I wonder why it seems to be a universal human need/impulse/desire to talk about the weather. Does it make us feel appropriately humbled? Is it because we are enthralled to know that regardless of progress and technology and invention, there is always one thing we can't willingly control?
It all becomes better when you live in a place that is totally unprepared for snow. Like North Carolina. Or M, France. Because here, one centimeter of snow provokes the equivalency of 80 meters of panic. And the first fat flocon de neige that floats down from the gray overhead is like a doomsday prophesy just waiting to be fulfilled.
I love the vocabulary of weather. It is a subject easily broached. No one hesitates to give an opinion. And even someone who lights up when the snow falls (like moi) can openly admit it, if he/she accepts that she will then have to take all blame for anything that ever happens afterward as a direct (or indirect) result of the phenomenon. I don't mind. It reminds me of Michigan.
Today I learned something that I did not know: an average full-time teacher in France works 18 hours "in front of the class." (I work 12, so TECHNICALLY I'm more than part-time. How do you like them apples?) A teacher who has completed the more challenging concours works 15 hours but makes more money than the others.
Another teacher told me today, as she was disgusted -- and clearly irritated-- by the fact that I told her the average American teacher probably works 3o hours in front of the class, "Well, life is for living -- not for working away."
You said it, sister.
No comments:
Post a Comment