Lady Bug Saga II

Sorry this took so long. Pretty soon i'm going to stop apologizing for late blog posts because they're all late now. Instead I'll give you all one big blanket apology for being a lousy blogger. Ok that was my little pre-amble.

I had decided to do some research on lady bugs and heir symbolism, because I thought perhaps I'd learn something about the way they seemed to hang around only in my room out of all the house, and maybe there were reasonable ways to counter their agressive invasion. What I found was that eveyone, I mean everyone, from Europe to Idia to Japan to Australia loves lady bugs. Nobody except me thinks they can possibly have any dangerous or viscious qualities, nor are they believed by any culture documented on the web to be deamons of bad fortune. Atleast, I thought, I know I'm not dying of some disease they've infected me with, or the reciprocal of a spiritual parasite carried by these little beacons of fear. On the contrary, they're the little cupids of the world over, they are miniature passion-colored love gurus. Well, I decided, then they must be here to help me out or at least that was their plan before they freaked me out and I tried to ward them away, like a garlic-totin', silver-spear wielding victorian gothic superstitious nut case with a catholic up-bringing. It turns out they do have a tendency to cluster together around a single person, and infest people's houses. Most people don't seem to concerened about their squating but a few offered up advice including bay leaves, citronella candles and other such things on the window sills to ward them off. I however, decided to play it cool. First I made a peace offering one clearly stating my apologies for any harm done, my intention to leave them alone, and turn a blind eye to their previously onus presense in my Salle de Bain. Then I made sure they were clear: love help accepted, as that is their purported duty. When no love revelations came in the next week or so, I opted toward one of the more active routes mentioned in my research. There is an asiatic belief that I found that entails catching a ladybug and then upon releasing it, the little thing will fly off and fine you ture love and then send them your way. Hey, I thought, they're in my bathroom for a reason, why not try and gain something from these world renowned match-makers?

After that things were pretty normal, smooth no, but normal. We had some ups and downs, good times and bad. There was one episode where I let it fly after getting into the shower to find, as well as the normal five or six on the wall, one clinging to the glass divide on my side. I'm sorry, but that's way too close, way over the line, its called a personal space bubble. I had a little cow, flipped out, flicked one or two off the glass to the hard floor below, with steam pouring out my ears, and flames shooting out my nostrils. Luckily for them I chilled out and and a week later I saved two that were drowning on the ridge or the tub, they had slipped in the excess water and slid down the edge on their backs so that their golden legs crawled the air. I let them cling to my finger and hoisted them up to safety. Something about the familiar trusting cling of their feet on my hand evoked memories, and seem to cancel with the terrible nightmare that started this whole story, as this new, calm thankful reaction to my aid was what I had been expecting that fateful night. I felt a new solidarity of sorts, with my roommates. One of them was so traumatized that he didn't want to leave the comfort of my hand without a nudge. I was pleased with myself for saving them, and pleased with them for not having done anything rash since the last time I lost my temper. Then I checked on them again when I turned the shower off: all was well. I stepped out onto the star-shaped, red, shag rug on the floor and crunch - oh goo, what the (expletive deleted) was that!? I picked up the rug and gave it a hearty shake, not one but two dead lady-bugs fell out toppling and bouncy on the floor, hard shells empty and curled up. One had probably suffocated in the folds of the rug, or gotten lost in the jungle of the shag and starved to death, while the other i had clearly stepped on. I must say that humbled my good samaritan, self-righteous lady-bug whisperer feelings right there, but it was hidden in the rug for god's sake. The next day while doing sit-ups I found two more on the floor. I couldn't be sure why they were dying, too hot, or old age, maybe they mated and planted little baby squat-ers in a corner of my room and in their final act of stickin' it to the man (or poor, overwhelmed foreign exchange student, in my case) laid their weary heads to rest. At any rate there were plenty more to fill their shoes there seemed to be no change in the number of live ones sitting on various surfaces of my living quarters. I threw the dead ones away and carried on.

