

Aujourd’hui, j’ai eu une classe et ensuite, je pris l’orale exam.   Je ne sais pas si la professeur a compris moi.  Elle a juste souri à moi.  Je souhaite que je puisse comprends moi même.

Samedi:

J’ai dormi tard aujourd’hui. Je pense je suis épuises.  Mon cerveau est vraiment épuisa!

Puis, je me suis levé et j’ai travaillé sur mon devoir de classe.  Il est un projet avec deux étudiantes et moi.    Les filles ont été très gentille me demander travailler avec elles.  Je sens comme le mère du dorm!  Lundi nous avons preparer un discours et Power Point pour quinze minutes.  Yuck!  Je dois parle pour cinq minutes et puis, les étudiants peut poser les questions.  Je pense que je dirais, “Je ne sais pas”, pour tout les réponse.

Quelque réflexion sur l’école:

La nourriture de cafeteria est mal! Je sais que l’école croit “recycling” est magnifique. Mais, Ils n’ont pas besoin “recycle” la nourriture. Combien temps peuvent-ils utilise le poulet même?!! Et je ne peux pas compte les recettes de cuisine pour riz.  Tout sans épices.

Aller au college donne on pimples. (Regardez “la nourriture de cafeteria” ci-dessus!)

Et finalement, pour maintenant, l’école est certainement pour les jeunes.  Je veux marcher à une salle de bain pour moi seulement. (Peut-être je partagerai avec mon mari aussi, mais  après cet été, probablement non!) Je veux la machine à laver sur l’étage même de moi.  Pas six étages ci-dessous.  Et j’ai besoin un machine de café pres!  Et finalement, pour maintenant, l’école est certainement pour les jeunes.  Je veux marcher à une salle de bain pour moi seulement. (Peut-être mon mari aussi, mais probablement non!) Je veux la machine à laver sur l’étage même de moi.  Pas six étages ci-dessous.  Et j’ai besoin un machine de café pres!  Je sais que je suis très spoilt, mais je ne suis pas aller retourner.  (Vous savez que vous êtes le même comme moi.)

À bientôt!

Debbie

Google translate (with a little help)

Friday:

I finished my first week! It was very difficult, but I’m still standing!    . . . . I think.

Today I had a class, and then I took the oral exam. I don’t know if the teacher understood me. She just smiled at me. I wish I could understand myself.

Saturday:

I slept late today. I think I’m exhausted. My brain is really exhausted!

Then, I got up and I worked on my class assignment. It’s a project with two students and me. The girls were very kind to ask me to work with them. I feel like the mother of the dorm! Monday we prepare a speech and Power Point for fifteen minutes. Yuck! I have to speak for five minutes and then, students can ask questions. I think I would say, “I do not know” for every answer.

Some reflection on the school:

1. The cafeteria food is bad! I know that the school believes “recycling” is beautiful. But they need not “recycle” food. How long can they use the same chicken?!! And I can’t count the recipes for rice. Without any spice.

2. Going to college gives you pimples. (See “cafeteria food” above!)

3. And finally, for now, school is definitely for young people. I want to walk to a bathroom for me only. (Maybe I’ll share with my husband too, but after this summer, probably not!) I want the washing machine on the same floor with me. Not six floors below. And I need a coffee machine near! I know that I am very spoiled, but I’m not going back.  (You know you’re the same as me.)

See you soon!

Debbie

J’ai acheté un vélo! Oui! Je n’ai jamais prend un vélo n’importe ou quand j’habite en Dallas. Mais, je suis étudiante maintenant. Donc, le vélo.  Je dois l’obtenir!

Je peut retourner le velo aprés le semester. Le magasin de velo acheterai leur bicyclettes encore. Le prix a  été pas mal.  Mais, je ne sais pas quel est le prix des vélos.  Je pense que $500 est très agréable, n’est-ce pas?  (Il est une plaisanterie, mon mari.)

Un problème.  Mon vélo a un pneu mal.  Comment dit-on en français, “flat”?  Oui. J’ai mon velo pour une jour et déja je ne peut pas faire velo.  C’est la vie de college!  Pour moi, au moins.

Maintenant, mon vocabulaire et mon écriture sont très limité.   (Ne ris pas!)  Et ma tête faire mal.  Donc, je vais aller à lit.

à bientôt!

Debbie

In English (from Google translate):

I bought a bike! Yes! I never take a bike anywhere when I live in Dallas. But I am a student now. So the bike. I must get it!

I can return the bike after the semester. The bike shop will buy their bicycles again. The price was not bad. But I do not know what is the price of bicycles. I think $ 500 is very nice, is not it? (This is a joke, my husband.)

