So, I should probably be listening to my professor as he lectures about the origins of the United Nations, but I’m not. Call me a horrible student, but I’ve really never cared about the United Nations, and I’ve already heard much more than I ever wanted to know about how it started and what it hasn’t done since then.
My mind is much more inclined to focus on other things today. Like how I’ve allowed myself to get so bogged down in the details and the disappointments that I lost sight of the grace in my life. Over the past few months, I’ve felt like life not only knocked me to the ground, but taunted and kicked me while I was down. Every time I’d nearly gathered the strength to stand up, it would land another punch. Needless to say, I didn’t have high hopes going into a new semester. I felt like I should have been sidelined and useless as far as anyone, anything, or even God was concerned. To my shame, the lyrics from Josh Wilson’s “Before the Morning” sounded truer than ever: “Do you wonder why you have to, feel the things that hurt you, if there's a God who loves you, where is He now?”
Fortunately, God’s been tapping me on the shoulder, whispering my name, giving me glimpses of grace, sometimes at the moments when I didn't know how else to keep going. Tonight, I not-so-randomly discovered this beautifully broken song from Tenth Avenue North, Times:
I know i need you
I need to love you
I love to see you, but its been so long
i long to feel you
i feel this need for you
and i need to hear you
is that so wrong?
oh oh oh, oh oh oh, oh oh oh
now you pulled me near you
when we're close i fear you
still im afraid to tell you
all that i've done
are you done forgiving?
or can you look past my pretending?
Lord i'm so tired of defending
what i've become
what have i become?
oh oh, oh oh, oh oh.
i hear you say "my love is over,
it’s underneath, it’s inside, it’s in between
the times you doubt me, when you can't feel
the times that you've questioned 'is this for real?'
the times you've broken, the times that you mend
the times you hate me and the times that you bend
well my love is over, its underneath
it’s inside, it’s in between,
these times you're healing
and when your heart breaks
the times that you feel like you've fallen from grace
the times you're hurting
the times that you heal
the times you go hungry and *are tempted* to steal
in times of confusion and chaos and pain
im there in your sorrow under the weight of your shame
im there through your heartache
im there in the storm
my love i will keep you by my power alone
i dont care where you've fallen, where you have been
i'll never forsake you
my love never ends, it never ends
mmm, mmm
oh oh, oh oh, oh oh
In soft, gentle whispers, He’s reminding me that I’m not broken beyond repair, as much as the broken pieces bewilder me, and as much as they don’t fit where I thought they should be. His love is over, underneath, inside, and in-between every one: every mistake, every success, every disappointment, every failure, every longing, every joy, every hurt. Now, maybe I'm beginning to see the rest of the truth in that Josh Wilson song: that maybe there are things I can't see, and all these things are happening to bring a better ending, some day, somehow, I'll see.
Would you dare, would you dare, to believe,
that you still have a reason to sing,
'cause the pain you've been feeling,
can't compare to the joy that's coming
so hold on, you got to wait for the light
press on, just fight the good fight
because the pain you've been feeling,
it's just the dark before the morning
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
long overdue...but posted nonetheless
Yeah, so I'm really bad about posting. What can I say? I'm pretty flaky when it comes to blogging. Maybe I'll get better, maybe I won't. (I haven't so far...but I guess there's always hope.)
I just can't sleep tonight, and I need to distract myself so that my brain will actually calm down enough to let me rest. (Just eight hours...that's all I need from you, brain. Can you just chill for that long? I promise you can go at it again in the morning. :P)
So what can I say that will keep me busy for a while, I wonder. School started last week. That's kind of exciting. I think that I'm going to like my new schedule -- starting at 10:50 and 11:00am every day keeps me from stressing out as much, I think. I'm out by 4 or 4:15 every day, which doesn't feel really late to me. I can still take care of things in the afternoon and evening, or in the morning if I feel like it. The workload isn't bad so far, just a lot of reading, and I seem to have a really great combination of professors to work with. I can already tell that Gender Communications is going to have the most interesting and thought-provoking discussions (and probably the tendency to irritate me), and that UN & Intl. Politics is going to be the longest, most boring class I've ever attended. I'm going to be doing something else on my laptop for an hour and fifteen minutes every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon and NOT feeling guilty about it. Don't get me wrong. I like to be respectful of my professors and pay attention to the material during lecture classes, because usually they're pretty interesting to me anyway. But the possibility of feeling guilty for distracting myself in this class vanished when I realized that my professor doesn't finish his sentences, can't explain all of the terms he puts up on the board, and feels the need to spend five minutes defining terms like "peacekeepers" by explaining that they "keep the peace." Yeah, it's going to be a long semester in that class. Silver lining (alright, maybe silver plated): I have the option of volunteering at the Model UN later this year. That could be interesting. Fortunately, my Sociolinguistics, Event Planning, and French courses all have much more potential to provide some stimulating material. Talking about language with language nerds every week rocks...and Event Planning will involve pulling off an actual event, which is awesome because practical experience trumps lectures any day. My French independent study and capstone shouldn't be too taxing, given that those are just my opportunities to do what I love and get credit for it. I can focus on whatever I want to, basically, since a lot of the texts I'll be translating are of my own choice.
