I signed up for my French and Spanish classes. I'm very excited! I've taken French 1 through 4 already (with honours I might add). French 5, which starts April 28, will give me my French Certificate. I know, you're all thinking: But you already speak French. In my opinion, I don't speak it that well. I can make myself understood and I'm confident that I can get by as a tourist in France, but I really wanted to have a better grasp of the language. Not to mention that Northern Ontario French is not really French. Ask anyone.
As for the Spanish, it was a debate. Italian or Spanish. In the end, I figure with travelling to the States and tropical destinations all the time, Spanish makes the most sense. So Spanish it is. It starts April 27.
That means classes Mondays and Tuesdays until July ... I know, I'm a glutton for punishment.
I have to admit, the French classes were pretty easy. The Spanish should pose more of a challenge. As it is, I still think in English, translate to French then spit it out. I'm guessing that with Spanish, I'll think in English, translate to French, compare and translate to Spanish, then spit it out. I'll be speaking Spanish with a French accent! Mon Dios!!
On Monday, we drove out to Durham College to pick up my text book. On the way out, The Husband starts brushing at the steering wheel column. I glance over and there's smoke coming out of the column. Not a lot. Kinda like when a moth hits a light bulb. You get that little puff of smoke as the little guy is cremated.
We're both sniffing the air.
We couldn't smell anything.
Then there was no more smoke.
But a few minutes later, another puff of smoke.
The steering was working.
None of the gauges were off.
All seemed to be well.
It puffed a few more times.
Then nothing for the rest of the trip home.
It was a mystery.
This morning when we were leaving for work, The Husband debates on which car to drive.
"White car," he says. "I want to see if it still has Venereal Disease."
"You know," he says, all matter-of-fact, "That burning sensation."