2:31 p.m. - 2002-06-11
Memories of butterflies
"May all your solutions be concentrated and maybe even saturated." ~Mr. C. in my notebook, because I don't have $75 to spend on a yearbook
First off, here's something rather disturbing...
Take the Concubine Quiz at Scared Ducky!
How did I get THAT? Lucky Georgie got the Hobbits. But Sauron's my concubine?
That's disturbing, to say the least...
Anyway, my French speaking was... interesting. She gave me full credit (25/25). I have never deserved anything less in my life.
Question #1, which I asked her to come back to because I didn't understand: "Describe the car of the future."
Jessica's answer: "Euhh... the car of the future is smaller. It's less expensive. It's faster. The people who, euh, drive these cars are more responsible for, euh, their environments."
Question #2: "Explain why you can't go to the beach with me."
Jessica's answer: "Euh, I have a chemistry test tomorrow. It's a big test. I didn't pass the test before this one. My parents told me have to study. I have to study tonight. I can't go to the beach with you. I have to study."
Picture: A bunch of people on a plane and a scared-looking pilot/flight attendant dude.
Jessica's story: "Pierre's birthday was Saturday night. He, uh, had a party. He wanted to learn how to drive. His parents gave him a car. It was red. It was fast. On Wednesday he went to learn how to drive at school. He went with his friends" (insert list of about ten names to take up part of the 3 minutes). "The man who was teaching the lesson looked nervous. Pierre had been nervous but he learned that he shouldn't be nervous because the teacher was even more nervous." (HUH? Why the fuck did I say THAT?) "The teacher was shaking. At the end of the lesson, Pierre knew how to drive. He was happy. He drove over to the house of... euh... his grandparents! His grandparents were happy to see him. They were very proud of him. They told him, 'Pierre, we're very proud of you. We can't wait to see what else you do in your life. We can't believe you're 16 years old already!' Pierre was proud of himself too. He drove back home."
Mrs. H.: "Three minutes are up."
Jessica: "That was the most pathetic thing I have ever said in my entire life."
Mrs. H.: *laughs* "Yeah, you kind of missed the point of the whole story, but you kept talking. You get full credit."
Jessica: *practically faints away*
Yes, this is French 4AP... read the essay in my previous entry if you're still wondering how much we've been doing.
But, damn, speaking is HARD! It's so hard to conjugate verbs in your head in strange tenses quickly. And to remember all the vocab. Writing is much easier. Not easy, but easier.
And reading, for me, is the easiEST. Again, not easy, but most of the time I can get the context. Spanish helps too.
Today when I was walking back from school after the GSA bake sale (Mom made brownies, yummmm), I saw a butterfly on the side of the road.
It was a swallowtail. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
Its lower wings were broken off. The back of its body (don't remember official name; abdomen? thorax?) was completely squished. At least three of its legs were broken.
What happened?
The poor, poor thing.
It was going to die anyway, but I couldn't bring myself to step on it and put it out of its misery.
I carefully carefully put it on a piece of notebook paper and carried it to a pot of flowers at the foot of our driveway.
Now, at least it can die in pretty, yummy, edible flowers, right?
Oh, so sad.
I love butterflies. I always have. Back in first grade with Kelvina we watched them grow, from eggs to cocoons to butterflies. They were so beautiful. At the summer camp at the same school, in fact in the same room, there was a loft with netting all around it, and you could climb up into it and dab your finger in a cup of sugar water and a butterfly would come over to you and lick your finger. It was absolutely magical.
Then one year we went to Zihuatenejo in June, and it was rainy, rainy, rainy. I found a moth drowning in a puddle.
I got it out of the puddle and brought it back out of the rain. I picked it flowers, these huge, tropical flowers in pink and orange and yellow. I left it outside on a flower overnight, and the next morning it was gone, but when I went walking around later, it flew to my finger. It HAD to have been the same moth.
I named it Rebecca.
