Countdown to D-Day

Sorry, I promised to be more faithful to the blog, but I’m afraid I have failed miserably. Marty and I have been busy with guests, jam-packed trips to the U.S., work for Marty, school for me and, of course, simply living and hanging out in France. At the end of the day there has been little time left to sit down and blog. There has been no shortage of blog-worthy material in our lives, however, so hopefully some of it will eventually get shared with you.

Today I can only offer you a quick update on our activities. Regretfully, we didn’t see most of you while we were in New Hampshire. Marty spent more time in the Durham area than me, since he was there to work on a NASA Heliospheric Theory Program grant proposal. While that sounds like a mouthful, it can be simply condensed to the Bread and Butter Grant for the Solar Terrestrial Theory Group at UNH. It’s big, it’s important and it keeps the theorists fat and happy. In addition, during his two week stay he managed to throw in trips to Washington, D.C. and Acapulco. The Acapulco “work” thing sounds a bit fishy doesn’t it? Perhaps the solar/space physicists decided they needed to experience solar activity first hand and decided to catch a few rays themselves. So far, Marty hasn’t spilled the beans on that little junket, but the masses remain suspicious.

Speaking of suspicious, Marty’s marital fidelity apparently is also in doubt, at least in some quarters (not mine). I learned of these doubts as a result of changes to my own travel plans to the U.S. I arrived at the Toulouse airport at 4:30 am to catch my flight. Marty would be departing later in the day as he was on a different flight. When I checked in, however, I was told that, unbeknownst to me, my travel plans had been changed to a different day. I have no explanation for this; it remains as seemingly mysterious and random as airline ticket pricing. No need to panic, the kindly French airline representative booked me on a later flight, which coincidentally turned out to be Marty’s. All turned out well as I surprised Marty at the Munich airport, and we shared an uneventful trans-Atlantic flight.

Recently, I recounted this story to my French friend, and when I got to the part about how I surprised Marty at the airport, things got culturally interesting. My French friend noted that it was fortunate that he wasn’t with his French mistress, since that wouldn’t have turned out to have been a very good surprise. Hmmn, well I suppose she is right-it wouldn't have been a nice suprise. I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but apparently she did. In fact, she was so insistent about this point that one could have interpreted her comments as a subtle reprimand for my seemingly imprudent behavior. Shame on me.

I assure you that none of you need to be alarmed yet. Against all odds, Marty still appears to be successfully holding out against the lures of French women. I recount this story only for its cultural interest, not to encourage any lurid rumor mongering among you. My own trip to the U.S. was limited to a week and a half, one week of which I spent in Brattleboro, Vermont finishing my degree requirements. I presented my research project, listened to other students’ research projects and, most importantly, PASSED MY FOREIGN LANGUAGE EXAM! Yes folks, miracles do happen and all gods, higher powers, lower powers, great spirits and even not-so-great spirits should be thanked vigorously. And of course my more-patient-than-any-mere-mortal-should-be-required-to-be French teachers deserve the most thanks, but I include them in the category of "higher powers." After my half hour oral exam (no written exam), my examiner declared that I was “definitely advanced,” the minimum proficiency level required for students testing in only one foreign language. (Another option is to demonstrate Intermediate proficiency in two languages.)

For those of you who fear that my head might swell with this French milestone, I want to assure you that the delusional euphoria only lasted a day as my examiner later sent me an email with my official results specifying that I was “Advanced low.” Now really, was that necessary? Low is such a distasteful word in the context of judging others. Couldn’t we have just left it at “Advanced?” I suppose the silver lining is that I now have incentive in my remaining time in France to try to get rid of the ugly “low” qualifier. I’m not optimistic.

I didn’t tell my French professors here that I had actually received an “Advanced” designation from my American examiner because I didn’t want to invite their scorn. Surely someone who, among other things, is completely unable to cope with the future anterior tense, quakes at the subjunctive and has demonstrated such a complete lack of mastery of relative pronouns that her French teacher had to take a break from correcting her exam because it was so maddening could not be considered advanced in French. I will be forever grateful to my American examiner that she generously overlooked my obvious French disabilities.

In any case, I now officially have a Masters in Organizational Management from the School for International Training. Don’t ask me what I am going to do with it; I’m not up to that part yet. We don’t leave France until August 15, and I intend to take advantage of my remaining two months of, how should we call it...”unwaged” status? labor liberation? idleness? deadbeat-good-for-nothingness? Your call.

I am not yet footloose and fancy free, however. My private war with the French language continues. I remain in school until July 6, my personal D-Day when the second great liberation in France will take place. Until then, however, I’m sure that my incarceration at French school will continue to feed the blog. And did I mention that in French school I now sit between two students who are actually French teachers in real life? In fact, at least one of them has a Masters degree in French. How did this happen to me? I was a biology major. I am not French teacher caliber. In fact, I messed up my homework so badly yesterday, that my current teacher, Laetitia, who is relatively new to teaching and therefore still kind-hearted, wrote “Bon Courage!” on my homework. This soldier doesn’t need courage, this soldier needs to storm the beach. While my personal beach invasion awaits, I will try to fortify myself. Where is that Roquefort?