The Beginning and the End

Yesterday I walked into the discount bookstore that is located adjacent to my ligne 8 metro exit, and braced myself for what was about to come. As I said out loud, “You can do this,” I did just that. “Avez vous une agenda pour 2011?” The man looked at me and said (as if it was nothing; as if I hadn’t almost had a panic attack): oui. As I looked down at the mediocre selection, I was determined to walk out with what I had so painstakingly asked for. I selected the agenda that had quotes on the front (none of which I understood), hoping that they were at least mildly entertaining (or at the very least, non-offensive). What was more entertaining, however, was the fact that the agenda went from September-September. If you recall from many posts ago, I mentioned the idea of La Rentree (which translates into “the beginning”). For the French the year does not go by the calendar beginning and end, but instead by school year. As a teacher I concur! (Don’t ever repeat that I am agreeing with French mentality). However, as I am eagerly anticipating my New Year’s Eve celebration in Chicago, I am willing to honor January as the beginning and end as well. And with this being the case, on January 6^th Matt and I will have survived (I mean lived) in Paris for a full-year. As Matt has just celebrated a birthday and we have made it through one year of wedded bluster/bliss, time seems to be ticking abnormally fast --- especially for being in a place where clocks and a sense of time (and urgency) don’t seem to exist.

So why the lapse in posts? I would like to attribute it to me starting my new position, but alas, that is still on hold. Instead, it is a combination of things they cause me to run in circles (slowly, however, as my back is still ailing), pull out the remaining hair I have left (no thanks to the calcium in the water), and be in a constant state of mayhem (the only way I like it). Those of you that know me well know that this means that Ash-lay (my Frenchified pronunciation) has finally “settled” in Paris.

There has been so much to share, but alas, as each day brings something new, I will spare you the mundane details and give you the high and low-lights of the last month.

---For Halloween Matt and I traveled to Madrid. Whereas there was an entire city of grandeur to explore, I was more excited about the Dunkin’ Coffee that Matt would fetch me every morning while I read in my fluffy bed (nestled in our small room that had purple mood lighting). The calamari was divine and the people were beyond welcoming. I desperately wanted to eat at TGIFriday’s there, but we settled for guacamole and chips from room service instead (you Americans take your culinary delights for granted).

View from our hotel (ME Madrid) roofdeck

--Ferme Gally (which may sound reminiscent of an animated alien from a Disney movie) is a romantic old farm located about fifteen minutes outside of Paris. On a grey day in October (which would basically describe all the days in October and November thus far), three tres American couples picked apples, perused Christmas decorations, and roamed around a gourmet grocery store full of delectable locally grown produce, cheeses, and wines. Julia Child would have deemed it heaven. Whereas some of the charm was the fact that it had everything (down to Gien china), so it felt like a glorified Target, it also felt so good to just escape the grime and close quarters of city-living. If you get the chance, I highly recommend a Suntan apple. Regardless of the origin of the name, c’est parfait! Amongst other vegetables and fruit you could pick, were Brussels sprouts. I had no idea that those suckers grew on a stalk!

---Mes amis used to just be another French saying that was reserved for mangling during my French lessons (which, yes, I am still taking). However, now I can confidently say that it is applicable to my life here á Paris. I am so fortunate to have a fantastic group of friends here that do everything from “Blondes versus Brunettes” exhibitions (DC gals, of course I thought of you!), to watching NFL on Sundays (I am along more for the cordon bleu and baked goods). It feels good, and it puts things in perspective. Life feels so much better when you have people around that you care about. That being said, I desperately miss my family and friends (and Friendly’s) in the States. December can not come soon enough!

La Parisienne
Matt's Birthday "Bow Ties & Berets"

---Over the river and through the woods (and over an island, and through gorgeous foliage) to Mennecy we go. This month I was able to throw back on my very neglected running shoes (who were dusty from lack of use) to join my AWG hiking pals on not une, but DEUX country hikes. As toussant vacances was the last two weeks in October (two weeks of for All Saints Day), I was able to rearrange my lessons so that two Wednesdays in a row I was strolling through orange, yellow, red and green that painted the skies and lay in heaps on the ground. Whereas Paris seems to go from green to brown (even the leaves like to be standoffish), it was a needed respite, and therapy that even the best doctor can’t offer.

---I have a few friends who are French, and j’adore them. However, the longer we stay here (and the more strikes we encounter), it is hard not to feel a sense of frustration in the overall French modus operandi. As the last month was filled with protests, metro strikes and destructive behavior in hopes of impacting Sarcozy’s ruling on retirement age (which is still a mere 62), it made me for one second see politics from a doite. I have since gone hobbling back over to the gauche, but it forced me to do some internal reflection (that is, when I was afforded silence in between protesters filing down our street chanting indistinguishable words, sticking stickers on anything stable, and leaving a sour taste in my mouth). Beaucoup des benefits, but no gratitude.

Just another Saturday protest outside our window (Boulevard Voltaire is one of the main routes)

---Most importantly, I have received the monumental news that Lands’ End has made it to this side of the ocean. Whereas I have been really struggling to figure out the best way to schlep around all of my tutoring tricks, I can now order monogrammed bags in every size (with a discount for AWG members!). The dark cloud seems to be lifting, and I just might be able to make it here (or at the very least feel confident in knowing that I still have a life-line to embroidered pants).

In exactly one month we will be departing from Charles de Gaulle aeroport to the US of A. Until then, I have 200 words to choose for the Paris Bee, two AWG bulletins to produce, French lessons, English tutoring, teaching, volunteering at EMDH, chronic pains to have diagnosed and cured, travels to Prague and Budapest (my homeland!) and Christmas activities to conquer (did someone say tea at the Ritz?). In stealing from the words of the astute Little Engine That Could, "I think I can."

As I would have initially tried to cleverly ended my soliloquy here, as I was coming back from visiting a friend this afternoon, I received the sad news that John Doran, my teamster bud (and fatherly mechanic) from HACK had passed away. This was a man who knew how to love and to laugh. As I stood on the street corner in the pouring rain wishing I had not just read the horrible news, I could see John in his fishing cap saying, “Tissue? But I don’t even know you.” A man who spent many hours working, but more hours spreading joy and his good humor, his positive outlook was infectious. I look back on those days with such fondness, and it is a reminder that we must make the most of every day. John did, and because of that, he was a light that will never go out. As I frequently find myself frustrated by my situation here in Paris, I need to hold John’s energy and selflessness with me. John, you will be missed, but never forgotten. Thank you for reminding me of what it is important.