Europe

Bradie stayed the night last night, and this morning we woke up early and ate breakfast, but my parents slept in.  My first class of the day was actually my art critique.  It wasn't a class at all, but I tried to use this time to understand the art concepts that are frustrating me.  I still don't know exactly what an art critique is, or if I should have been more compliant in order to get a better grade.  I wasn't sure how they were graded anyway, and if it is based off the work that I've already done, then why not use this one-on-one time with the teacher to figure out what they're talking about.  I told him I understand the abstract concepts.  I explained them back to him in my own words and it's true I understand what they are talking about, but just can't make that translation into the practical world.  I told him that art is frustrating me in the way that the teacher is always telling me to paint the air or to bring up the sky at the same time I bring up the tree or to paint the relationships.  I see the purpose of saying that, the purpose of unifying the whole painting, but I don't understand how to go about it practically.  For one, it doesn't make sense to try to paint the sky between the branches, and another--you'd have to be washing your paint brush after every stroke.  Pretty soon everything you paint would be grey-brown.  His answers only made it more unclear to me how to bring the abstract concept into the practical world.  I left feeling all tangled inside because I hate being in a state of not understanding something.  
Later that day in art class we took the bus to Mt St-Victoire again and we painted in the middle of the Mistral.  The wind knocked down our easels and blew away our art supplies.  The wind was doing what I wanted to do anyway because I was so discombobulated and frustrated with art today.
When I met my parents back at their villa, they let me in through the side door because they'd lost their keys.  They had spent the day watching bocce ball in the park, which is a big game here among Provencal men.  Then they went to a cafe and mom thought she left the keys there and went back to ask for them.  The waiter was really mean to her and not even willing to help her, even when--especially when---she was trying with her phrase book.  I felt guilty that she had to experience someone being so mean to her, especially after telling them that the people of the South of France are very nice to Americans.  After she finished telling me the story, we put on our coats to go to Colette's and my mom found the keys in her pocket!
Another round of translating tonight at Colette's.  We weren't staying for a meal, but we were going for aperitif instead.  Still, we were there for quite a while.  Colette was much more long-winded this night than she had been on the afternoons with Chuck.  I had to try to memorize her long speeches as she went along and then try to remember where she began and translate from there.  I translated her stories, her strong political views, her kind ways of calling to my parents' attention how plump she's made me.  Translating for her makes me feel so fluent in the language.  It solidifies for me the fact that I do understand everything that she says.  It's reassuring to me in my abilities, and I liked that I this was a tangible way to show off to my parents and to show them how much this experience was paying off.
When she left the room, my parents started talking about how she is so much just like Great Grandma Glosson, who I never met because she died before I was born.  I had heard stories about her all my life and I always regretted never having the chance to meet her.  But now Colette is more than just one of the best friends I've made here and one of my favorite people I've ever spent so much time with, but she's also the Grandma that I never got the chance to meet.  I feel so lucky I have the opportunity to finally meet her.