Sure wish I had more to report, but Jerry's been a dull, dull boy, but not a dullard. I been to school (école for those who speak French).
Saturday and Sunday Morgan and I did our intensive six hours a day in French. Now that I think of it, intensive is the proper name for it...or was that for me? Our instructor, Florent, has to have the patience of Job. Especially to put up with me. I've reported earlier on the different sounds and how they can make quite a bit of difference...and how Florent has been trying to pound them into my thick skull. He'll say a word, or sound, then I say it, then he says it back to me...his cute little way of telling me I haven't gotten it...then I say it back, and he repeats it and etc., etc., etc., until finally I'm so frustrated I just say "aw shucks (yeah, right, that's what I say), I'm not saying it anymore."
Usually, by this time, I'm getting pretty close to saying it right,or Florent is afraid I'll hit him with a croissant (they're so soft and fluffy here they could never be construed as a deadly weapon...unless taken internally), that he says, "You've got it." I sit down, and Morgan laughs out loud then snickers behind his hand for the next five minutes, and we move on.
The process is pretty frustrating, until we get to work and realize how much we've learned. Neither of us is speaking it very well at all. That has to come last, and has as much to do with confidence as knowledge, but our comprehension is markedly improved. We can tell by how much more we comprehend during meetings.
Florent (left) instructing the ineducable.
In case you can't pick it up, Morgan, that paragon of fashion, has on his new, green Ireland sweatshirt and his burnt orange Texas cap. (can you say, "clash, clash?")
[Oh, and by the way, the picture on the wall (supplied by the landlord) is my candidate for the ugliest picture ever made. I don't know what it is supposed to be, but the name has to be something like condoms on a stick.]
Sergeant Major Florent probably saying
"OU, OU, OU" for the fifteen hundredth time
Morgan seems to have a talent for picking out the French words from the mumbled, machine-gun audio to which Florent subjects us. I keep fearing that one day Florent will repeat a sound one time too many times, Morgan will laugh just a little too loud, and he'll pick up a talent for walking with crutches. Let's hope I maintain my legendary patience and control, huh?
A Night on the Town
A few weeks ago, Sebastian, one of our outside consultants, setup a little evening aperitif opportunity for us. The site was a wine bar specializing in Italian wines (I know, France has really changed in the last twenty years, hasn't it?). So a bunch of us troop down like Frenchmen. (That means we worked until about 7:30pm then went out to eat and drink.)
The deal was really pretty neat. Five separate wines were served, each from different regions in Italy and each with a complementary food or snack. It's been way too long between then and now for me to remember the event clearly (or was that the wine?), but we started with a delightfully light white complimented by exceptionally good calamari. The meal and the wine progressed through three more wines and was topped off with a raspberry desert and an absolutely surprising sweet desert wine to go with it. To me it was the hit of the evening.
Monsignor Geiger arriving, greeted by the host, Sebastian, and Clothilde and Therese, two of our other consultants.
The "Monignor" is in reference to the hat which I am told reminds some of the holy spirit. Doesn't matter to me...at my age a warm head is a good thing.
The rest of the suspects...I mean crew.
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