So I show up to church on
Sunday and they're all 'Where's Soeur Carter? Oh thank goodness you're here,
you're playing the hymns in sacrament right?' And I'm all, 'Yeah, I got this.'
You know, proud that I can at least contribute in some way to this ward. Maybe
I can't speak French, but everyone speaks the language of music, blah
blah blah. So I prance over to the piano. Which is when I see that it isn't a
piano at all...but an organ.
So there are a few key
differences between a piano and an organ, the first of which being that a piano
has 88 keys and an organ has 20 billion. Oh and also the two keyboard thing. Oh
and also the 50 pedals thing. Oh and also the fact that I have no idea where
the sustaining pedal is and my hands are shaking so bad that the music is
shaking too because I keep releasing then rehitting notes. Bahahaha, worst and
best. Afterwards, the ward member who we work the closest with in our
miussionary work, who also happens to be a professor of violin performance out
here came up and said, 'Bravo Soeur Carter! You have learned how to play a new
instrument in five minutes!' Hahaha, oh wow. In short: 'J'ai malcompris. I
thought you asked me to play the piano, not the organ!
Bayonne is lovely. Still. We run every morning over bridges
and down to the river, and past a house that some mornings smells like warm
baguettes and some mornings smells like the huge purple lilac bush draped over
its fences. I eat toast every morning, sometimes with Nutells, sometimes
Speculoos, sometimes butter and strawberry jam, and always with a little tub of
yogurt. (The French people are apparently very serious about their yogurt: the
grocery store where we shop has--no exaggeration--two entire aisles of yogurt,
on both sides.)
We spend four hours studying every morning, and some mornings our apartment is unusually freezing, so I wrap myself in my white down comforter aforementioned, and am completely and utterly happy. We spend a few hours everyday talking to strangers, trying to make them smile, asking them if they'd like to learn about God, teaching them who Heavenly Father is and that He put us here on this earth to learn and become like Him.
We eat a big lunch, usually a baguette sandwich, sometimes an omelet. Nutella
usually figures in there somewhere as well. In the evenings we sometimes have
teaching appointments, which are my favorite times. This last week a family in
the ward invited us over to eat and I had my first real French dinner--four
courses! We ate shredded carrots and cucumbers with a simple balsamic
vinaigrette, then a gateau de maiz from Chile that had beef and chicken and
raisins and cheese and it was sweet and warm. Then the 8-yr old daughter went
to the fridge and came back with her arms full of different cheeses, and the
mom put a baguette and a steaming loaf of wheat bread on the table. I didn't
know what to do, so another of the dinner guests cut me off a huge chunk of
cheese (we're talking as big as a regular carrot) and we all sat around eating
cheese and hot bread. And then the cakes--a banana bread cakes and a
whipped cream and raspberry cake--chantilly et framboise. It was cool
and fizzy and had little crystals of sugar all coating the outside. Soeur Pfost
and I went home so so happy that night.
I am picking up more of
the language. I can follow conversations a little better now...except for
yesterday when the best I could make of what one lady was telling me was that
because of her first mustache, she helped decapitated persons, and then
something about mayonnaise... (In other words, I've still got a ways to
go.)
We're teaching a lot and learning a lot and all's well this
side of the ocean.
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