Michelle Blanchard Ardillo

If you could instantly master any skill, what would it be and why?

All in all, I’m pretty content with who I am and how I got here. Of course, I wish I could eat whatever I want and never gain a pound, but I didn’t win the genetics lottery for that one. I am not looking forward to a rather auspicious birthday later this year, but if I could be younger, I wouldn’t ask for anything too drastic, maybe just back to my mid-forties, you know, before my knees decided to talk to me when I went up and down the stairs or had to stand for long periods of time.

I’ve been lucky enough to have had two great careers, 20 years in the legal field and 20 years in education (really there isn’t that much difference between arguing with lawyers and arguing with 8th grade boys), and now that I’m retired, I’m enjoying my “third career” as a freelance writer, essayist, and book reviewer.

So, if I could blink my eyes a la Jeannie or twitch my nose a la Samantha, I’d wish to have mastered either of these two skills: (1) being fluent in French (reading, writing, and speaking) or (2) being able to play the piano, either by ear, or by being very good at sight-reading.

It’s not as though I didn’t have a chance for either of these two long-standing wishes. When I was a little girl, my parents signed me up for piano lessons with someone in my hometown. We didn’t have a piano so I would practice on my cousin Penny’s piano at my aunt and uncle’s house. Then, a neighbor was moving away and didn’t want to take their piano with them so my parents bought it from them. As luck would have it, though, the piano teacher also moved away.

Now, I could have continued to practice on my own, but I didn’t have the natural talent (I think) or the self-discipline (I know) to do so, so I am perpetually stuck at the skill level of about a third year beginner.

A similar set of circumstances occurred again later in life. Even though my father was a card-carrying Cajun (just an expression), I spoke virtually no Cajun French when I went off to college, where 13 hours of foreign language were required. I had taken high school French and not really applied myself, if I must be honest. Things would be different in college, I promised myself. Spoiler alert: they weren’t.

I registered for and dropped French 101 several times, doing the same with the second French 102. My third French course almost kept me from graduating on time, and I shamelessly brought my professor several bottles of my Cajun uncle’s vin d’orange the last day of class. Spoiler alert: I passed.

So, in 2002, as we prepared to move overseas for two years for my husband’s job, I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish while living in Belgium. Topping the list was: (1) take French lessons and become conversationally fluent, and (2) take piano lessons and practice every day.

I did take French lessons, signing up for one 6-week session for small group instruction. There were only three of us in the class, and the instructor, Stéphane, was wonderful. At the end of the first session, I could successfully request a half pound of thinly sliced ham at the deli counter. I signed up for a second, third, and fourth session, and then one day I discovered I had forgotten my wallet after after filling my shopping cart with groceries at the local grocery store, Delhaize. I could not for the life of me express anything of consequence to the cashier, who called for the store manager, who then called for a woman in the business office in the back of the store, apparently the only human being within a three mile radius who could understand my French gibberish enough to say, rather curtly if I may be honest, “Speak English please.”

I came home from Belgium with the exact same French skills and piano skills as I had when I had flown out of Dulles Airport two years earlier. As the French would say, “C’est dommage.”

Now, I can read a French menu like nobody’s business, and I can explain to other non-French speaking diners how to order their steak or cocktail to their preference. But, that’s not really speaking French.

In the summer of 2024, we took our first trip together overseas since our return from Belgium 20 years earlier. We visited Ireland for a few days and then flew to southwest France where my husband did research on a book he is writing about my uncle’s service in WWII.

We also visited Lourdes and Carcassonne, and it was a wonderful trip all around.

We met some people involved with a museum dedicated to the French Resistance in a town called Cahors and had several social events with them. Some of them spoke English just fine, but one gentleman only spoke French to us. How I wished I could understand him!

Last fall, we returned to Europe to visit friends in Spain and then go to Portugal where I would get the opportunity to go to Fatima, a lifelong dream of mine.

In between those two countries, we squeezed a short stay in Cahors again, where I encountered the same lovely people from the year before, and once again, I was struggling to follow conversations with our now friend Jean-Luc. We hope to return to Cahors again next year. The question is: Will my French be any better by then?

As for the piano, [sigh], I pass by it every single day where it sits begging to be played. I occasionally pull out my sheet music for Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,” photocopied decades ago by my high school friend Marian.

I practiced and practiced that piece all through high school, and sporadically whenever I visited my parents home, until it was shipped to me in Maryland. Maybe I should dust it off and practice it again. Maybe this time I can get past page 2 and finally master page 3.

Even though I am retired and have full control of my time, it is amazing how many things pop up that need attention, that seem more important than working on mastering a skill that has been your dream for as long as you can remember.

I shall endeavor to get better at allocating my time so that I can make the most of my time. Check back with me in a year and see if I’ve made any progress on either one of these skills!