Things I Miss

I am now a month in to the phase I have dubbed "The Aftermath." Thus far, The Aftermath involves me cataloging various nuisance problems around my apartment and blaming them on You Know Who. Among the atrocities: a horridly filthy shower curtain, a broken DVD player, brown candle wax dried on my moderately expensive mirror on the mantle, dirty coffee grinder, a large piece of unwrapped fish lying open in the freezer, a can of Pam in the refrigerator, what appears to be dog snot on my patio doors, and three flowerpots on a shelf in my storage closet with withered brown plant stalks intact.

Frankly, it's going to be a shame when enough time has passed that I can no longer reasonably blame everything on her. I have a feeling the current dust crop is as much my fault as hers. And I haven't gotten around to cleaning the dog snot; do I just enjoy that little flash of righteous indignation, the evidence that she's the bad guy?

I keep getting the same two questions at school: "How was France?" "Are you glad to be back?" I usually opt for "interesting" and "yes," because the actual answers are too complicated to get in to. When pressed for a longer response, my standard answer is that I don't regret my decision to come home, I just regret that it was necessary.

Are there things I miss? Absolutely. Here are a few:

I miss TS1. Sometimes you get a group that's just flat-out special, and TS1 was mine. I don't know that I'll never again have such an outstanding combination of intelligence and personality in one room.

I miss thinking about Cheez-Its in the shower:

I miss the beaver on my fridge:

I miss speaking French every day. (By this I mean Real French, as opposed to Classroom French. In class I'm pretty much talking myself, except for when I track down a beleaguered French V graduate who must humor me by enduring my desperate chatter.) Even when I speak French poorly, I love it.

I miss walking. I know, you're calling foul, right? "Please, that girl was always complaining about not having a car," you're thinking, and you're right. I hated the bus. I hated the necessity of walking; as in, it would be nice to take a car when it was raining, to run out for milk or toilet paper, or when I was late for school. But I'd like to have the option of walking to and from school when it suits me. I've got a logjam of "Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!" podcasts since the iPod doesn't get its usual two-hour workout.

But at the same time, I'm so happy to be home. Today, for example, Shells called and asked if I wanted to meet her for a drink. We sat in the restaurant for two hours lingering over drinks, fried cheese, and a massive venting session. And it struck me that I never got to do this kind of thing in Le Mans, and that my life was duller for it.

With my colleagues, it's been highly entertaining to see whose side people are on. I never asked them to take sides, mind you, but there are a number of folks who worked with Miss Cake who no longer speak to me. There are also those who glare at me and ask pointed questions like, "So, did she want to leave? Were you the one who quit?" A semester in France did great things for my diplomatic ability. I've gotten good at taking the high road.

My classes are great; the students are sweethearts and I enjoy feeling competent again. I can teach French. I'm good at it. The kids like me. We work together towards a common goal, and we all feel positive about it. Several told me they were planning to drop French until they heard I was coming back. I hate that they felt this way about it, but it's nice to have validation that yes, I really did make the right choice.

Of course, I'm already plotting my return to France...

Brief Catch-Up

Due to tiresome complaints, I am posting this little nugget to tide you over until I have time to do it right:

1. It was snowing the day I left. The train ride was slightly scary, the plane was delayed three hours. We watched an entire movie before backing away from the gate.*

2. But glad to be home.

3. Went to Mobile to get my car and assess the fallout. Ask me about The Towel Drama next time you see me; it explains a lot.

4. Went to see "The Princess and the Frog" with world's greatest goddaughter.

5. Christmas-- good to see the family.

6. Goddaughter apparently lacks confidence in my fish caretaking skills.

7. Bought a Wii. (Oh yes, I did.)

8. Off for some New Year's frolics, more later.

*Four Christmases. Sadly, I couldn't get any sound in my earphones, but if someone asks if I've seen this movie, I suppose I can answer that yes, technically I have. I just haven't heard it.

Adieu à la France qui s'en va

Possibly my most pretentious post title yet*, but it seemed sort of appropriate. (Sort of appropriate because technically it was me, and not France, which was s'en va-ing.)

After not sleeping most of the night, I got out of bed and had a cup of coffee. At eight, it occurred to me that it was still dark outside. Closer inspection revealed the unmistakable presence of snow. Hmm. Probably should watch the weather more often (by which I mean ever).

Heroic Annie (of Annie & Richard fame) drove me to the train station, a thrill ride involving uncleared streets, questionable breaking stalled trucks and u-turns. At the station, she abandoned cultural convention and gave me an honest-to-goodness hug. It felt fantastic. I have nothing against la bise, I rather like it in fact, but it occurs to me now that hugs are the corporal equivalent of comfort food.

More to follow on the adventures of La Rentrée aux USA, but for the moment I thought I'd share a few snow pictures:

*Adieu à la France qui s'en va is the title of a 2003 book by Jean-Marie Rouart, a member of the Académie Française. I know, totally pretentious, right? Particularly since I haven't actually read the book.

Joys of Mass Transit, Part 35

Paris, je t'aime. No matter what. And after a fantastic weekend and a truly superb (if insanely cold-- 33 damn degrees) Sunday in which I walked along the Seine with a dear friend and went to a lovely Doisneau exhibit followed by a movie that made me cry buckets, I had reached the point of thinking that I am a fool for choosing to leave this country.

And then, dear Paris, you took one for the team by reminding me of everything that I hate about you. Here's how the rest of my day went:

4:15-- I take the Métro from Les Halles.

