Wasted Youth

This time of year always brings with it a little regret. Not much...I'm not all that big on regret, really. But, a little bit creeps in.

Karma is telling me clearly and in no uncertain terms that I should have taken French in high school. I'd like to speak French. It is a beautiful language, mellifluous and sort of classy. It'd be nice to be able to go into any of the finer restaurants and order myself a Mountain Dew like a lady.

But, for reasons that made sense at the time, I opted to take Spanish. This has not served me well at all. Sure, the class was kind of fun. We started a Spanish Club and I got to go to a car wash with the cute senior who sat in front of me. But, I don't find myself suddenly having to provide translation services on any given day.

Of course, I can't speak Spanish either. All I can do is ask politely for lemonade and directions to the restroom. Which is, I suppose, useful in its own way. I mean, if you are requesting the former then you are probably going to be needing the latter at some point. But, I don't think that my limited language skills would make for a good vacation in sunny Spain. Eventually, all that acidity from the lemons would have its way with me and I'd be all grumpy when I had to ask for the facilities.

But, French...now that would come in handy this time of year. My little corner of the country is beach laden and a favorite destination for French speaking Canadians. These are among the most polite of peoples and I do love to listen to them conversing. But, my inability to communicate effectively with my friends from the north has made summer grocery shopping a bit trying. Hence, my yearly rending of metaphorical garments over my having wasted two years of public education in a Spanish class. Now I can't speak French. And I can't ask the nice people to kindly move aside before I expire from the need to get the last two black and white cookies that I so love and must, must, must have.

I grew up in a very Franco-American part of the country so I've certainly had my exposure to the language. But, I didn't pick up much. I can swear a little bit thanks to the grandmothers that lived or visited with my childhood friends. However, I am not 100% sure of my pronunciation on these little gems and swearing in a foreign language is one of things you really want to have a solid handle on before you let loose. And none of the situations really call for swearing to any degree. I mean, I got the cookies. No need to get hostile, right? The one thing I can say with the finest of French accents is, "Nomme de Plume!" I enjoy saying this very much and know that I sound completely authentic when I let 'er rip. And, while I will admit that I achieve the desired effect of parting the crowds that surround my beloved baked goods, I don't really think they are moving out of respect for my language mastery.

And, if the truth be known, I doubt that I'd really have the nerve to assert myself in the presence of the tourists. They are, to a person, far better dressed than I and have an air of sophistication to which I can only aspire. Still....it would be nice if I could speak French.

I decided to hold my mono-linguistic head high, though, and work on a few of the summer projects that I have promised to add to the "done" column in September. There is comfort in knowing that you will soon be checking things off the list. As I have two workshops this week that I suspect will be less than stimulating, I decided to push through the heel flap and gussets of the Socks Of Summer so that there would be naught but mindless stockinette to keep my hands occupied while I pretend great interest in the new reading and math programs.

This was yesterday...I'm much further along now!

And, ever the comforting presence when I am regretting my choice to not take French, The Big, Fluffy Kitty assisted me with a little spindling.

My wool basket is well guarded. Even from me...

Nothing finished, though. I'm thinking I might have something by Friday but hesitate to commit given the time I'm going to need to spend in classrooms this week. Those types of things often degenerate into work groups and "hands-on" demonstrations. You never know when you are going to get hit with a presenter who enjoys involving the class whether they like it or not. So, for the moment, nothing is crossed off the Summer Index Cards Of Organization, everything remains a work in progress and I still can't speak French.

Cest la vie...

SA