That night at dinner I found at out all. It turns out that my room was not the only infested part of the house, but all the bedrooms were prone to these tomato colored parasites. They aren't French coccinelles, but chinese imports to clean the corn fields of unwanted pests, but they're a bit out of control because they don't die out with the cold. Well, that put an end to my love-guru theory, and an answer on the end of the mystery. Case closed.

Normandy

Normandy is four hours away from Marchiennes by car, and since we'd wanted to go to Barcelona but Gilles and Isabelle had had too much work to leave for more than two business days, we ended up driving to Normandy instead. I was pleased because while Spain would have been great, I am here to see France after all. we left at noon and drove for about three hours down to Etretat, where we stopped to see the famous cliffs and walk along the beach. The wind was crazy strong but the cliffs were really amazing to see, and it wasn't too cold. There was a cliff with a tunnel-like passage though it that was open to visitors, so we went through it and on the other side was a sheer (ish about seven feet) drop to the beach with nothing but a scraggly looking rope to help you down. Sarah and I were down that cliff faster than you can say quick-trip-to-the-emergency-room, but Gilles and Isabelle waited at the top for us. Thomas had worn shorts in an attempt to wish the weather into beach mode, but due to the wind he was cold, and so he waited in the car. Once we were down on the beach in the little cove, the cliffs blocked the wind, and the was out so it was really lovely. We didn't stay long, however because they were waiting for us in the tunnel and the little cove was too small to really walk much.

Then we hopped back in the car and drove the last hour to Vilers-sur-Mer, which is right next to Deauville (and Trouville) where the hotel was. We had chosen the hotel because of its proximity to the beach, but it was actually across the street instead of on the beach, and because of the wind, we didn't end up walking on the beach at all. Plus, we had 2 rooms and then room I shared with Thomas and Sarha had a spectacular panorama of the parking lot in back, so that was unfortunate, still, considering the amount of time spent in the hotel room, it didn't really affect the trip overall. That night we had a really delightful meal at a cafe in Deauville, right on the port. We sat outside at one of the tables in a long strip in front of heater-lamps that worked marvelously. We all had mussels and frites (like at the braderie de Lille) excpet for Thomas who had a nice fillet of salmon. The prices were very cheap considering the food and ambiance, and a good time was had by one and all.

The next morning we got up early and drove down to Le Mont-Saint-Michel (about an hour and a half) and walked up the mountain. It was truly remarkable to see, like a little mideival town built from around the side of a mountain which is surrounded by water at high-tide, and which culminates in a spectacular gothic abbey. Unfortunately, it has become an insane tourist trap, I mean Disney Land four times worse. First, there are four museums along the main route up the mountain, all four $9 per adult, free for children, so that's $18 dollars for all five of us for four museums, why not? The first one was two stories (three small rooms) of toy boats with a narration on a tv screen about the tide and the wild-life, plus a bit of history, ending in a large gift shop. It wasn't bad, a little corny, we'll say 10 minutes. The second one was supposed to be a 'light and sound' show about the history of the mountain. Ok. We go in, sit down on these little bench/ leaning pots, and the lights go down. A model of the mount surfaces out of a pond in the stage with a screen displaying footage of the real thing behind it, all to the inspirational tunes of choral singing. For the next 30 minutes we get passionate discourses on the metaphysical importance of Le Mont-Saint-Michel, including a large section on the vertical light from heaven that shines directly on the mountain 24/7 (?!). They kindly added about 5 minutes of history which sounded something like: "Then, disaster strikes! The foundation built by the romans at the heart of the abbey crumbles. . . . But wait! The mount perseveres, a new structure is built. Amazing innovations in gothic architecture are born in the reconstruction of this ethereal national treasure. Unfortunately, the bad times are not over yet. With the second world war, the mountain, gift to humanity falls into disrepair, and is over looked by the outside world. Then, The Mountain Is Saved!!! Mont-Saint-Michel is declared a national monument!" A very moving tale, no? As you can imagine Isabelle was very peeved about being so misled in terms of the content of the show, and being for to sit through something so metaphysical, and over exaggerated after having paid for history. The third museum was the home of a high up clergyman from the 16th century. It was three tiny circular rooms that smelled so intensely of dust that several small children had covered their faces with their t-shirts, and I was tempted to follow their example for fear of asphyxiation. It was interesting while it lasted but it was over so quickly that we actually went back in and tried to find the next room because we thought we'd been mistaken in leaving. The fourth museum was a guided tour ending in another spectacle of sorts, so we were packed like sardines into a waiting room with some historical artifacts to entertain us while we waited for the tour to start. After fifteen minutes of waiting we decided to skip the last museum and walk the last few feet up the side of the mountain to the abbey. The Abbey was a separate fee from that of the museums to enter so we walked around the outside a bit and then we walked back down.

