As my rheumatologist has been telling me that I will never heal until I do things that make me happy (with the suggestions of listening to music, watching YouTube and writing), I decided to sidestep a bit and shed the blog-posting, but substitute in another potential mood-elevator: a move. Unfortunately it is not back to the land of anglais and Target, but it is to an area where there is lots of anglais being spoken, Pop-Tarts being sold down the street at the Real McCoy Café, and a next-door neighbor that is a bit too glamorous even for this Madame: the Grande Dame herself. I can’t say it has all been peaches and cream, but once we pieced through the sour milk and rotten peaches, a more edible dessert begin to take shape (and in the color “piscine”). For what IKEA charged us to deliver synthetic shee in way too many pieces, we could have educated a large village in Africa (and would have been spared the migraine). To date, we still don’t have some of our bouquet d'anglais channels working on our TV (after multiple phone calls and a walk-in to the store), but we do have a wealthy neighbor across the way who got a satellite dish installed yesterday, so perhaps I will just settle for a pair of binoculars to watch my Kardashians. And as I sit here and type, my laundry is going in my washer and dryer (yes, miracles can happen), and the rain is pattering on my windows, but not blocking my view of the Eiffel Tower. I can’t say it is heaven (since angels speak English), but it is one step closer.
View from our pad
Billy the Bosnian Goat is laying quietly on the floor eagerly awaiting the arrival of the pillows for the couch and chairs from America :)
Please take note of the steer head against the piscine (pool) colored wall Post-move (and once Internet was installed), I have taken my docs advice and combined YouTube with my desperation to exercise. As I have been wearing a back brace daily, which now bursts open on its own volition (making a loud noise since it is Velcro), thus forcing me to pull my dress up in public to re-fasten, it's a sign that I am far from French in my eating habits. And unlike the French women, I need to exercise. So, until I am able to walk the Champ de Mars or stroll through the Tuleries, I have decided to start working on those areas not affected by my back. My solution: a daily fist pump routine with Pauly D and Keenan to “Beat dat Beat” on YouTube. I may be a sausage from the chest down, but my arms are going to be ready for sundresses on the Jersey Shore this summer. I have my doctor to thank for this life-changing discovery.
As we continue to travel, the fresh air, fresh pretzels (thanks to Berlin) and the excitement of somewhere new still intoxicates me and helps me to relax. Although I am sure the airplane does not help with my back, the idea of getting out of Paris does, so travel has not ceased throughout my period of the Hunchback of Moi. Last weekend we were in Berlin, which was an amazing mix of history (the Berlin wall, the division between East and West Germany, the Gestapo Headquarters) with new life amongst sorrow (including a Vapiano -- the quickest way for anyone to feel better). There were pockets of streets that were filled with a buzzing new energy that is helping to rebuild the city. Our suitcases restrict us from heavy shopping on our weekend jaunts, but we did come home with our new porcelain steer head that complements the piscine wall quite well. Combined with the goat skin from Bosnia, we are on our way to starting the Paris post-petting zoo. Perhaps that will help us to pay for more travel (and no longer our medical bills as we got our carte vitales!!).
The Wall -- avec some francais
The Holocaust Memorial
As Spring is here, and the pigeons are chirping in their nest next to our skylight, I dare say that things are starting to swing back up. Last night we went to a talk on the four pillars of French identity, the first one of them being equality before money. Agreed. The second one was the French language. Forget it. This made me realize that I can get part of the way to being French, but there is still a great divide, and I won’t ever make it past that one. So, instead I will walk down the street and and order diet A&W Root Beer in English and sip it as I stare at the Eiffel Tower from my new flat. I think I feel my back getting better already….
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And as I am doing blog catch-up, I would be remiss not to mention Athens, Greece. This was a weekend of ultimate bliss and was a much needed dose of sun!
Entrance to the Acropolis
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