I've already decided that I'd like to read at least one book a month this semester to give my mind some new ideas to think about, so maybe I'll find one that I wouldn't mind translating into French. Perhaps some C.S. Lewis? It would be a challenge, but a worthwhile one. I'd like to read The Phantom of the Opera in its original French, and Les Miserables too. I have a copy somewhere. Yeah. Story of my life: "mmhmm...I have that...somewhere...") I joined GoodReads this week to hopefully kickstart my reading project. I should probably add more books to it if I'm going to accomplish anything, though.
So today was my birthday. Feels kind of weird to be 22. More specifically, it feels old. Yes, yes, I know that, relatively speaking, 22 is not old. Maybe I just feel behind, like I should somehow be a lot more mature and have a lot more things figured out than I actually do at this age. It's quite unnerving. I guess I should probably just get used to being unnerved by life, though, because I don't see that changing anytime soon.
I suppose I've sufficiently distracted myself now, since I'm getting sleepy. That makes me happy. I'm going to get some rest now and hopefully...you'll hear from me again before the year's over.
I just can't sleep tonight, and I need to distract myself so that my brain will actually calm down enough to let me rest. (Just eight hours...that's all I need from you, brain. Can you just chill for that long? I promise you can go at it again in the morning. :P)
So what can I say that will keep me busy for a while, I wonder. School started last week. That's kind of exciting. I think that I'm going to like my new schedule -- starting at 10:50 and 11:00am every day keeps me from stressing out as much, I think. I'm out by 4 or 4:15 every day, which doesn't feel really late to me. I can still take care of things in the afternoon and evening, or in the morning if I feel like it. The workload isn't bad so far, just a lot of reading, and I seem to have a really great combination of professors to work with. I can already tell that Gender Communications is going to have the most interesting and thought-provoking discussions (and probably the tendency to irritate me), and that UN & Intl. Politics is going to be the longest, most boring class I've ever attended. I'm going to be doing something else on my laptop for an hour and fifteen minutes every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon and NOT feeling guilty about it. Don't get me wrong. I like to be respectful of my professors and pay attention to the material during lecture classes, because usually they're pretty interesting to me anyway. But the possibility of feeling guilty for distracting myself in this class vanished when I realized that my professor doesn't finish his sentences, can't explain all of the terms he puts up on the board, and feels the need to spend five minutes defining terms like "peacekeepers" by explaining that they "keep the peace." Yeah, it's going to be a long semester in that class. Silver lining (alright, maybe silver plated): I have the option of volunteering at the Model UN later this year. That could be interesting. Fortunately, my Sociolinguistics, Event Planning, and French courses all have much more potential to provide some stimulating material. Talking about language with language nerds every week rocks...and Event Planning will involve pulling off an actual event, which is awesome because practical experience trumps lectures any day. My French independent study and capstone shouldn't be too taxing, given that those are just my opportunities to do what I love and get credit for it. I can focus on whatever I want to, basically, since a lot of the texts I'll be translating are of my own choice.
I've already decided that I'd like to read at least one book a month this semester to give my mind some new ideas to think about, so maybe I'll find one that I wouldn't mind translating into French. Perhaps some C.S. Lewis? It would be a challenge, but a worthwhile one. I'd like to read The Phantom of the Opera in its original French, and Les Miserables too. I have a copy somewhere. Yeah. Story of my life: "mmhmm...I have that...somewhere...") I joined GoodReads this week to hopefully kickstart my reading project. I should probably add more books to it if I'm going to accomplish anything, though.