In between the second and third museum we got hungry for lunch. There is a famous restaurant in Mount Saint Michel called 'La Mere Poulard' after a certian Madame Poulard who had made omelettes for the weary travelers who made it through the bog, crossing from the mainland to the mount, and then harbored them at her inn. They still serve the famous omelette. We thought it would be packed because we came right at the hight of the lunch hour, but actually everyone was standing around outside taking pictures, but no one was actually going in to eat, so we got a table right away. In the window there was a sign for Omelettes: $15. When we looked at the menu there were specials ranging from 39 to 79 euros including different appetizers, drinks and desserts with your entree. For the entrees there was a baked camembert cheese for 14, a lobster for 49, a lamb for 49, a steak for 39, and the omelette for 18 per 100 gm of a rather expensive fish that I couldn't translate, cooked with truffle oil. When the waiter came we all decided to order the omelette, but it turns out that you can only order the omelette in either 250 gm, 350 gm, or 450 gm of fish, which means the cheapest omelette you can order is 44 euros. Well, considering that neither Sarah, nor Thomas, nor I for that matter actually like fish very much, we decided to leave. We went and got galettes (crepes with savory filling) and crepes from another little restaurant a bit farther up the mountain. Not bad, not great. Overall a much nicer experience than that which we'd had at the La Mere Poulard, which is advertised like the NY hat at Yankee Stadium.

That night we went to Cabourg (about five to ten minutes from Villers-sur-Mer) for dinner. It was a pretty interior, with art deco style etchings on the large mirror in the corner, and draped silk on the ceiling culminating in a pretty little chandelier in the center. The menu was very classical french bistro food, but it wasn't very good, and certainly nothing compared to the little treasure we'd stumbled on the night before, and yet the prices were the same. We returned to the hotel and enjoyed some bad late night television, which is always most appealing in hotel rooms. The next morning we slept in a bit later, because we didn't have to go as far. We stopped at the famous boardwalk in Deauville and walked along the beach for a half hour. It was cold and cloudy, and the wind was just as strong, or we would have stayed longer. Instead we hoped back in the car and drove to the main place in Trouville and walked around the farmer's market. Then it was off to Honfleur.

Honfleur was my favorite of part of the trip. It was really magnificent. The buildings were arranged in a horse-shoe around a square port. They were all three or four stories high, which little square windows, and colorful awnings. There was a large, double decker Carousel, and all the cafes had put their tables outside to soak up the sun. We ate lunch in a cafe that had huge white stone brick walls, with an arched entry to their wind cellar, and floor to ceiling white washed french windows, open to the spring weather. I had a nice salad with little toasts of goat cheese, and prosciutto. Then Isabelle bought me a little coffee bowl with my name painted on the side, in the normandy tradition, because apparently everyone of their generation had a little bowl with their name on it, so I was very honored. When we'd walked around a bit and had our fill of the sea air, we got back in the car and did all four hours back with a five minute pit-stop so that we were back in Marchiennes by 5 o'clock. It was really a lovely little weekend trip.

C'est Saint Amand Qui Crie le Plus Fort!!!

