Rien que de te voir

After I moved into my flat four weeks ago, my books remain jumbled up and scattered in various places. Once I find the time and money to make space for them all, they will finally look in order, and will be calm and happy to be on display. However, when moving home, two Leenie traditions always occur: feed the walls with music and make sure my sparse number of old French study books can be easily seen to the naked eye.

These books have been with me for many years. I left for France when I was 18 years old, only intending to stay in Toulouse three months. Those three months turned into two years.

Along the years came books about the great French masters, books about music, improving your French, 'Les Cathares' and 'L'art Roman'. The first book I fully read was given to us night school students by a wise teacher. She knew how often students are shocked by the sheer scale of what they have to learn when they move to a country, compared to their 'language lab' experience back home and prescriptive conversation. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a criticism, simply an observation that 'real life conversation' in real time, is so much harder than one may think.

Anyways, my first book was Sempé-Goscinny's 'Le Petit Nicholas'. It was sweet, and funny, and I remember feeling chuffed that I read it all the way through. By the time I left France, I learned to love Molière's plays.

Just seeing them on the shelf makes me smile and hope for a relaxing weekend when I have time to indulge in a slow, strong coffee with hot croissants, and a good read.