So today was my birthday. Feels kind of weird to be 22. More specifically, it feels old. Yes, yes, I know that, relatively speaking, 22 is not old. Maybe I just feel behind, like I should somehow be a lot more mature and have a lot more things figured out than I actually do at this age. It's quite unnerving. I guess I should probably just get used to being unnerved by life, though, because I don't see that changing anytime soon.
I suppose I've sufficiently distracted myself now, since I'm getting sleepy. That makes me happy. I'm going to get some rest now and hopefully...you'll hear from me again before the year's over.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Renting Books
Hey everyone,
I just rented a couple of textbooks from Bookrenter.com, since I know I won't be keeping them at the end of the semester. I was tired of losing money selling them back! If you decide to rent any textbooks this year, click this link to save 5%: http://bkrent.tellapal.com/a/clk/5HX0f . Not only will you save money, but I'll earn credit as well. Win, win!
Have a great day!
Grace
I just rented a couple of textbooks from Bookrenter.com, since I know I won't be keeping them at the end of the semester. I was tired of losing money selling them back! If you decide to rent any textbooks this year, click this link to save 5%: http://bkrent.tellapal.com/a/clk/5HX0f . Not only will you save money, but I'll earn credit as well. Win, win!
Have a great day!
Grace
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thoughts on the South
Well, now that I'm home, I find myself wondering what to do with this blog. My first thought is that I won't have all of the captivating, entertaining, amusing stories to share anymore since I'm in Arkansas, not France. But my second thought is, why can't life be captivating and entertaining and amusing right here, where I live? It's not like I don't notice the little things that make life, well, life -- I just don't write about them as much as I ought to.
Speaking of observations, someone asked me last Sunday how I felt when I first saw the American flag hanging in Customs after landing in the States again, and I realized that I honestly couldn't remember seeing it. It's not that I'm not patriotic. I was very happy to be back on American soil. But the first thing I remember noticing in the Dallas airport wasn't the flag; it was being surrounded by that thick southern accent again. (The second thing? Spray tans and tacky attempts at being fashionable. Americans have a long way to go.) What made me feel even more at home was overhearing a couple of strangers deep in a conversation about South Arkansas farming and chicken breeds while waiting to board the plane to Little Rock. Sure, the topic seemed pretty natural. But two total strangers striking up a conversation? Hadn't seen that in months!
Another thing I hadn't seen in months? Wal-mart. I must say, when I ventured out into American society (i.e. Wal-mart) on my second day home, even the rednecks amused me more than usual (and usually they do a pretty good job). I never thought I'd miss those impromptu family reunions that always appear somewhere near the checkout lines, either, but it was strangely comforting to see people talking and hugging and laughing together again, talking about who's cooking what for the 4th of July and who's going to so and so's birthday party next week, like warm-blooded Southern people do. French grocery stores never seemed to have that same down-home, familial neighborhood feeling that our Wal-Marts and Knight's and Krogers have so much of.
Even our summer recreational habits have their own special Southern charm. For example, when I think of the lake, I think of ham sandwich and potato chip picnics and stuffy, dirty state park bathrooms. I also see the beer cans and cigarette butts lying half-buried in the sand next to wrinkled grandmas half-hanging out of their bikinis, and I remember how I always end up learning the full name of every kid within a 100 foot radius - complete with all of their colorful prefixes and suffixes. My trips to the lake have definitely provided me with a handy collection of truly Southern snapshot memories, but that's not all. They've also helped shape my standards when it comes to family relationships. The way I see it, as long as my grandmother isn't the half-clad 80 year old on the beach with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, swearing and yelling at her grandkids to get their a**es out of the water, I figure I'm doing pretty good. All in all, I may leave the lake having seen more than I wanted to see and having heard more than I wanted to hear, but at least I have stories to tell.
So, yes, I knew I'd missed Southern culture, but I guess I just didn't realize how much. Now that I'm thinking about it, though, I do remember talking a lot about it when I was in France. Whenever I made generalizations about American culture or my personal background, I would always have to clarify that I was talking mostly about the South. I remember thinking that it felt strange. I hadn't expected to talk about America that way because I had only thought of myself as an American at first, not so much an Arkansan or a Southerner. I realized for the first time that you still can't describe American culture to a foreigner without making the North/South distinction (even more so than East/West). And I also realized that I'm really and truly not ashamed of being from the South and calling myself an Arkansan.