We got back from Diekirch, Luxembourg 6:30 Sunday evening exhausted, over-heated, and with out voices, but contented. We actually did pretty poorly in terms of Sports, but we by far cheered the loudest, and thus had the most fun of any of the teams.

Our host this year was the Lycee Classiques de Diekirch, who put on quite a show. First of all their school is enormous, and amazing!!! They have a large building, that is a reconstructed military building (just offices I think) that is now a three part complex, and very state of the art, and then across the river (about ten blocks away, apparently some use bikes to get to classes) there is a huge sports complex with three volley ball courts, a full-sized pool, two soccer fields, and a track. For basketball we were actually in an elementary school about five blocks north of the school, which was too bad because we couldn't get all the way over to the sports complex to watch the others in time to be back for our next match, and because we only had one court we finished last, but the court and the locker rooms we very nice. All the buildings in we saw in Luxembourg were candy colored, stuccoed in hues of cantaloupe, lemon drop, kool aid, and very, very clean. There were trees with pretty popcorn blossoms in pink and white all over the place. In short what they say about Luxembourg being a fiscal paradise is true. We arrived in fine style: an hour late, and thus we missed the opening ceremony. However, according to my host family that was more of a blessing as the opening ceremony consisted of re-interpretations of all five national anthems by a student band. Personally, the doubts usually coming right around the word re-interpretation, so I'll take their word for it. I was housed with another girl from the basketball team, Lorine, and we got on very well, so that was fun. Our hostess, Lexy, was the same age as us, and a handball player, but she was too old to compete on the Diekirch team this year. In Luxembourg they speak three languages, French from the age of 7, german from the age of 6, and then Luxembourgeoise, which is an interesting mix of French, German and English. We arrived Friday evening, got a paper license and a little booklet with a program and a map, and then vamoosed off to our host homes. Then that night we went out after dinner in a little town on the german border, (they live about 3 kilometers from Germany), to the little cafe across the street from the high school. Pretty much everyone was there, so all the french students got together and sang encouraging french songs at the top of their voices into the small hours of the morning. All the germans, belgians, Luxembourgeoisies (?), and the dutch got together in groups too, but if they sang no one heard them over our voices. The title of this blog is a reference to my favorite song which means "It's Saint Amand that yells/screeches the loudest." We also sang one about a cricket who fell in a river, and the Marseillaise among others. By Saturday morning everyone had started to loose their voice.

Saturday bright and early we were at the basket ball court. We played four games one against each of the other schools. In between each game there was a boys game, so we got to cheer on the boys from St. A as well. We one three out of four games so we places second over all, which was very exciting because we were on of the few teams to do well. Luxembourg, who beat us, was an excellent team, and they had been practicing together after school everyday so we were proud to have put up a decent fight. That night after a nice shower and a bit or rest, we headed over to the Big hall where they had planned the student party. Lexy had planned it all out so that she could get a ride home with her brother, and that way Lorine and I could call her Dad to come pick us at any time we wanted. The party they'd set up for us wasn't great, it was packed and they were playing only german music, so a large group of French students headed over to the cafe where we'd been the night before. It was too early, so the cafe was empty, but we were a large enough group that we could amuse ourselves. Unfortunately, everyone was exhausted so there wasn't much going on, and it started to cool down around midnight, so we decided to go back to the house and sleep, at 12:30.

Sunday was nice too, because it was super hot, and not a cloud in the sky. Plus we were all together so it felt more like a festival. We had a chance to interact with the other students, and watch the shows, dance, choral, orchestral, and theatrical (pantomime). There was even a relay race with mixed teams. We sat outside on the grass and drank Fanta, and sun bathed, before the ending ceremony. After the closing we all said goodbye and hoped back on the bus.