A problem. My bike has a bad tire. How do you say in French, “flat”? Yes. I have my bike for a day and already I can not bike. That’s life in college! For me, at least.

Now my vocabulary and writing skills are very limited. (Do not laugh!) And my head hurt. So I’ll go to bed.

See you soon.

Debbie

I’ve been at Middlebury College two and a half days.  And it feels like two and a half months!

I arrived on Friday afternoon.  It was easy to find the welcome center with signs everywhere.  It was easy to check in, get my student i.d., my dorm assignment, my room code (the doors have electronic locks), and my orientation schedule.  I’m such a Freshman!

The hard part was getting a 51 lbs. suitcase, a set of golf clubs (per my spouse’s advice.  Thanks, darling!), and a fan for my room up six flights of stairs.  100 year old colleges don’t put elevators in their old dorms.  They take pride in that fact.

My taxi driver had volunteered to help me with my luggage.  He made it to the fourth floor stairwell before he started gasping.  He conveniently mentioned his diabetes and his heart condition at which time I paid him and sent him on his way.  That left me with the suitcase on the fourth floor, the clubs on the 1st floor and the fan somewhere in between.  And it turns out I had gone up the wrong stairwell.  One hour later I was happily ensconced in my new dorm room.  Well . . . maybe not happily.  Maybe wearily, depressingly ensconced.  How about those adverbs?  But, I’m adjusting.

Today is Sunday and it’s the last day that I will be able to say or write a few words in English without fear of retribution (i.e., public humiliation in the college square, flogging, etc.) The Language Pledge that I was given yesterday at my oral interview–spoken in French–was signed in dark ink that I think was maybe the blood of ex-students.  These professors are serious about immersion.

I met my three (trois) professors today.  Simone, Corinne, and Véronique, all lovely ladies who are anxious for us to embrace the language.  I was thrilled that I understood about 60 percent of the instructions.  For the part that I didn’t understand, I’m going to emulate a lemming and follow the crowd.  Which brings me back to drowning.

In thinking about immersion (or maybe submersion–it’s all about going under and staying there), I’m hoping not to give in to a tendency to panic.  I just have to keep plunging into the language, prepare myself to make lots of mistakes, and learn from all of it.  The young students that I’ve met are so enthusiastic and happy to be here.  That’s what I want to be.  Especially since I can’t have my “20 something” neck and knees back.  (Have you ever looked at 62 year old knees?  It’s disturbing.)  However, I still have some of my brain and that’s what I want to work on.  Learning a second language is good for the frontal and temporal lobes, I’m told. But I’m not taking biology, so don’t depend on me for that information.

I think I’ve found a way to blog in French and have it translated by someone and then posted.  It may lose something in the translation. I really don’t care.  I need the therapy, and my family needs the laugh.  If it doesn’t work out, I’ll see you when I come up for air . . . English, that is.

A bientôt!

Debbie

I’m sitting in a hotel room in Burlington, VT.  The view from my large window is beautiful.  Because of the cloudless day, I can see across Lake Champlain straight to upper New York state.  The ferry is running from the Burlington Bay dock just across the street from the hotel to who-knows-where upstream.  And the few sailboats on the water are minuscule in comparison to the expanse of water.  This beats Lake Travis in Texas, for sure.

What am I doing here, you may wonder?  Or maybe you’re not wondering because you have more important things to think about.

In 45 minutes I’ll be picked up by Everywhere Taxi service of Vermont and transported to the village of Middlebury.  I’ll be deposited on the Middlebury College campus.  I’m going “back to school”, and I don’t think I’m going to run into Rodney Dangerfield.

Middlebury College is known for their Language School.  In the summer, they offer 7 and 8 week programs in languages.  I’m enrolled in the 7 week French language program.  What distinguishes Middlebury from other schools is the Language Pledge.  The school has actually trademarked the Language Pledge.

On Sunday evening, I will sign a pledge saying I won’t speak, read, write, or listen to any language other than the one I am learning.  Yep.  I’m going undercover.  I won’t be able to talk to family or friends for 7 weeks.  This could be a blessing and a curse.

So, while Vermont is a beautiful state from what I’ve seen so far, and the campus at Middlebury is supposed to be lovely, I’ll be spending my time inside classrooms and the library.  And in my room crying into my pillow.  And sharing a communal bath.  And enjoying school cafeteria food.  This is the summer I’ve always dreamed of!

