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