Rewind to Friday morning. Because all three of us were originally supposed to go to the games, Gilles and Isabelle opted to extend a business trip they had scheduled that weekend into a three day mini-vacation just the two of them. By the time they found out there wasn't enough space in the track team to take everyone, and that priority was by age, so Sarah wouldn't be able to attend, it was too late and they were unwilling to change their plans so Sarah stayed two nights (they cams back a bit early) with their friends Christelle and Olivier, which I think she rather enjoyed.

That morning, we were all to take the bus as usual, Thomas and I would have classes until 11:15 and then we would eat lunch and leave for Luxembourg, while Sarah would stay the full say and then head over to Christelle and Olivier's house which is in Saint Amand. However, after twenty minutes of waiting for the bus (it often comes late) we began to worry, there weren't any cars going to N.D.A. except one boy, but it was a two seater car, so there wasn't any space us. Gilles and Isabelle were already out of town, and there are no other buses that go from Marchiennes to St. Amand. Thomas and another boy from premier, Gabin, wanted to take bicycles, and and ride from Marchiennes to Saint Amand, but as its fifteen minutes by and Thomas and I had our suitcases for the games that seemed like it probably wouldn't work. Then at about 8:30 (the bus passes at 7:50) another bus from the same company, but on a different route pulled up at the stop, so we asked her about our bus, did she know if it would pass, would she take us, r would she call HQ and ask them to send a bus. She was very nice aobut the whole thing and offered to call and get info for us, she got back on the bus and started radioing the HQ, but then never told us what they said, and when we got impatient and went to ask her, she said she didn't know but that she didn think a bus was coming and then she left.

Just when desperation was swetting in another much bigger car than the two-seater pulled up to take a couple of girls, but it tourned out the Dad didn't have time to drive all the way to St. Amand, and was just moving the girls to his mother's house in Marchiennes for the day.

That's when we started to think about trains. We still had just under three hours to get to St. Amand before the bus for the games left. The closest train station was in Orchies, about 7 minutes away by car, but there are buses that go from Marchiennes to the station every two hours or so. The times are written on the side of the sign for the bus company that marks every stop, so we were able to discern that there was a bus at 9:38. The only problem was we had no way of knowing the times for the trains which pass every hour. If we'd got to the train station and had missed the train for 10:00 hour, then we would miss the bus for Luxembourg, and be stuck at N.D.A. humiliated, with our useless suitcases. Luckily, it was only 8:40, so I sugested we walk the 5-10 minutes or so back to the house, check the times for the trains on the computer then a. the train passes and we walk back to catch the bus, or b. the train doesn't pass and I change out my suitcase for a duffle bag, and my shoes for sneakers, and we brave it on the bikes. So Sarah, Thomas, Gabin, his sister, Suzanne, and I, plus our suitcases/book bags, all headed out, as soon as it was determined Sarah had the key.

Along the way however we ran across the Dad from earlier at the bus stop, and he offered to drive us just to the train station which would save us about an hour than if we took the bus, and thus we would have time to wait for the next train, whenever it passed. We thanked him and our lucky stars profusely for this happy change of plans, and piled in the car.

10 minutes later we were all buying tickets as fast as we could in the little train station because the train was due to pass at 9:03. We ran under the train tracks to the platform on the other side and waited out of breath but very pleased with ourselves. At about five mintues past 9:03 (the trains pass almost on the minute) we again grew nervous. However when we asked the girl nest to us if our train has already passed, she reassured us that no it had not, as she was waiting for the same one. So when the train disappeared from the arrivals board Gabin and I went back to the reception desk to get answers. It turns out that the workers' strike from the last week was still rippling through the system, and that our train would pass as promised at 9:26. And so we waited. But sure enough at 9:30 the train passed, we got to St. Amand at 9:45, and we were asfe and sound in study hall at ten, after a wuick walk, and a fewe explinations. It was quite an adventure for a Friday morningbut it was a bit unfortunate that the one day we have gotten to stay home due to a bus malfunction, was the one day we were willing to go to all ends to get to N.D.A. Drats, foiled again!

