le jour parfait

Our class was canceled on Monday, so we spent the day studying and catching up on small things. After that, we soaked up the sun and the fact that no class one day meant six hours the next.

We got to school in the morning while there was still a bit of a chill in the air; it was the first time in the past month that I've arrived without sweating (not that it ever stopped me from immediately buying a cappuccino). I entered the classroom of my favorite teacher we've had so far, Karine, six months pregnant and the absolute model of a patient teacher.

The morning was spent focusing on grammar, learning the intricate details of the past tense, which everyone had thought that they understood. We hit our vocabulary hard, took a break and regrouped without losing much steam- I took this as a really good sign, since some people in the group are easily distracted by the amazing view in front of the school.

Three hours. Lunch break. Back for three hours... This time, we focused on speaking and becoming comfortable with different accents. While we normally work in pairs, she through us into awkward quartets that we would have never chosen for ourselves, forcing us to use more of our vocabulary than we would otherwise. I was really proud of myself: Normally, I'm one of the quietest in class and I volunteered to play a game where I had to be interviewed by the entire class. I love public speaking and all, but there's something so completely different about a classroom setting that still gets me all jittery and nervous. My classmates have caught on to the fact that I blush (rougir, in French)about everything, so they're always calling on me to say things. I knew that I was gaining confidence in my ability when I volunteered myself for so much speaking.

I left class on such a high note, walking out in the perfect 25°C weather with a sky so blue and clouds so white you would think they were a family portrait backdrop, that I had to just give myself a moment to stand and realize what I was doing. I took the walk home slowly, taking in all of the daily happening, the gardens being watered, the streets being swept, the grocery stores closing for their lunch breaks. But this day, I took extra care to take in the things I could never see again: a trim black cat dodging down a narrow side street, the pink flowers blooming against grey apartment buildings, a weathered man sitting in front of the bar by our residence that was painting the buildings leading to the church. The man had some of the oldest paintbrushes in his army-green cup that I have every seen. I would never have expected his hand to be so steady. The detail on his paper stunned me; the trees' leaves blew in the wind and the buildings seemed heavy with their age.

I went back to my room and ate my dinner in front of the open window, watching les pies pecking at the ground around the tree that fills my view. Their voices carried up to me and I was glad I hadn't reached for my i-pod; it's so easy to let them pull you out of your world.

I've started my second French book, Le Rue du Havre. It's one that I found for 20 cents in Paris, and the langauge is so fluid that it's easy for me to read out loud. When I was mentally exhausted, I rolled over and let myself drift into a nap, thinking of how happy I was to be missing everyone, and how great it would be to see them again, or even better, to have them here to share it with.