Bonjour les enfants!

Chateau Frontenac lit up at night

I write to you from la belle province. Oh, did I neglect to tell you I was heading off on vacation for a week? I must have, since I didn’t know myself. I packed so quickly and unexpectedly, I forgot to bring Grover along to star in my pictures. It hasn’t been the same without him, but I thought maybe I should travel without my stuffie.  It’s a small step toward adulthood.

French is a breeze. (Just joking.) I have mastered many of the words that are identical in French and English. For example, last night, watching the hockey game in French was quite a challenge–I have no idea what’s happening on the ice without the commentary–although I did consistently recognize the players’ names.

I’ve flown across the country and, despite my high-school French, I can barely understand anything anyone is saying. Quel surprise! J. is terribly disappointed in me. She was hoping I’d be her capable translator this trip, but thus far I have failed miserably. I’d have considerably more success if we could carry out our conversations in writing. I have decided that speaking a language I have not used in many years is nothing like riding a bike. I imagine I sound like a two year old with a language disability.

I ensured I learned the most important word before I left home. Turns out that “pardon” means “I’m sorry” or” Excuse me.” I know, I’m trying intently not to apologize so much, but I only made that promise when I was speaking in English. I feel like I have a lot more to apologize for here. I must apologize for not understanding what people are saying for me, for not understanding the rules of pedestrians on sidewalks, and many other things that separate us.

I have reached my quota of English conversation for today. It is a beautiful here and our itinerary is fierce, so I must get off my derriere and reenter this brave new world. Au revoir les adultes!

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