Sure, we've got our issues, but doesn't everybody? It's the last thing on my mind when I'm sittin' on the porch swing drinkin' sweet tea listenin' to the cicadas sing. Call us uncultured if you want, but you don't know what you're missin'. I sure didn't.
Speaking of observations, someone asked me last Sunday how I felt when I first saw the American flag hanging in Customs after landing in the States again, and I realized that I honestly couldn't remember seeing it. It's not that I'm not patriotic. I was very happy to be back on American soil. But the first thing I remember noticing in the Dallas airport wasn't the flag; it was being surrounded by that thick southern accent again. (The second thing? Spray tans and tacky attempts at being fashionable. Americans have a long way to go.) What made me feel even more at home was overhearing a couple of strangers deep in a conversation about South Arkansas farming and chicken breeds while waiting to board the plane to Little Rock. Sure, the topic seemed pretty natural. But two total strangers striking up a conversation? Hadn't seen that in months!
Another thing I hadn't seen in months? Wal-mart. I must say, when I ventured out into American society (i.e. Wal-mart) on my second day home, even the rednecks amused me more than usual (and usually they do a pretty good job). I never thought I'd miss those impromptu family reunions that always appear somewhere near the checkout lines, either, but it was strangely comforting to see people talking and hugging and laughing together again, talking about who's cooking what for the 4th of July and who's going to so and so's birthday party next week, like warm-blooded Southern people do. French grocery stores never seemed to have that same down-home, familial neighborhood feeling that our Wal-Marts and Knight's and Krogers have so much of.
Even our summer recreational habits have their own special Southern charm. For example, when I think of the lake, I think of ham sandwich and potato chip picnics and stuffy, dirty state park bathrooms. I also see the beer cans and cigarette butts lying half-buried in the sand next to wrinkled grandmas half-hanging out of their bikinis, and I remember how I always end up learning the full name of every kid within a 100 foot radius - complete with all of their colorful prefixes and suffixes. My trips to the lake have definitely provided me with a handy collection of truly Southern snapshot memories, but that's not all. They've also helped shape my standards when it comes to family relationships. The way I see it, as long as my grandmother isn't the half-clad 80 year old on the beach with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, swearing and yelling at her grandkids to get their a**es out of the water, I figure I'm doing pretty good. All in all, I may leave the lake having seen more than I wanted to see and having heard more than I wanted to hear, but at least I have stories to tell.
So, yes, I knew I'd missed Southern culture, but I guess I just didn't realize how much. Now that I'm thinking about it, though, I do remember talking a lot about it when I was in France. Whenever I made generalizations about American culture or my personal background, I would always have to clarify that I was talking mostly about the South. I remember thinking that it felt strange. I hadn't expected to talk about America that way because I had only thought of myself as an American at first, not so much an Arkansan or a Southerner. I realized for the first time that you still can't describe American culture to a foreigner without making the North/South distinction (even more so than East/West). And I also realized that I'm really and truly not ashamed of being from the South and calling myself an Arkansan.
Sure, we've got our issues, but doesn't everybody? It's the last thing on my mind when I'm sittin' on the porch swing drinkin' sweet tea listenin' to the cicadas sing. Call us uncultured if you want, but you don't know what you're missin'. I sure didn't.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Home
Haha, I didn't realize that my last post was about Normandy. It's pretty ridiculous to have a month-long gap in posts! I still haven't regained my sense of time since I returned home, though. If you had asked me the date on any day since the 17th, I wouldn't have been able to tell you 9 times out of 10. The jet lag hit me pretty hard, harder than I expected, so for about a week after the flight home, I was non-functional by dinner time every day.