Some thoughts on Burlington before I leave:  I suspect that there is an international tattoo cartel operating in the city.  As I walked to the Rite-Aide this morning (to buy a fan for my dorm room), it seemed that everyone I passed was plastered in tattoos.  Especially the women.  The young girl at the coffee shop counter had two beautiful peacock feathers growing from her cleavage, fanning out toward her shoulder blades.  Her right arm didn’t have an inch of skin that wasn’t covered with ink.  The woman that I stood behind at the drugstore had two enormous bat wings across her back and shoulder blades with the inscription, “Bitch”, above the artwork.  This was also in addition to having both arms covered in tattoos.  It was graphic overload, if you ask me.  I kept thinking, “What happens when they get to be my age and the bat wings and peacock feathers droop?”  Are there tattoo lifts like there are face lifts?  There could be an industry for this if someone is entrepreneurial.

I’m anxious to leave Burlington–not only because I want to get to school–but mainly because I don’t want to be snatched off the streets, held down, and tattooed.  That is, unless I have a choice of tattoo.  Then, I’d probably have an eight iron printed on my arm.  I’m hitting that club pretty well these days.

A bientôt!

Debbie

The plane from London touched down at 1:15 p.m. yesterday, and I was back in Texas.

We caught the Paris to London Eurostar train on Friday morning.  Ensuite, Mon Marie et moi spent one day and evening touring London town, then moving from our room situated directly over the hotel disco to another room, getting 5 hours sleep, and then heading for Heathrow airport.  Nine hours later, the peace and quiet of DFW customs lines never felt so good.

Thinking back over the last three weeks, I have come to some conclusions.

First, France is a beautiful country.  I would turn around and go tomorrow to see the graceful countryside of Provence, enjoy the energy of Paris, and soak up the nightlife of both regions.  One of the best ways to get around is by train, either Metro or the express trains that go out from Paris.  It gives you time to sit and soak in the allure of the country.  I’m happy to say that I took advantage of the Metro and the TGV express.  I would also be happy if I could say that it was by choice, but it wasn’t. The truth is that I wasn’t about to try to drive a car in France by myself.  I don’t drive a stick shift well, and as I proved to myself early in the trip, I’m incapable of asking for exact directions.  If I had tried to drive, this blog probably would have been about my adventure in Italy, or more likely, a French jail.  So, another thing I appreciate about France is their excellent rail service. . . . when they’re not on strike.

Second, the French are exactly like we’ve been told and not at all like we’ve been told.  When you ride the bus or the metro, you have lots of opportunity to observe the French people.  As a group, they do not look like happy people.  As a matter of fact, it can be kind of glum–especially depending on the time of day.  Rush hour is downright depressing.  No one smiles.  Friends sit by one another and don’t even talk.  People just stare.  They don’t seem the least bit friendly.

But, as individuals, the French are fun and funny.  I was fortunate to spend time with the teachers in Provence.  Okay, so I was locked in a monastery for a week and had to spend time with the teachers.  But, the great thing about the situation was that it forced me to get to know people outside of my normal comfort zone, i.e., Americans who speak only English.  At any rate, the teachers in Provence and in Paris were witty and interesting.  They not only asked the students about their lives, but they told us about themselves.  And they added humor to their explanations.  It felt a little strange to be laughing with a complete stranger about her neighbor with too many cats and a canary.  But, it also told me how similar the French are to us.

With the exception of the French sales clerk who raised her left eyebrow and tilted her head in disbelief when I told her my dress size, I found the French clerks and waiters and waitresses to be very kind and helpful.  They didn’t even bat an eye when I tried my French.  Some let me struggle with words before jumping in with English to rescue my order; others just answered in French knowing that I didn’t understand them and still brought me the right food or piece of clothing.

I also discovered that the French are hard workers.  Every morning on my way to the school in Paris, I walked past people opening their shops for the day.  From the owners at the boucherie setting up the meats in the display cases to the men washing down the poissonnerie before putting the fresh caught fish on ice to the clerks serving pastries at the patisserie to the people heading to their offices.  These people worked from sun up to late in the evening.  And it was hard work.

Last, and with great relief, I found that I really do like to hear the French language.  It’s not at all like English and takes a while to get used to.  But, it has a melody to it that English doesn’t quite have.  I get my ooo’s and ahhh’s mixed up.  I don’t always shape my lips the right way for certain words.  (It would probably help if I smoked.  Puckering counts for a lot in expressing French words.)  But on the whole, I’ve learned a lot about pronounciation and conjugation.   As much as I could learn, that is, in a mere three weeks.

So, I plan to return to France next year after studying up a little more.  And maybe next year, French will be rolling off my tongue.  And just maybe, I’ll be speaking so fluently that the sales lady at the Galeries Lafayette department store won’t even have time to question my dress size.