Basket Ball, Bac Blanc, and Bunnies

I know its been ages (more than a month to be specific) since I've blogged, and honestly I have no excuses. I've had subjects to write about (as you can probably tell from the title of this blog) and while I've had more homework than usual I've still had the time. Really I think it all comes back to the fact that I'm a terrible correspondent, I just can't always work up the courage to express myself in writing, I'm not good at writing letters, or journals, and I guess I'm not good at blogging either, I'm just too quick to drop the pen (or close the laptop I guess), and too long in coming back. Okay, enough analyses for one day, back to blogging.

My first subject is basket ball (feel free to laugh, yes I do mean the game with the large ball that requires acute hand-eye-coordination). The 'Jeux Europeens' or the European Games is a festival of sorts between several highschools from various European countries: France, Germany, The Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg. Each high school takes a turn hosting and it rotates every year. Last year it was hosted right here at Notre Dame Des Anges a Saint Amand Les Euax, but this year its in Dietrich, Luxembourg. Its meant to be a friendly competition between neighboring countries to show sportsman ship and the spirit of a united Europe. There are competitions in all sorts of sports such as karate, soccer, swimming, ping pong, etc. but also 'cultural activities' such as dance, theatre, and music. Because the games are hosted in another country this year there is a limited number of spaces available. Each sport is designated a certain number of spots and then the students are chosen or petition for the spots. They fill up very quickly. My host family thought I ought to participate, since I'm an exchange student and the whole point of the games is to bring students of different nationalities together in a common activity. The problem is I don't really play any sports. Well, that was the obvious problem, the real underlying problem was that I had no idea how the games really worked. Everyone kept talking about them, so I'd get hints here and there, but I had no idea for example that you could go sign up if you weren't enrolled in an after school club with NDA all year long (NDA is my high school. NDA is a tiny bit shorter to say than Notre Dame des Anges a Saint Amand les Eaux, but hey if you want to attempt the full name, then I say go for the gold). It turns out however, that you can sign up for just about anything you think you can pul off, provided there's still space. Unfortunately, by the time I'd gained this enlightening information, all the spots were full. About two weeks after I'd given up all hope of attending the games Monsieur Marcant found me on my way to class and asked i fI would like to go to the games. I said yes of course, though I admit I was a bit confused, not to mention wary, because I was afraid going to the games might include participating in some embarrassing and public spectacle in the name of sportsmanship, but he followed up quickly by telling me he thought I could go for dance. Wonderful I thought, though of course I'd already tried to sign up for dance but it was full, still I figured he's the director of the school he can probably pull some strings. Gilles and Isabelle were thrilled as they were hoping to get all three of us (Sarah, Thomas, and I) to go, as they have a business trip the same weekend. Near the end of the following week I hadn't heard anything more about the games, and Thomas and I had tried several times to contact the teacher in charge of dance, but our schedules were too different and we never got a chance to talk. Then, Friday in study a nice woman with a very large folder and a nice long list found me and asked if I was indeed Emma, l'americaine and if I was interested in the games. "Yes, that's me," I said

"Oh good, how do you feel about singing a solo,"

"I'm sorry!?"

"Singing, a solo, are you interested, there's one spot left."

"Um, no, I'm sorry, that's definitely not the spot for me, thank you, but I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Oh, ok. Well, can you play chess by any chance? There's space on the chess team."

"Oh, no I can't play chess either, oh well..."

Well, I thought thats that. Of course this simple thought took three more meetings, several telephone calls and an entire weekend to take on the weight of a veritable fact, due to a couple misunderstandings and a few straggling last hopes, but by Wednesday afternoon it was certain. Just when I'd resigned myself to a weekend at a friends house with Sarah (because while Sarah really does play sports, she only plays popular sports and as she's only in 8th grade all the spots were given by priority to the older students), My swimming coach, with whom I'd been discussing my drama, came up during break and happily announced they'd found a slot for the games, would I like it?

"Why yes, what sport?"

"Basket ball!"