But...anyway, the last week or two in Angers were pretty tough, what with the goodbyes and the subconscious stress about the impending change. They were also pretty special, because we were able to spend time with Clemence and her family before leaving, and my landlady had a sudden change of heart and became a totally different woman. Evidently, she quit work for a while and her stress disappeared, which translated into a farewell dinner Sunday night, crepes Monday night, breakfast Tuesday morning, and then a surprise lunch that nearly made us late for the train that afternoon. I was really shocked when she dropped a gift in my lap Sunday night: a lovely rose-embroidered tea towel and rose perfume from Doué-de-la-Fontaine (a town famous for its rose-centered culture). I had crocheted a scarf for her in her favorite muted blues and grays because I wanted her to know I cared about her, but I really wasn't expecting anything from her. She just seemed too overwhelmed and depressed most of the time. I realized that I had been too, though, especially towards the end, so I wrote a letter thanking her for taking care of me and apologized for being so distant sometimes. I know that didn't exactly help our relationship to grow. We exchanged our thoughts the morning of my departure, so even though I'm very glad that we ended up apologizing, hugging, and spending some really pleasant time together -- I can't help but wish it hadn't have taken so long in coming. I suppose that's just how life goes.
She wasn't done surprising me though. Not only did she give me a gift, but she loaded me down with gifts and notes for my entire family! For my dad, she found a special bottle of wine that she thought he might like; for my mom, it was a another rose-themed gift. And for my brother and sister, she bought two different kinds of chocolate (the really good stuff, too). Then she wrote a sweet note to both of them, and one to the whole family. Looking back on the stories from this semester in her house, I'm sure you're just as surprised was I was by this sudden outpouring of affection.
Unfortunately, obsessive habits die hard. She still spent 15 minutes digging through the bags of trash I brought down after emptying my room, just to make sure I wasn't throwing out anything that was recyclable. I told her that the contents were mostly old supermarket sacks and such, which was the truth. But, I kid you not, she went through every inch of that trash, admonishing me with every discovery of recyclable paper or cardboard that I'd missed, "Now THIS, this is not a sack, ma biche!" ("Biche" is a pet name that translates literally to "doe" - I promise) She even pulled out sack of months-old potatoes I'd thrown away because she "just couldn't bear to throw away good food" -- it was just too ingrained in her by her upbringing on the farm. I was just pacing the floor, praying that God would help her speed up the process, because lunch was getting cold on the table, Kendra and I had a train to catch in a little over an hour, and the suitcases weren't even loaded in the car yet. I sighed a sigh of relief when she finished rifling through the trash, only to stifle a cry of exasperation when she announced that she needed to go buy bread because we didn't have enough for lunch. When all was said and done, Kendra and I made it to the platform JUST as the train pulled in, and three minutes later (after almost *throwing* our suitcases onto it and exchanging hurried hugs goodbye from the edge of the train as the attendants started securing the doors) we were speeding away toward Nantes.
I'll always cherish my memories from the last couple of days we spent with Clémence at her house and in Paris. Crazy card games, old family photos, laughing at the high-class "bourgeoisie" sitting across from us on the train to Paris...and then lugging ALL of our bags through the Paris Metro to Clém's sister's tiny apartment...good times. Just picture three girls loaded down with three huge backpacks and an extra handbag dragging, kicking, hoisting, and all but throwing four solidly-packed suitcases down stairs, up stairs, down escalators, up escalators, onto and off of crowded Metro trains, through countless turnstiles, down the street, into a tiny 3 person max. elevator, and finally into two room flat. It took at least four trips in the elevator to get everything up to the 7th floor, and we had to suck in our breath on the last trip to get the doors open far enough for Clém to fall out. (The doors opened inward.) And then imagine doing most of that all over again the next morning to make it to the airport on time! I wish I had video documentation of this adventure because it would definitely win some kind of award, if not for bravery, strength, and sheer determination, at least for hilarity. :P
After one last coffee with Clém, Kendra and I did our time in the security line. The passport check felt like the Inquisition, but I survived.
What have you been doing in France?
Studying.
What?
French...and international studies.
*hmmm*
Are you travelling with anyone?
My friend, Kendra, over there.
How long have you known her?
A couple of years.
Where did you meet her?
At university.
What does she do?
Studies.....
Where did you pack your suitcases?
In my room.
Were you alone?
No, she was with me.
Did she help you?
No, I did it all myself.
Where else have your suitcases been?
We came with another friend to Paris, to an apartment.
How long have you known this friend?
5 months.
Where did you meet her?
University.
What does she do?
Studies...........
Did you repack your suitcase in Paris?
Yes, a little.
Did anyone help you?
Nope, it was just me.
