Change of Hearth

As I sit here topless (come on, it is totally common in Europe), braving the heat and feeling slightly woozy still from the stifling metro ride home, I will push past the fact that for forty-five minutes I was slobbered and stepped on by two of the mangiest mutts in muzzles that Paris has to offer, and make the overarching conclusion that this has been a much needed good week.

As Matt wrote about in the last post, Monday would have led us to believe otherwise, as our Monday yielded nothing positive but the x-rays of our ribs that I have framed and hung in our petite living room right next to the entrance to the kitchen (to serve as a reminder to me that somewhere under this flub I have a ribcage and it is time to reacquaint with it). Tuesday sped by with my most recent routine of boot camp, French lessons, teaching English, and then ended with a delightful dinner party whose hostess walked us to the la Tour Eiffel before bidding us farewell. A full accomplished day indeed. Wednesday was another amazing AWG hike that led us through forest, small towns dotted with vibrant roses adorning mailboxes and climbing walls, landed us overlooking a chateau for lunch, and culminated with a steep incline to overlook the town from the ruins of an old chateau. The American flag hung proudly outside a small pub and the 4 Julliet celebration signage was an unexpected added bonus. The fresh air, lovely scenery and good company was rejuvenating as always.

Thursday started out on a deceiving low. I hauled my sore toosh to booty camp (term complements of CWH) only to have it canceled. As I was trudging down Rivoli feeling frustrated with how my day had begun, Matt called with the news that we are being granted the visa we have been fighting for, and I will now be able to travail---which sounds awfully similar to prevail. Coincidence? This has been all-consuming and to get the “oui” felt and still feels truly awesome. I will no longer be Ashley M. Benz, femme au foyer (housewife---or as my next door neighbor endearingly calls me, the desperate housewife). Desperate no more!

And today, I feel like I was given the ultimate sign that things are going to be okay. Not only did my friend Karen give me a large tub of puree cacahuete (that is right, French natural peanut butter—it lives!), but one of my co-volunteers at Enfant du Monde sent me home with raspberry jelly that she made from her garden. I believe those two items are dying to be smothered on bread and turned into the American delight of a PB & J. Although just maybe I am now leaning towards the baguette instead of the Wonderbread as its foundation. I do believe that the course of events this week have caused me to have a change of hearth----one that you can find in a patisserie.