4:35-- Arrive at Gare Montparnasse. My train doesn't leave until 5:05, so I have time to grab a giant hot chocolate for the road!

4:45-- My train doesn't appear on the departure board. Why isn't my train on the board? Okay, usually it's on quai 1-9, so I'll just breeze by and see...

4:48-- DAMN IT DAMN IT DAMN IT. "For reasons of a social movement in Rennes, risk of perturbation on the axis serving Rennes Brest Nantes Le Mans..." GAH!

4:49-- Oh, so that's why there's this huge long line at the information desk. Guess I'd better step to the end.

4:50-- Random woman stomps past yelling, "I am SICK TO DEATH of these DAMN CIVIL SERVANTS and their DAMN STRIKES."

4:55-- A girl with a nose ring is irritably correcting her father, "It's not a strike, it's a social movement."

5:00-- I'm next in line. The lady in front of me is venting all her frustration on the girl behind the desk, and the girl in response says, "Hey lady, I'm not on strike here. You think I'm enjoying this?"

5:02-- Yes indeedy, my train has been cancelled. I can take the 5:50 train to some city I've never heard of. I hang around the freezing cold station with my finger up my nose for the next half hour.

5:40-- The departure board flips and Quai 8 is revealed. A mad dash ensues, as half the passengers on this train don't have seats.

5:45-- By knocking down some kids and old ladies, I'm able to hurl myself into one of the jump seats at the end of a car.

5:50-- The train isn't leaving yet. People are packed in like sardines. The man next to me has his elbow in my temple.

5:55-- Why isn't the train leaving?

6:00-- Ladies and gentlemen, there's a problem with the... something something... and we have to... something. We're summoning a mechanic and should have the problem resolved soon.

6:08-- They're summoning this mechanic from Norway, or what?

6:12-- Ladies and gentlemen, the train will be leaving at 6:20.

6:22-- Make that 6:25.

6:28-- Train leaves. I still have an elbow in my temple.

7:23-- Train arrives in Le Mans. I sprint to the tramway but this is a wasted effort, as the next one doesn't arrive for nine minutes.

7:27-- I. Am. Freezing.

7:34-- In the tram.

7:40-- Off the tram. Dash across the square and a block down to my bus stop, hoping hoping hoping that the bus will come soon.

7:42-- The bus came at 7:35. The next bus is at 8:06.

7:45-- I. Am. Freezing.

7:50-- I'm going to walk up and down the street for a while, because I can't feel my legs anymore.

7:56-- Stupid cathedral projections. They really annoy me.

7:58-- I eat some M&Ms. One falls on the ground and it looks so sad and abandoned that I pick it up and throw it away. I toss in another M&M so the first one won't be lonely. I am officially delirious from cold.

8:00-- Christmas lights go off. Cathedral is dark. Man, this place sucks.

8:04-- The bus comes early! I get on the bus! It's WARM! There's only one other passenger.

8:05-- Next stop, the other passenger gets off and I laugh because I have a private bus now. Then the driver gets off and I stop laughing. This happens from time to time-- shift change-- but they never say anything or explain, they just get off the bus, which is still running, and leave the doors open.

8:06-- I am alone on the bus.

8:07-- What would they do if I just got behind the wheel and drove myself home?

8:08-- Bad idea. I'm leaving Thursday, I don't need that complicated by jail time.

8:09-- There's a man standing in the middle of the street. He gets on the bus and sits in the driver's seat. I hope this means that he's the bus driver and not, you know, a random nutjob.

8:10-- I am alone on the bus with a random driver who has cranked up the radio. The song's title translates as "Crazy crazy crazy." He's using the fingers of his right hand to tap out the rhythm on his change tray, and he's staring at me in the rearview mirror. Shouldn't he be watching the road? What about ten-o'clock-two-o'clock?

8:13-- It's really weird being the only person on the bus. What would I do if he just ignored me and kept driving? Could I bust out a window and escape?

8:14-- I am off the bus. Finally. I cross the road and it is literally empty-- not even a cat. You'd think it's was three in the morning. I am so cold that the motion sensors do not even recognize my presence, and even while jumping up and down in front of the door, the lights don't come on. I have to illuminate my iPod to find the keyhole.

8:16-- In the door. Home at last, a mere four hours after I started out. Ain't life grand?

Let's All Go To The Movies

The local art house cinema always has large, brightly-colored posters advertising what's showing. I like this cinema best because they show movies in "verso," which means if it's an American movie I don't have to listen to weird French voices coming out of George Clooney's mouth. (Not that I've ever seen a George Clooney movie. But you know what I mean. I'm still recovering from the trauma of seeing "8 Mile," wherein the dialogue was all in French-- in one voice-- and the rapping was the original English. Freakish.)

Since I walk past the place every time I'm in town, you can imagine how startled I was by their poster advertising a new film, called "Masculine Domination." I just had to share with you.

And yes, there's a reason I've linked to it rather than just pasting it in here. Figure it out.

Christmas Shopping

I'm off to Paris this weekend for a last hurrah before leaving on Thursday. (Wow. That happened fast.) Thus far I've only bought one thing at the various Christmas markets I've been to, and this is it:

It's jam. I purchased it solely for its name (you can look up translations here and here) and all things considered, it's surprisingly tasty. Fruity. Sweet. Peaches and apricots mostly. Go figure. There was also a flavor called Couilles de Pape, but I felt this was going too far.

Oh, wow.

I just checked the 10-day forecast for Birmingham. Because I'll be home by then.

Good grief, I should probably start thinking about packing. Crap.