Did you receive any gifts or letters in France?
Yes, but I opened all the letters. (Ok, I admit, I didn't open my mom's gift, but seriously...how many bombs are flat and smell like roses?)
What technology are you carrying with you?
Camera, laptop, phone, iPod...
What's the newest one you've acquired?
(my gosh) uh, the camera - it's my dad's, I started using it 5 months ago
*long, wary look* Ok.
And then I got a little sticker on my passport. I don't think I've ever worked so hard for a sticker. :P I mean, I understand why they would want to know if you've let some strange man who looks like Bin Laden help you pack your suitcase...some people just don't think about these things. "Oh sure, sir, you don't have room for your suspiciously bomb-shaped brown paper package in your luggage from ...Pakistan? I have room in mine, so of course I can give it to your aunt in Georgia!" Sounds totally legit. :P
Anyway, security checks went smoothly, and we made all connecting flights with no problems. That was a huge blessing. Our flight home was a little late, but that's ok -- it just meant that everyone had had time to build up some extra anticipation. ;) Audrey made the dash for the first hug, and I couldn't believe how much she'd grown, or my brother either, for that matter! Everyone laughed when I looked up and couldn't find his face where I'd expected it to be. It was so wonderful to see all of my family's and friends' faces again, and be able to actually touch them. It was a fantastic "welcome home."
The past couple of weeks are still kind of blur for me. Like I said, jet lag really hit me hard, but that hasn't been the only thing. Mentally and emotionally, the adjusting has been difficult. Drama between people that had been developing for weeks and weeks finally exploded, and finding my new place in relationships and
life is taking a toll on me. I knew that things would change while I was gone, but I thought that I would still be working on the same life "puzzle," so to speak, just with some new pieces. Now it feels like I'm staring at a totally different puzzle which happens to have some of the same pieces. I don't know what to do with it all right now, how to process it, how to fit in -- but I'm trying. Please be patient with me!
Anyway, I should probably go now and find out if my brother has started any fires so I can put them out before Mom gets home from VBS. ;) Maybe I'll have more time later to write out some thoughts about home and culture shock. (It goes both ways!)
Enjoy the rest of your week!
But...anyway, the last week or two in Angers were pretty tough, what with the goodbyes and the subconscious stress about the impending change. They were also pretty special, because we were able to spend time with Clemence and her family before leaving, and my landlady had a sudden change of heart and became a totally different woman. Evidently, she quit work for a while and her stress disappeared, which translated into a farewell dinner Sunday night, crepes Monday night, breakfast Tuesday morning, and then a surprise lunch that nearly made us late for the train that afternoon. I was really shocked when she dropped a gift in my lap Sunday night: a lovely rose-embroidered tea towel and rose perfume from Doué-de-la-Fontaine (a town famous for its rose-centered culture). I had crocheted a scarf for her in her favorite muted blues and grays because I wanted her to know I cared about her, but I really wasn't expecting anything from her. She just seemed too overwhelmed and depressed most of the time. I realized that I had been too, though, especially towards the end, so I wrote a letter thanking her for taking care of me and apologized for being so distant sometimes. I know that didn't exactly help our relationship to grow. We exchanged our thoughts the morning of my departure, so even though I'm very glad that we ended up apologizing, hugging, and spending some really pleasant time together -- I can't help but wish it hadn't have taken so long in coming. I suppose that's just how life goes.
She wasn't done surprising me though. Not only did she give me a gift, but she loaded me down with gifts and notes for my entire family! For my dad, she found a special bottle of wine that she thought he might like; for my mom, it was a another rose-themed gift. And for my brother and sister, she bought two different kinds of chocolate (the really good stuff, too). Then she wrote a sweet note to both of them, and one to the whole family. Looking back on the stories from this semester in her house, I'm sure you're just as surprised was I was by this sudden outpouring of affection.