Au revoir!

Today is my last day in Paris.  While I have loved every minute of being in France, I think I’m ready to get home to Dallas and the heat.  I crave 100 degree weather . . . . that’s a joke, everyone.

We fly home on Saturday, but first we go to London tomorrow on the Eurostar (the Chunnel, as some people know it).  I need–yes, need–a nice hotel, a shower that I can move around in, a toilet that I don’t have to sit on sideways because it’s too close to the shower door, and air conditioning.  I’m hoping I booked a hotel that has a hair dryer, a washcloth, and big bars of soap.  I’d like to pick up the phone and call room service, too.  I’m negotiating that with Mon Marie.

We had dinner at Tribeca tonight with our American friends, Jim and Marta, and their family.  The restaurant is on Rue Cler which is in the same neighborhood where Julia Child lived and shopped.   The street is lined with great food markets . . . . and lots of American tourists.  It’s also the neighborhood with the Eiffel Tower, so English abounds here.

Paris has been great.  And Provence was, also.  Being here in school has made me want to come back. There is so much that I missed from being in school and not being able to spend time exploring.  I don’t want to return as a student.  I want to come and enjoy every minute as a tourist, plus take advantage of being familiar with the area and the language.  It’s the best of both worlds.

It’s the City of Lights, only I’ve been too exhausted to stay up late and see the lights.  It’s known for great wines and champagne.  Nix that–I couldn’t go to school with a hangover.  I’m not in college, for pete’s sake.  There are passageways and historical buildings to explore.  I mainly explored the metro stops.  So, I plan to come back with an agenda beyond just learning the language.

Most of all, I’m glad I’ve spent time doing what I’ve always wanted to do which is learning French.  I have come to love the language even more.  It really is a beautiful, and complicated, language.  I’m still a novice, but give me time.  With a little more practice, I may start to dream in French.

More later on my likes and dislikes of France.  Yes, I actually have some things I didn’t like about France.   But, I’m going to bed now and dream about cab drivers who speak English.

A bientôt!

The sun has finally gone down in Paris.  It’s 11:50 p.m.  I feel like I’ve been living in the Land of the Midnight Sun, which would mean I’m learning Norwegian instead of French.  The days are much longer here than in Texas.  The sun comes up around 5:30 and goes down at about 10:30.  I know because we walked home from a little cafe tonight after a wonderful dinner.  The cafe was 8 blocks away from the apartment, and  it was still light enough for us to see our way home.  I love it because I don’t have a car, don’t always know my way around, and here in Paris I have plenty of time to get lost and re-found before the sun goes down.

Mon marie and I traipsed off  to a show tonight called “How to Become Parisian in One Hour.”  Our American friends in Paris had told us about it.  It’s supposed to be hysterically funny because it’s all about the stereotypical Frenchman as seen through the eyes of foreigners (i.e., Americans, Brits, etc.)  I ordered the tickets online a few days ago.

I was pleased to discover that the theatre was a short walk from the apartment.  It wasn’t more than 10 minutes.  So, we launched out in plenty of time to pick up our tickets at the box office.

I have to say that I’m taking a certain amount of pride in the fact that I can get myself and others around Paris on foot and by Metro.  When I saw the location of the theatre, I thought, “Piece of cake.”  . . . And it was.

We walked down Rue Montorgueil, on to Rue Tiquetonne, continuing onto Rue des Petits Carraeux, then rue Poissionere, and left on Boulevard Poissionere.  Theatre is on the right. Nothing to it.

We walked into the theatre, and showing off my knowledge, I walked down the stairs to the French “will call” booth.  I asked for the tickets (en Francais), and the woman responded (en Anglais)–after asking my name and where our seats were and what was the day the tickets were booked, and what was my name again? and how do you spell my name? and are you sure the tickets are for tonight?–“Madame, your tickets are for tomorrow night.  (Pause)  You know, Parisians are always late to a show.  You–you are a day early.  (Laugh)  Now, you can see this show and learn how to become more like Parisians.”

I couldn’t go into the fact that it’s not because I’m American and I like to arrive early.  It’s because I’m AD/HD and don’t know how to write down information after I order tickets online.  Therefore, even when I tell my husband that we are going to the theatre on Wednesday, and he reminds me that I told him Wednesday, I have to insist that the tickets are for Tuesday because that’s the way I remember it.  Why, oh why, can’t I remember French verbs, then?

We went to a darling cafe, instead, and drank 3 vodka tonics.  One of us only had beer.

We’re off to Versailles tomorrow.  I have the whole trip mapped out.  We’ll call you from Norway.

A bientôt!