I listened to the fellow tourists atop Moro Rock in Sequoia National Park. They were most definitely speaking french. Praising the view, smiling for photographs. I wondered if they were from France or Canada. I wanted to reach out to them, tell them I was happy they were here, visiting this beautiful place with me. But it has been too long. The words failed me.
Father Marceau (college french teacher) would be so disappointed. I did well in his class. We even went to Quebec City during Carnivale. I could communicate in french then. Mostly I read in french. It was so beautiful to read. The sound of the accent moved from the page to my ears and it tasted like champagne.
I don't know what keeps me from studying french today. I guess it is a lack of Fr. Marceau. Also I no longer have a regular french speaking penpal to impress. I used to try hard to write parts of my letters to L.G. in french. I felt cultured. What am I now? Uncultured? A klutz in the foreign language department? I hardly ever put a non-English word in my blog anymore. And that is one of the things I intended to do regularly.
Ah, life. It rolls off the years like the "r" rolls off the tongue in french.
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