Unfortunately, obsessive habits die hard. She still spent 15 minutes digging through the bags of trash I brought down after emptying my room, just to make sure I wasn't throwing out anything that was recyclable. I told her that the contents were mostly old supermarket sacks and such, which was the truth. But, I kid you not, she went through every inch of that trash, admonishing me with every discovery of recyclable paper or cardboard that I'd missed, "Now THIS, this is not a sack, ma biche!" ("Biche" is a pet name that translates literally to "doe" - I promise) She even pulled out sack of months-old potatoes I'd thrown away because she "just couldn't bear to throw away good food" -- it was just too ingrained in her by her upbringing on the farm. I was just pacing the floor, praying that God would help her speed up the process, because lunch was getting cold on the table, Kendra and I had a train to catch in a little over an hour, and the suitcases weren't even loaded in the car yet. I sighed a sigh of relief when she finished rifling through the trash, only to stifle a cry of exasperation when she announced that she needed to go buy bread because we didn't have enough for lunch. When all was said and done, Kendra and I made it to the platform JUST as the train pulled in, and three minutes later (after almost *throwing* our suitcases onto it and exchanging hurried hugs goodbye from the edge of the train as the attendants started securing the doors) we were speeding away toward Nantes.
I'll always cherish my memories from the last couple of days we spent with Clémence at her house and in Paris. Crazy card games, old family photos, laughing at the high-class "bourgeoisie" sitting across from us on the train to Paris...and then lugging ALL of our bags through the Paris Metro to Clém's sister's tiny apartment...good times. Just picture three girls loaded down with three huge backpacks and an extra handbag dragging, kicking, hoisting, and all but throwing four solidly-packed suitcases down stairs, up stairs, down escalators, up escalators, onto and off of crowded Metro trains, through countless turnstiles, down the street, into a tiny 3 person max. elevator, and finally into two room flat. It took at least four trips in the elevator to get everything up to the 7th floor, and we had to suck in our breath on the last trip to get the doors open far enough for Clém to fall out. (The doors opened inward.) And then imagine doing most of that all over again the next morning to make it to the airport on time! I wish I had video documentation of this adventure because it would definitely win some kind of award, if not for bravery, strength, and sheer determination, at least for hilarity. :P
After one last coffee with Clém, Kendra and I did our time in the security line. The passport check felt like the Inquisition, but I survived.
What have you been doing in France?
Studying.
What?
French...and international studies.
*hmmm*
Are you travelling with anyone?
My friend, Kendra, over there.
How long have you known her?
A couple of years.
Where did you meet her?
At university.
What does she do?
Studies.....
Where did you pack your suitcases?
In my room.
Were you alone?
No, she was with me.
Did she help you?
No, I did it all myself.
Where else have your suitcases been?
We came with another friend to Paris, to an apartment.
How long have you known this friend?
5 months.
Where did you meet her?
University.
What does she do?
Studies...........
Did you repack your suitcase in Paris?
Yes, a little.
Did anyone help you?
Nope, it was just me.
Did you receive any gifts or letters in France?
Yes, but I opened all the letters. (Ok, I admit, I didn't open my mom's gift, but seriously...how many bombs are flat and smell like roses?)
What technology are you carrying with you?
Camera, laptop, phone, iPod...
What's the newest one you've acquired?
(my gosh) uh, the camera - it's my dad's, I started using it 5 months ago
*long, wary look* Ok.
And then I got a little sticker on my passport. I don't think I've ever worked so hard for a sticker. :P I mean, I understand why they would want to know if you've let some strange man who looks like Bin Laden help you pack your suitcase...some people just don't think about these things. "Oh sure, sir, you don't have room for your suspiciously bomb-shaped brown paper package in your luggage from ...Pakistan? I have room in mine, so of course I can give it to your aunt in Georgia!" Sounds totally legit. :P
Anyway, security checks went smoothly, and we made all connecting flights with no problems. That was a huge blessing. Our flight home was a little late, but that's ok -- it just meant that everyone had had time to build up some extra anticipation. ;) Audrey made the dash for the first hug, and I couldn't believe how much she'd grown, or my brother either, for that matter! Everyone laughed when I looked up and couldn't find his face where I'd expected it to be. It was so wonderful to see all of my family's and friends' faces again, and be able to actually touch them. It was a fantastic "welcome home."
The past couple of weeks are still kind of blur for me. Like I said, jet lag really hit me hard, but that hasn't been the only thing. Mentally and emotionally, the adjusting has been difficult. Drama between people that had been developing for weeks and weeks finally exploded, and finding my new place in relationships and
life is taking a toll on me. I knew that things would change while I was gone, but I thought that I would still be working on the same life "puzzle," so to speak, just with some new pieces. Now it feels like I'm staring at a totally different puzzle which happens to have some of the same pieces. I don't know what to do with it all right now, how to process it, how to fit in -- but I'm trying. Please be patient with me!
