š§The Juiceš§
Banana Manager Rush.
LATE DUE TO A LONG WALK TO COFFEE AND PIVOTS TO CABBAGE.
Monday.
Monday is for getting down to businessā¦
On Monday, it was a trip into the city center to take a preliminary French exam. The French exam, offered by the Institut Francais, is a precursor for placement into the various levels of class offerings.
By taking classes through the institute, one can also gain access to the on-site library, garden, and any exclusive programs and events.
A woman descends from a grand staircase that is ornamented with a Moroccan geometric tile pattern of dark auburn and emerald green.
She leads me to a small studio with walls made up of windows that look into other small studios. We take seats across from one another at a table as she begins to casually ask me questions in French. I begin to slowly realize that this is the exam; a natural, oral conversation. As I respond, the woman across from me, in a cozy knit sweater and short curly hair, looks down at a piece of paper. I determine she is likely looking at conversational points that lead the oral exam based on the level she gathers from my responses.
At some point during the exam, she hands me a piece of paper to write out an answer. Soon after, we conclude the placement test.
āBravo,ā she concludes while standing up, ready to lead me outside of the studio. She genuinely congratulates me for understanding her French given I have had only one official month of French schooling back in New York. I did not share that I took the course four years ago and that my maintenance has been through restarting a practice on Duo Lingo and the quick conversations during travel. I hold her congratulations like a warm hug, as if Iāve just finished a small theatre performance and her compliment is a bouquet of flowers.
She turns to open the door and I exit down the grand staircase in conclusion of Mondayās French business.
Tuesday.
On Tuesdays we tarot and tripā¦
The Tuesday tarot was either done and undocumented, or forgotten due to morning time travel.
Nonetheless, a trip was taken to the Spanish Institute. A bit further from the city center where the French Institute is located, I walk up the steps that jut out directly towards the street. The building has a day school appearance compared to the gated and fountain decorated entry of the French institute.
Once inside, light filters through overhead glass panels while two women type to the right-hand side in an open air help desk set-up.
In my direct vision facing forward, past the set of entry chairs, a gentleman in a uniform like a security guard points me in the direction of the typing women for information and invites me to take a seat for waiting.
In a short moment, I take my turn to ask my question before being pointed in the direction of the library.
āIāll be there in just a minute,ā says a woman with red curly hair standing above the second desk.
I take the direction to the left, following the hall straight into the instituteās library, perusing a shelf before the woman appears.
āHow can I help you, my child,ā she says in Spanish. It is a phrase in Spanish that does not translate in its direct sense; rather, an expression that seeks to establish the generosity of her helpfulness while also acknowledging that I am younger than herself. After our brief exchange of questions and answers, I come to find out that the Spanish Instituteās library is free to access, but to check out books requires a membership.
I leave the library feeling slightly giddy, as I have been cherishing a slow read of Madame Bovary given itās the only physical book I have on-hand for pleasure reading. I do actually prefer to read paper or hardback rather than on the phone. The book is read intermittently, toted around in my purse or hand. On buses, or to outdoor garden or cafe sits.
Upon exiting the institute, I decide to take a side trip on the return home to an outdoor market.
The walkway is tight in its design as well as environment. People squeeze in front, past, and behind. Tables in the middle of the walkway make a make-shift pedestrian median which also lends to the close proximity of patron-to-patron passerby.
Once past the small businesses selling pots, baking molds, tables of stationery, and kiosks of wound silk and rolls of embroidery, I find myself taking a turnabout to a space where men shout the prices of their produce.
In taking the turn, I was led in the correctness of my decision as the banana manager rushed by, pushing a cartful bushel of ripe bananas.
I quickly snapped a picture.
After acquiring a few beets, I exit the bustling market and find, just on the other side, a symbolic banana setup of calm.
Another banana manager, just with different style.
Wednesday.
Whipping something up on a Wednesdayā¦
Late Wednesday evening, the scrap fabric was making its way into the shape of shorts.
The magenta fabric with orange specks is delicate, but this gives it a luxurious feel as inspired by my fashion archival research on Pinterest. Taking my own advice, I begin to stitch my own bespoke pair.
I take the evening to focus on the silhouetteās closing stitches as I close my day, leaving the challenge of learning to hand ruche for the following day.
The next morning, after the pilates and tea and what have you, I take pride in tackling the ruching challenge. To celebrate the finality of the sewing project, I do a little dance in my new pants.
Thursday.
This sign (from the archive) brought me joyā¦
āDavide?!ā (Is this my old neighbour in time/space travel mode?)
Friday.
*magical digital dove delivery*
Wellness.
Back to a daily TA Pilates routine
Three sachets of morning Lipton tea
Black fungus mushrooms and gluten-free soy sauce
Ponderings that oatmeal is mostly on the outs
Telepathy with the forces of the Universe