Spring: Hello, my name is Spring and I'm here! Were you expecting me?
Me: No, not really. I had lost hope after you showed up and then cruelly deserted me.
Spring: Ah, well. That's the way I roll. Are you going to welcome me with open arms?
Me: I guess. I love the sunshine. But because of you and your pollen, I can't wear contacts.
Spring: Hold your breath until Summer comes. Close your eyes. Wear a mask.
Me: That's okay. Glasses are cool.
Spring: That's what I thought.
+ Clermont was great. We saw "Milk" in English, ate pizza, randomly met some other assistants, went dancing, crashed a random girl's birthday party ("Who are they?" -- They're Americans!), went to a really nice art museum that had a ton of works by my new favorite Bernard Buffet and wandered around old Montferrand, following the route of the Michelin Guide (during which time THREE people came up to us and pointed out how to get to the cathedrale!) and enjoyed the public transportation là-bas.
+ I'm going to Italy on Saturday! Three days in Venice, six days in Rome! A couple of afternoons in Paris... :)
+ I spent the past weekend in town with the Le Puy kids. I saw a friend's band play and they were fantastic! Traditional French music should be the new rage. It involves this whimsical instrument called the vielle-à-roue and is just FUN to listen to! Haha this could be the greatest hobby of all time.
+ On Saturday, I went to see a festival of short animated films at the teaching university here with some other assistants and a couple of new French friends. It was the first film fest I've ever been to, and it was amazing to see what people are doing! There was an exhibition of animation & film-related things, including the clay-mation models for a film about a tree. They had a display of the different mouths for the different sounds, and the eyes, and the arms... it's amazing to see how much work goes into something like that!
- Lizzledizzle has left LP for good. I'm totally bummed.
+ I met her family today at lunch and it was SO nice to meet them after hearing so much about them! Haha it's funny to finally see how the bits and pieces of six months of stories finally come together in a whole human form. :)
+ I have two new books to read. In English. Complete with sacred ancient book smell.
+ I finally finished that uphill-climb of a novel, Les Noces Rebelles. And in 1/8 of the time it took me to read that book, I'm already almost half-way through another French book; Onze Minutes! This one is translated into French from Spanish. It was written by Paulo Coehlo, who wrote The Alchemist and whose writing style I really like. Already, the character development in this book far exceeds that of Yates' book. Also, the level of hope, optimism and humanity in this one stands in stark contrast to the anguish, despair and darkness of the other. It was a hard read, but I'm glad I made it through.
+ I have started meeting more people who actually live here and who aren't leaving two weeks after vacation ends. I will tell you this: one of my friends plays saxophone and is awesomely political. One is a flight attendant who lived in IRELAND for a year (jeallouuussss!). Another is a crazy-haired philosophe who brings up the Israeli-Palestinian conflict at bars on Saturday nights quand il est bleu. :)
I <3 LP.
31 March 2009
25 March 2009
French Doors. Mousse au Chocolat.
The doors in France are unlike all doors I have ever known; instead of having the key hole on outside with a turnable knob on the inside, they simply have a key hole on both sides (how very symmetrical of them). If someone leaves a key in the hole and, say, leaves the house through the garage, and someone else comes back and tries to use a key to get inside -- ça ne marche pas du tout. While I was waiting outside (environs an hour and twenty-five mintues), being mad and cold and feeling sorry for myself, I finished my book!!!! I rewarded myself with a cup of tea and super hot shower, and immediate commencement of my next French reading list item, Onze Minutes by Paulo Coehlo.
Yesterday I got a cooking lesson from a genuine French chef; The Host Mom instructed/supervised my making of chocolate mousse. She said, "It would be a shame for you to go home without having learned how to cook French food," and promptly began the lesson. It was very edible and mousse-like, so I think I passed the first test.
I had a good last-minute weekend in Clermont-Ferrand. We laughed, went in cathedrales, walked around old Montferrond, saw "Milk" and felt successive sadness, anger and hope, ate pizza, went dancing, and visited a fantastic art museum.
