A Christmas Huzzah

Let me explain.

The Christmas season starts (for the Asay household) on the first Wednesday of December every year without fail. Why? Because that's when the Live Nativity is. "What?" Yes, a LIVE nativity: there is a Bethlehem, a stable, lots of adorable animals, three wisemen, many shepherds, a star, and, most importantly, a holy family. The event is put on jointly by multiple Christian churches and is always a big hit: the last few years (this year was the 9th year) we've received over 5,000 visitors in the space of three hours. I myself have participated in the nativity for several years and I love it - it's a time and place  for me to serve others and reflect in peace. The Live Nativity is a fabulous way to begin the holiday festivities, especially because it starts the season by allowing one to remember why we really celebrate Christmas. When you see that sweet, tiny baby lying in the manger or being held by one of its gentle parents, your heart melts no matter your religious affiliations or beliefs. The humanity of the scene appeals universally. 

After that big gateway night, the order of events depends, but this year it has been: A Christmas Carol (to see Jayne and Abbie), brunch at Sundance (with the Srivastavas, as always - same family, different last name), dinner downtown (with three younger sisters?), and the Nutcracker (to see a darling buffoon who triples as a "baby mouse" and my sister). 

With Abbie after her wonderful performance at the Hale in Orem.

Me with two of my sisters at Sundance brunch, Izzy and Gret.

Ikey and me at dinner - the three little sisters were too busy coloring fish.

Mazza and me (and the rest of the fam damily) visited Temple Square after dinner. 

There's still so much more to do! I need to finish making my advent calendar, bake Christmas cookies to deliver, watch all the traditional Christmas films, build my gingerbread house, attend all the Christmas parties, listen to a choir, go to Midnight Mass, etc. 

I must say, I do love December. I don't enjoy most holidays, but Christmas is different - it's magic. Even school is different; it's all exams or parties... 

We made snowflakes in two of my classes today. Some were more successful than others... 

I'll have to give you another Christmas update, but for now, adieu! I'm exhausted... Though not for long, as that's simply not allowed. Try to enjoy the cheer and cold as much as I do!

Many warm wishes,

Scout 

L'incorrect Romantique Langue

First off, for all you French-speakers, I hope I translated the title right. It was supposed to read, The Wrong Romance Language. But I take Spanish, so it's more likely than not that I botched the title's translation. I apologize... Bear with me.


Among my list of regrets, I sometimes wish I had opted for French rather than Spanish back in seventh grade when, for the first time, I was given the chance to take a language in school. It is common for people to have regrets, but not quite as common to regret which language you took in those youthful school days... Right? And yet, I find myself from time to time speculating on how life would be different if I had taken French instead of Spanish. 

For example, if I had taken French, I could speak to all those cool French-speaking people I know. In French. A lot of these "cool people" happen to be teachers. THAT says a lot about me... How nauseating. But still, I stand by my statement. As a follow-up, here's an illustrative scenario: my dad, being the lovely man he is, went to parent-teacher conferences, and one of the teachers he met with was my language arts teacher, Dr. Schroeter, a fluctuating and ebullient French woman. There was no fluctuation once she discovered that my dad speaks French. In fact, my dad sent me the following texts:

"Spoke in French the whole meeting with Schroeter. I love her."

"She was telling me how much she'd prefer to tango in Argentina than to live among cold Anglos."

Well, isn't that just dandy. Maybe I would've known all these interesting things about Schroeter if I could speak French. But no, I had to learn it secondhand! (I should add that I appreciated learning that piece about her regardless, and it did not actually make me that upset, rather, I am simply trying to make a point here.) I feel left out when people mumble things in French because I can't decipher a thing from their discourse. Strangely, I usually only feel isolated when it's French, not German, Arabic, Chinese, etc. I think I just have problems with French. (And Spanish, but that's a different story.)

And then there's the fact that if I had taken French, I could practice with the people with whom I live: my parents. How much simpler it would have been than calling a relative on the telephone every week for a little practice! I could quickly and easily get help on assignments and with practice. I could also speak French to my parents when I didn't want my siblings to understand what was going on: 

"Ce soir après que les filles vont au lit, nous devrions recevoir la montre un film." "Cela semble bon."

And there you have it! (Or something like that... Because I don't speak French, I just translated phrases on the Internet; if the translation is wrong, I cannot and will not take any blame. Muhaha.) French would have been a good addition to my life, and no one can deny that it is an engaging language, too. But then, the reason I chose Spanish in the first place was because of its appealing pertinence...and I have liked Spanish...as a whole. I could always start French in addition to my Spanish; it's not a lost opportunity, it's a waiting one. And... I guess, that in the end if I had taken French, it could have quite easily ended up like this:

“In Paris they just simply opened their eyes and stared when we spoke to them in French! We never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language.” -Mark Twain

And, well, that would be an uncomfortable situation no matter what language you spoke. Goodbye for now - or, as my mother would say, "bah-bye". 

Have a nice day,
Scout