I'm sure the shock, disgust, fear, disapointment, and utter horror that I experienced at that precise moment must have been slapped on my face like clown paint, because everyone started laughing, including me, and the coach.

"Um, oh...I can't really play basket ball, but thanks anyway."

"Well you don't have to be good, the coach said it really doesn't matter. They just lost a player and they need a substitute. Have you ever played before?"

"I played in P.E. with school, a few times...?!"

"Thats fine, I mean you might as wel, try, and then you get to the games."

"Would I have to play a real game?!"

"Uh, ... well yes if you go to the games,...?"

"Oh, ok, well, I guess I could ... try...?"

"Great, there's a practice tonight but as you don't have your stuff then I guess you won't go, but if you could find the coach and talk to him some time today."

And that was that. I ran around like an idiot the rest of the day, trying to find the coach, and get all the papers. At 5:30 on Friday I was standing in the gym with a signed permission slip, a check for 30 euros, a basket ball, and two teams full (boys and girls) of trained athletes. Let me tell you it was a terrifying experience, but I've already had two practice sessions and there's only one left before the games, and I think I can fake it, provided they stop trying to pass me the ball!!!! We leave friday, April 23 at 8:30 in the morning for Dietrich and then we compete I suppose until Sunday when we will return, in time to be home around 5:30. THere is apparently I very fun, international party Saturday night, and pretty much all of my friends are going to one thing or another, so I'm excited despite the discouraging fact that I faced the wrong direction the entire first scrimmage I played.

sentimental goop, because I don't have the time to be witty tonight

I didn't have time to do the two long blogs I wanted to today due to a quick birthday thing, but I wanted to write something. Today was the first day of spring. I mean I know its not the twenty first and its still technically february, not to mention it is now drizzling outside, as it has been for the past 6 hours, but today was indeed the first day of spring. I know this because this morning up until the late afternoon there was a spring sky. Soft, pure, fresh clouds still untarnished, but also unripe new for the new year hung thick and numerous in a clear watery sky of blue, not the crisp determined blue of winter, but the hazy sleepy blue of spring. What really tipped me off however was the beam of sunlight pouring, bursting through the double glass doors at the end of the hallway out side my study hall this morning. It lasted for so long, and with such careful intensity that I knew, I simply knew that spring had come. It was warm today too, though I'm sure the temperature will waver and regress a bit; all the same, spring has come to my little adopted corner of France. Then later as I was standing on the corner of the street after getting off the bus home I was listening to my ipod and daydreaming when I saw a little hand. I realized that while I thought I has been staring off into space, I had really been staring at the back window of a car preparing to turn, and that in this back seat there was a little girl with a pacifier in her mouth and her face pressed solemnly to the glass. She was waving at me. She had a sound matter of fact face on like she was simply waving to me because I seemed like a nice person who needed a wave, and there fore she was going to perform that service, maybe even a duty. It warmed my heart and I waved back, breaking into a smile. I kept smiling like an idiot all the way down the street to our own car. I mean this little girl waving at me as she rounded the corner, as our eyes met and I smiled back, she made my day, perhaps even my week.

a bientot,

e

p.s. I have found a place that exhibits my obsessive coffee drinking, i.e. I would drink the stuff all day long if I could, but my wallet, my stomach lining, and my need to sleep prevent me, and that place is la nord, where apparently the real northern mining families that go back generations would keep a pot going hot on the fire 24/7, not as strong as the dreaded and mocked italian coffee*, but just strong enough to the workers warm.

*I find it endlessly entertaining this fear of really strong espresso that the french express quite frequently, with 'well no, oh no, not like the italians, of course not that strong, goodness, no...' etc. because of course americans tend not to classify, anything stronger than gas station coffee is strong, period, but the french it seems need to make the distinction between themselves and the italians in many areas I find.