I keep feeling sad about Lizzledizzle leaving, and I'm noticing that everything is "The Last ____". Today was The Last Wednesday Coffee. Yesterday was The Last Tuesday Lunch. I believe this is what happens when we act like humans and get attached to things, despite the awareness we have of our tendency to do that, and our attempts to transcend this human folly. It makes me want to go see M. Francis again, and ask him how he reconciles teaching a class on Tao in Thought, in putting numens in our pockets and making us aware of this phenomenon, and then lives his own life, skipping faculty meetings run by others, and living in Suburban Central with this awareness and this other paradigm working away inside his head.
In fact, I'd like to just go visit them all. And thank them for making me THINK and not just play the game, which I had already learned to do so well.
I'm beginning to think these are the most meaningful things -- the ones that confound your paradigms, that conflict with Truths and cause significant dissonance within, that cause you to spend significant time working out, only to realize it was this process so much more than the resolution that was important.
Lizzie always does that with her Dora problems and frustrations with American institutions, her feminism and New York resentment. I will seriously miss her.
Yesterday I got a cooking lesson from a genuine French chef; The Host Mom instructed/supervised my making of chocolate mousse. She said, "It would be a shame for you to go home without having learned how to cook French food," and promptly began the lesson. It was very edible and mousse-like, so I think I passed the first test.
I had a good last-minute weekend in Clermont-Ferrand. We laughed, went in cathedrales, walked around old Montferrond, saw "Milk" and felt successive sadness, anger and hope, ate pizza, went dancing, and visited a fantastic art museum.
I keep feeling sad about Lizzledizzle leaving, and I'm noticing that everything is "The Last ____". Today was The Last Wednesday Coffee. Yesterday was The Last Tuesday Lunch. I believe this is what happens when we act like humans and get attached to things, despite the awareness we have of our tendency to do that, and our attempts to transcend this human folly. It makes me want to go see M. Francis again, and ask him how he reconciles teaching a class on Tao in Thought, in putting numens in our pockets and making us aware of this phenomenon, and then lives his own life, skipping faculty meetings run by others, and living in Suburban Central with this awareness and this other paradigm working away inside his head.
In fact, I'd like to just go visit them all. And thank them for making me THINK and not just play the game, which I had already learned to do so well.
I'm beginning to think these are the most meaningful things -- the ones that confound your paradigms, that conflict with Truths and cause significant dissonance within, that cause you to spend significant time working out, only to realize it was this process so much more than the resolution that was important.
Lizzie always does that with her Dora problems and frustrations with American institutions, her feminism and New York resentment. I will seriously miss her.
24 March 2009
Irony Exists in All Countries
E and T came home from school and asked me for peanut butter sandwiches. When I reminded them that they hated it when they tried it, they both fervently denied it. Go figure.
20 March 2009
Hopeful Rollercoaster Springtime
These past few weeks have just been an emotional sausage of highs, lows, and other various parts of the human emotional spectrum. (Haha isn't that a disgusting but vivid metaphor? I thank the sign for "boudain blanc" that I saw this afternoon outside of la charcuterie for inspiring this -- I seriously threw up inside of my mouth).
I have delighted in the emergence of Springtime, and with it the crocus, daffodils and short-sleeved shirts. Thanks to the past week of 18-21*C days, I have re-instituted my daily ritual of having sandwich lunch in the park, and then returning later for a few hours of afternoon reading and/or writing. I started running again, even though it's a little too early -- in the mornings it's still right around 0*C which pushes the limits of my motivation and/or dedication. But I feel like there are less dogs out so early, which helps tip the scales in favor of good health a bit.
At the same time, I've been frustrated by things of small and large significance, feeling the distance between my American life and my French life. I'm guessing this is normal, especially since my friends are all gearing up to leave either very, or relatively, soon.
Last weekend, I spent a night in town like an ordinary 20-something should. I started doing a language exchange with a French guy, where we meet on Fridays at the fountain, get a beer at the Irish bar (yes -- this was his choice) and speak 30 minutes of English, and then 30 minutes of French about both important and useless things. Last week, the main discussion revolved around prevalent stereotypes of our respective countries, which proved to be pretty funny and simultaneously sad.
Afterward, I spent the evening with my friends, having dinner, drinking wine, and listening to the sounds of an obscure French Reggae band playing its clarinet and ukelele jams. I met some more of the "French boys" that the other assistants are friends with, and ended up talking to one for a long time about philosophy, literature, and the frustrating limitations of language ability. All in French -- hooray!
