Writing books and French exchanges
Well, I have turned the book in (again). For those of you who are new to my blog, I am writing a book on Mary Shelley and Mary Wollstonecraft and it is almost done. But then it has been almost done for six months now, so who knows when it will really be done. The manuscript is still on my desk; I am not really sure why, but I do know that my cat thinks it is a fine place to sleep — right on top of 650 pages of bumpy prose.
We brought our new French exchange student home from the airport last night. Already, we have had several interesting chats: the Dordogne is very beautiful and many different kinds of green beans grow there. Also in the Dordogne, the grotto paintings (cave?) are really interesting. Baroque music is the best. Brittany, where his grandparents live, is like Gloucester. He likes to cook and has offered to make us tiramisu. I will need to buy some boudoir cookies first (ladyfingers?).
He has been beautifully raised. My son goes to his house for a month this spring and I am worried that he might not behave as beautifully. Will he unpack and put away all of his things (tidily) the moment he arrives? Will he offer to help his French mother in the kitchen at least three times in the space of twelve hours? Will he clear his dishes? And clear his host brother’s dishes as well? Will he chat in an intelligent fashion about all things American?
But then probably his host mother will be far more available than his own mother who is an expert on all things 1814, but not so good on 2012.