The ladybug saga

I should have written about this when it all started in, say october or so, but I didn't; I guess I was afraid of angering them, but I think I shall record the entire saga here today:

Well, one night, a cold, wet, and dingy October evening, I was showering to reheat my body/soul, and bring life back to my extremities, when I discovered a black lady bug crawling along the window sill of the little square port hole in the wall of the far side of the shower. It was a tiny little lady bug, black with big red spots and a shiny white head, which made a pattern like saddle shoes where it met his body. I was naturally unalarmed, having grown up with ladybugs in the garden. Ladybugs are legendary for their gentillesse, and I innocently made to pick it up and transfer it outside, as I had fond childhood memories of similar encounters. No sooner, however, than I'd touched its smooth back than it flipped out long, wet, fiendish wings, the likes of which I had never seen. They spiraled out of his back like a venomous tongue to lick my hand, and I in my fear, and shock saw the face of demon smiling at me from the back of this transformed, spotted bug. I hurraled it across the bath room and recoiled in disgust, and horror. Once the beast was free of my grasp, I regained some semblance of my senses and was able to master my mounting confusion. I bravely strolled forward and grasped the thing masquerading as ladybug, and opened the window to fling it out. When what to my astonished eyes should appear, but a whole nest of ladybugs crawling and writhing around the outer rim of the window, not less than 30! Well, I dropped that bug faster than superman on crack, slammed the window shut with every once of my strength and ran, stifling my urge to scream bloody murder, out of the bathroom, dripping wet and driven half mad with terror, to take shelter on top of my bed.

When at last I had calmed down a bit, I began to think about the ladybug, and its strange wings. I couldn't help but assure myself over and over again that, that thing wasn't, couldn't be a ladybug. I could think of only two possibilities, 1). French ladybugs are carnivorous, vicious things that attack people's houses like termites, hungry for fresh blood, instead of wood, or 2). That was no ladybug, that was an evil spirit sent to menace my innocent, wandering soul, by some angry god, or Pandora's box ,in the guise of our loving Coccinella septempunctata. Of course, neither of these seemed very likely to me, but I couldn't shake the image my half blind, and trusting eyes had conjured up, nor the sprit's face with the demon's wings. And when you add the discovery of his entire community, it was like a horror movie, I was hearing the Psycho theme song; I felt like Rosemary when she discovers her doctor is in on the whole thing. It was . . . an infestation. I think now I must have also been influenced by Jane Eyre in my quick leap to evil spirits, as I had just reached the part where the crazy wife lights the bed of her anguished husband on fire in the middle of the night, after harassing the unsuspecting Eyre out of spite and jealousy. Also I think the fact that I was so spooked had much to do with the fact that I have a particular thing about bugs coming near me while I'm showering, something about being wet, and encumbered by soap seems to engender vulnerability to attacks.

At any rate I was on the alert, and I did indeed continue to see lady bugs around the bathroom, and even some migrated to my adjacent bedroom. I kept away from them, never touching them, or bothering them. I figured I'd already violently expelled one from the warm sanctuary that my bathroom must present to them, in full view of their entire colony, the evil spirits must be mad, red hot mad, no need to anger them further. This continued for several months; each siting jolting me with fear, and superstition. Finally I decided that my blind ignorance in terms of evil spirits and ladybugs needed to illuminated, so I did what any clever and crafty being of the twenty-first century would, I googled...

to be continued

Really late pictures

The London Eye, the world's largest ferris wheel
a famous red telephone booth, catty-corner from St. Paul's Catherdral (not pictured)
Buckingham Palace
Westminster Abbey
A formidable lion standing guard next at the edge of the walk in front of the Aquarium, also where the Eye is, which you can see in the background, and in front of the Bridge you would take to get to Big ben (thought thats on the other side of the Thames). Also, its across from the famous mental hospital, Bethlem Royal Hospital, from which we get the word bedlam.
Big Ben
The Union Jack
Tower Bridge
Le Louvre
Le Louvre again
Christian Louboutin's flagship boutique
View from La Tour Eiffel
Second view from La Tour

Here are a few pictures from London, and some from our class trip to Paris, I'm sorry they're so late.