The following day, I met the assistants for a picnic lunch and hike in a little town just outside of Le Puy. We all bought food at the market in the morning, and then took a bus to the little chateau, which was, unfortunately, still closed for the season. Regardless, we ate lunch just outside of its gates and then hiked during the afternoon. We celebrated finishing our trek with a deliciously refreshing bière at this little bar in town, and then I'm pretty sure everyone went home and slept until Sunday afternoon, feeling that perfect kind of tired that only comes after a good, long day of sunshine, good food, and accidental exercise.
Tomorrow, I'm heading to Clermont-Ferrand to spend a last weekend with Lizzie. We're spending Saturday and Sunday there, and then coming back to Le Puy for a farewell dinner and celebration since she's leaving next week. I'm TOTALLY excited to take a train, go visit an art museum, and spend time in a university town that is home to nearly 35,000 students!!!
I'm also 100 pages away from finally finishing this nightmare of a book.
I have delighted in the emergence of Springtime, and with it the crocus, daffodils and short-sleeved shirts. Thanks to the past week of 18-21*C days, I have re-instituted my daily ritual of having sandwich lunch in the park, and then returning later for a few hours of afternoon reading and/or writing. I started running again, even though it's a little too early -- in the mornings it's still right around 0*C which pushes the limits of my motivation and/or dedication. But I feel like there are less dogs out so early, which helps tip the scales in favor of good health a bit.
At the same time, I've been frustrated by things of small and large significance, feeling the distance between my American life and my French life. I'm guessing this is normal, especially since my friends are all gearing up to leave either very, or relatively, soon.
Last weekend, I spent a night in town like an ordinary 20-something should. I started doing a language exchange with a French guy, where we meet on Fridays at the fountain, get a beer at the Irish bar (yes -- this was his choice) and speak 30 minutes of English, and then 30 minutes of French about both important and useless things. Last week, the main discussion revolved around prevalent stereotypes of our respective countries, which proved to be pretty funny and simultaneously sad.
Afterward, I spent the evening with my friends, having dinner, drinking wine, and listening to the sounds of an obscure French Reggae band playing its clarinet and ukelele jams. I met some more of the "French boys" that the other assistants are friends with, and ended up talking to one for a long time about philosophy, literature, and the frustrating limitations of language ability. All in French -- hooray!
The following day, I met the assistants for a picnic lunch and hike in a little town just outside of Le Puy. We all bought food at the market in the morning, and then took a bus to the little chateau, which was, unfortunately, still closed for the season. Regardless, we ate lunch just outside of its gates and then hiked during the afternoon. We celebrated finishing our trek with a deliciously refreshing bière at this little bar in town, and then I'm pretty sure everyone went home and slept until Sunday afternoon, feeling that perfect kind of tired that only comes after a good, long day of sunshine, good food, and accidental exercise.
Tomorrow, I'm heading to Clermont-Ferrand to spend a last weekend with Lizzie. We're spending Saturday and Sunday there, and then coming back to Le Puy for a farewell dinner and celebration since she's leaving next week. I'm TOTALLY excited to take a train, go visit an art museum, and spend time in a university town that is home to nearly 35,000 students!!!
I'm also 100 pages away from finally finishing this nightmare of a book.
18 March 2009
Conversation with Myself.
"What is wrong with you?"
- I don't know.
"What is your current problem?"
- Seemingly discontentedness.
"What are you doing/have you done to remedy this?"
- Well, I thought that the problem was that I was in a long-distance relationship. So I ended it.
"Why did you think that was the problem?"
- I always wanted to be somewhere else. I was spending my life focusing on the future and forgetting the present.
"What are you doing differently now?"
- Nothing.
"Why not?"
- Because I can't seem to be content with being where I am, no matter how I try.
"Where do you want to be?"
- I don't know. Home.
"Where there is rampant unemployment and desperation?"
- Er... yes. And my friends.
"Who are busy acting like functionally-socialized college graduates, supporting themselves and starting their careers?"
- Er... yes.
"Would they really have time for you?"
- I don't really like these questions.
