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Today I had my fifth lesson with the lovely Michele Taulelle. She prefers to teach students in their homes and so she breezes up to my front door, normally about five minutes late and with her scarf billowing behind her with flair. She is what we think of when we think of French women - slim, elegant, beautiful and stylish in a way I will never be. When I complimented her one day on her ensemble - a lovely skirt, chemise and scarf jauntily tied, she brushed it off. "C'est normal". Her English is beautiful, gently accented and perfect. Her French is so understandable that there are but few words I miss. Oh for every person to speak thus! She worked for L'Oreal for six years and has a passion for teaching French (and English to French speakers) that has extended for many years. She has grown daughters and one grandchild. I am immensely fond of her and she, in turn, seems to be very patient with me. Were she to live in Canada, I would be delighted to have her as my friend. With every lesson, we learn a little more about each other and with every lesson I like
her more.
Lessons, for me, are long. Two and a half hours seemed a long time when we made our plans. But the time flies by. Unless we hit a hard patch. Then time slows down. A lot.
One day, at the end of our lesson, Michele kindly took the time to write down a series of things we must see while in this area of France. The list included a lovely jardin in Nimes, which I will do when Tiana's godmother arrives next week. It included a journey into the Cevennes and a recommendation that I read a book by Robert Louis Stevenson, the Scot who wrote "Treasure Island". Okay, so maybe he is better known for "Treasure Island" than he is for "Travels With a Donkey through the Cevennes". The joy of owning a e-book is that instantly, and as it turns out for free in this case, a book can be downloaded to my Kindle. After a list of about six or seven things, she also casually mentioned that her choir was to sing sacred music as a fundraiser later that week in Nimes.
Suddenly, it felt like I had a community. I had a new friend. I could be proud of someone and what they were about to courageously and passionately do - sing in front of an audience. This of all the events went to the top of the list. I can't even begin to explain how wonderful this was for me. You know how it is at home. We share the joy of others in our lives as they accomplish small and great things. We are proud of our friends who get published, pass an exam, get married or have a child. This felt just like that.
The concert was inspiring. The sacred music, with no accompaniment except for the choir master taking out his little tuning fork at the beginning of each piece, was so beautiful and soulful and as spiritual as any sermon ever could be. The joy of music is that language is irrelevant. Sound, tone, enthusiasm, feeling. It is all emotive stuff at its heart.
Michele and her lively and lovely husband, Didier, invited us to have a drink with them afterwards. It was convenient to join the after party for the choir in the restful back courtyard. Didier proudly told me how Michele taught a Russian man to speak excellent French in only one month - five hours a day. He had no French before that. If I had the patience, time and pocketbook for the same, I could only imagine how far I could get. Or you for that matter. Any of us. Didier was patently proud of his wife and despite the fact that I got tongue-tied and spoke worse French than is normal for me (I believe when I tried to express how kind he was for sharing his wife with us, I may have inadvertently offered up a menage a trois or perhaps used the same language one might use for sharing a pizza... he stepped back in mock horror to whatever I had said, anyway!), I very much enjoyed meeting him.
But back to the lessons. Day one- I confessed to her that I was scared. Perhaps I didn't express to her just how scared I was. I was about to make a fool of myself, was what I thought. And yet, it is amazing what high school French emerges. Granted, I love this country and have been a fairly regular visitor for short periods of time. I lived in Quebec as a teenager. But that was a lifetime ago.
My favorite line that Michele uses with me regularly is this: "You don't know that you know." And then she cups her hand and places it at the top of her head as if to say, the front part of your brain thinks it doesn't know but the part of your brain that stores memory will release it for you. And you know what - more often than not it does! I find myself amazed that I find the past participle of a word long gone. Or the form of an irregular verb.
Michele has me write little "histoires" and then she can correct them. Today, after having written what was supposed to be a piece using past tense verbs, she noted that I seemed to avoid reflexive verbs (I wash myself, I makeup myself, I take myself to sleep - that kind of stuff - sounds better in French). She asked, "What is the word for "avoid"?" "Eviter", j'ai dit. Huh? Where did THAT come from? And, interestingly, what other stuff do I avoid? I can't remember the verb for simple stuff but avoid comes to mind. Huh. Doesn't change the fact that I am not fond of reflexive verbs - just try conjugating one in the past tense and in the negative. Ooof.
I have one more "formal" class to do. We have worked our way through all sorts of verb tenses, irregular stuff, vocabulary, idiom, common sayings and other stuff. Michele has done it in a way that should be taught at every school in Canada. We will finish up with some work on future tenses (I can't get away with JUST futur proche which is so easy). After that, the choice is mine if I want to continue without formal classes but just back and forth conversation. The best part is that - speaking with Michele, she will simply and gently correct every mistake and we will drive on. She will not roll her eyes. She will not switch to English (often). She will not shut down the conversation. Or, she will at least understand why I make the mistakes I do - what in English literally translated to French she gets. And she knows how to fix it.
The fear - well, it is still there a bit. But now, I plow in with a bit more courage and enthusiasm. It is like a big puzzle with pieces fitting together better and better. I need more words, more practice. But I think there is hope. Always hope.
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Dawn Myers
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The Cevennes
Nancy, I totally fell in love with the Cevennes, madly and crazily in love with it! You must visit!! Something about the mountains with deep long valleys that you traverse along narrow twisty roads with surprises and ancient tiny villages around every corner. The trellised farming up the sides of the valleys is wild! Wish I was going there with you!! :o) big hug Dawn