"Well, that's kind of too bad. This is the voice of reason speaking. You are clearly not listening."
Channel it. Make it into something useful and artistic.
Crepes. Oranges. Running. Yelling. Crying. Punishment. Sunglasses. Coffee. USB drive. Road trips. Angst.
12 March 2009
Dog Bite
My notebook got bit by a dog today!
After class today, I wanted to enjoy a bit of the sunshine and 16*C weather, so I went to the park. I was writing in my notebook when these three teenage boys started talking to me. The one guy asked me what I was writing and walked toward me to look at it. I instinctively pulled it away from him and said, "It's in English; you couldn't read it anyway." (I'm not for sure what made them think that I was interested in talking to them, and I wasn't feeling particularly friendly.)
One of their friends rode by doing a wheelie on a bicycle (welcome to France), and the one kid's dog started barking and sank his teeth into the corner of my notebook! I yanked it out of his mouth and shoved him away, asking what the dog's problem was.
The kid was laughing and he said, "He got scared of the bike." Apparently, the dog came from a shelter and potentailly was traumatized by something, because he completely freaks out if he sees skateboards, rollerblades or bicycles. I kind of wondered if in the way that most people train their dogs to behave, this kid didn't train his dog to attack. But I don't know... maybe the 18-year-old plumber was telling the truth. What a weird thing though, right?
For all the times I have been scared of dogs that might potentially bite me, the one that looks the cutest ends up being the one that attacks.
After class today, I wanted to enjoy a bit of the sunshine and 16*C weather, so I went to the park. I was writing in my notebook when these three teenage boys started talking to me. The one guy asked me what I was writing and walked toward me to look at it. I instinctively pulled it away from him and said, "It's in English; you couldn't read it anyway." (I'm not for sure what made them think that I was interested in talking to them, and I wasn't feeling particularly friendly.)
One of their friends rode by doing a wheelie on a bicycle (welcome to France), and the one kid's dog started barking and sank his teeth into the corner of my notebook! I yanked it out of his mouth and shoved him away, asking what the dog's problem was.
The kid was laughing and he said, "He got scared of the bike." Apparently, the dog came from a shelter and potentailly was traumatized by something, because he completely freaks out if he sees skateboards, rollerblades or bicycles. I kind of wondered if in the way that most people train their dogs to behave, this kid didn't train his dog to attack. But I don't know... maybe the 18-year-old plumber was telling the truth. What a weird thing though, right?
For all the times I have been scared of dogs that might potentially bite me, the one that looks the cutest ends up being the one that attacks.
09 March 2009
Seriously?
A post about teaching.
I think when I say that my classes are horrible, people don't really believe that they're horrible. But they are.
When I say horrible, I mean, kids drawing on themselves with marker, spilling their stuff all over the floor, getting out of their chairs, talking, dancing... madness.
I think when I say that my classes are horrible, people don't really believe that they're horrible. But they are.
When I say horrible, I mean, kids drawing on themselves with marker, spilling their stuff all over the floor, getting out of their chairs, talking, dancing... madness.
Peanut Butter, Light Green/Transportation, Miss You, Progress
Je te présent "peanut butter"
I went to the Irish store last week and bought peanut butter (from Ireland -- don't worry). All they had was creamy, but in a situation like this, one cannot be picky. Carrying the golden jar in my backpack all day, I dreamed of the many ways that I could consume the sticky, gooey deliciousness. On an apple? In a sandwich? On crackers? I finally got home and made a pb&j baguette which tasted like "E.T." and Halloween and school lunches and being home and summer picnics. My goodness it was fantastic!
At dinner that night I casually mentioned that I had bought it, and the kids in my host family all said they had never even heard of peanut butter. NEVER?! Never. Even The Host Dad said he had never actually tasted it in his 30-some years of life. I tried to give them an idea of how inconceivable this was to me, and the best I could come up with was, "Imagine if you had never seen, heard of or tasted Nutella."
I shared my pb&j sandwich with them (except Tt who is potentially allergic to it, and The Host Mom who refused it, saying she had tried it in NYC once and proceeded to attack the very base of this very-American ICON by saying, "In France, we prefer to eat things that are made of products that come directly from the cows or from the Earth" -- and wouldn't concede despite the fact that it comes from peanuts, because I couldn't explain to her how it's made. Because I don't know. Sorry, America; I failed you.) It was a massive failure, which made me kind of happy in a way -- haha, at least I know I can leave my jar in the kitchen without it disappearing before getting a chance to eat it.
Light Green/Transportation
My friend Amanda told me last week, "Light green is supposed to help cure homesickness." So I've been trying to dream in it. It's not really working, and I'm thinking my otherattempts at curing it (watching SATC, eating peanut butter, drinking the one prized bottle of Budweiser that I had) actually only made it worse.
If you ask me, the only cure to missing your old life is actually living your new one. I feel like these past few weeks, which have been filled with babysitting, teaching and spending tons of time alone, do not represent in any way my ideal way of living. I should just buy a scooter or something. When living in the suburbs, the key to actually having a life, it seems, is also having transportation.
Miss You
See above.
If you're looking for a silver lining, it has to be this: I am 300 pages into a 500-page novel written in French.
Not only do I look forward to reading it equally as much as I would an English novel, I can read it in the midst of other noise and distractions, which I could never do before.
On a related and unrelated note, on Saturday I went to an open house at the high school in Monistrol, thinking that I would be going with the host family, but actually going by myself.
I walked inside, explained to a man wearing a pink name tag that I was an English assistant in Le Puy and had heard tons of good things about this high school and just wanted to see it. He asked me if I wanted to walk around by myself or with a tour guide, and I jumped on a tour sans problèmes.
And so it happened, just like that, all in French. "No problem."
PROGRESS.
I went to the Irish store last week and bought peanut butter (from Ireland -- don't worry). All they had was creamy, but in a situation like this, one cannot be picky. Carrying the golden jar in my backpack all day, I dreamed of the many ways that I could consume the sticky, gooey deliciousness. On an apple? In a sandwich? On crackers? I finally got home and made a pb&j baguette which tasted like "E.T." and Halloween and school lunches and being home and summer picnics. My goodness it was fantastic!
At dinner that night I casually mentioned that I had bought it, and the kids in my host family all said they had never even heard of peanut butter. NEVER?! Never. Even The Host Dad said he had never actually tasted it in his 30-some years of life. I tried to give them an idea of how inconceivable this was to me, and the best I could come up with was, "Imagine if you had never seen, heard of or tasted Nutella."
I shared my pb&j sandwich with them (except Tt who is potentially allergic to it, and The Host Mom who refused it, saying she had tried it in NYC once and proceeded to attack the very base of this very-American ICON by saying, "In France, we prefer to eat things that are made of products that come directly from the cows or from the Earth" -- and wouldn't concede despite the fact that it comes from peanuts, because I couldn't explain to her how it's made. Because I don't know. Sorry, America; I failed you.) It was a massive failure, which made me kind of happy in a way -- haha, at least I know I can leave my jar in the kitchen without it disappearing before getting a chance to eat it.
Light Green/Transportation
My friend Amanda told me last week, "Light green is supposed to help cure homesickness." So I've been trying to dream in it. It's not really working, and I'm thinking my otherattempts at curing it (watching SATC, eating peanut butter, drinking the one prized bottle of Budweiser that I had) actually only made it worse.
If you ask me, the only cure to missing your old life is actually living your new one. I feel like these past few weeks, which have been filled with babysitting, teaching and spending tons of time alone, do not represent in any way my ideal way of living. I should just buy a scooter or something. When living in the suburbs, the key to actually having a life, it seems, is also having transportation.
Miss You
See above.
If you're looking for a silver lining, it has to be this: I am 300 pages into a 500-page novel written in French.
Not only do I look forward to reading it equally as much as I would an English novel, I can read it in the midst of other noise and distractions, which I could never do before.
On a related and unrelated note, on Saturday I went to an open house at the high school in Monistrol, thinking that I would be going with the host family, but actually going by myself.
I walked inside, explained to a man wearing a pink name tag that I was an English assistant in Le Puy and had heard tons of good things about this high school and just wanted to see it. He asked me if I wanted to walk around by myself or with a tour guide, and I jumped on a tour sans problèmes.
And so it happened, just like that, all in French. "No problem."
PROGRESS.
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