Anyway, I should probably go now and find out if my brother has started any fires so I can put them out before Mom gets home from VBS. ;) Maybe I'll have more time later to write out some thoughts about home and culture shock. (It goes both ways!)
Enjoy the rest of your week!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Normandy
So, Kendra and I hopped on a train Friday morning, bound for Caen. I'm guessing most people in the U.S. haven't ever heard of Caen, or most of the little towns along the coast in Normandy, but they know all about us. All of them were under German control up until 1944 when the Allies stormed the beaches and started the bombardments. I never realized how much suffering and destruction those French villagers experienced. Our men went through hell too, running across open beaches under enemy fire, parachuting into enemy territory, and climbing up cliffs only to be sniped down. But can you imagine living under German oppression, only to be freed by having your entire town and way of life bombed into nothingness? Towns like Saint Lô basically didn't *exist* anymore at the end of Allied bombing. The photos show nothing but debris and parts of what used to be houses. When our forces finally took possession of those towns, one by one, they were welcomed by the French, of course, but with somberness. They accepted that their freedom would come at a price, and were grateful to have it nonetheless, but that couldn't take away the pain of their loss. How blessed we have been to have not experienced this kind of sacrifice.
I've always heard that something happens, something changes inside, when you see the white crosses at the American cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer. It's true. There's something so real about seeing 9,000 white crosses stretching as far as you can see, understanding just how many lives they represent, and realizing that even that number is only a fraction of how many lives were actually sacrificed. Those 9,000 are only 39% of the casualty total; the rest were taken home. I just couldn't manage to imagine what it must have been like on the Beach down below the cemetery 66 years ago. Bloody Omaha, they call it, because 3,000 American men fell that morning as they stormed the beach. It was so beautiful yesterday. Blue skies and sunshine, cheerful birdsongs floating on the soft, cool breeze -- how could it be the site of a massacre? They were all just fathers and sons and brothers. I have no sympathy for the German cause, nor do I in any way condone its horrors, but I do grieve for the loss of life on all sides. The wages of sin...
I will always remember meeting Bob at the cemetery. Bob is a D-Day veteran with a Scottish accent and a soldier's eye for pretty girls. I walked up to him and his comrade at the Gold Beach bunkers to shake their hands and thank them for their sacrifice, and he stopped to talk to us when we met again at the American cemetery with his friends calling out, "Come on Bob, not again, Bob!" He told us that he was in the parachute division on D-Day and he was only 19 when he jumped out of that plane over Saint-Mère-Église. "I wasn't frightened," he said. "No?" we both gasped. "Nope. I was scared stiff." I can't imagine. "I couldn't have been much older than you girls," he ventured.
"What are you, 16?"
"21, actually."
"Nawww!"
He wondered why in the world young people like us would be interested in coming to Normandy, and I realized that most of the people around us really weren't our age. I shrugged. "We care about what happened. I wish more people did." If they did, they wouldn't miss out on meeting men like Bob. They might even see some of them show off the magic tricks they learned during all those hours in the barracks. He was still pulling coins out of nowhere for us when our tour guide found us, and we realized that we'd lost track of time and were late for our rendez-vous back at the touring bus. Oops. It was worth it, though. I have a picture of us together so I won't forget him. Thank you, Bob, for everything.
Our tour of the Gold Beach, Omaha Beach, and Pointe du Hoc wouldn't have been the same without the great tour group we were with. Kendra and I hit it off with an older couple named Sue and Tom, who are from Oklahoma but have living in Belgium for the past few years. (What are the odds? It was like us meeting the girl from Little Rock on the tour of the chateaus who lives in a neighborhood right next to Kendra's family. 0_o) Sue was just like a Southern grandma and took good care of us, even though we'd hardly met. :) We all giggled when we drove past one of the d-day weekend barbecues going on and realized they were grilling bratwurst and serving it with sauerkraut. They must have been digging into those German food reserves they captured... ;)
Our hotel was really more like a hostel with a TV, but I was able to take my first bath in 5 months, and we watched some World Cup soccer and Get Smart in French. We ate dry muesli out of plastic hotel cups for breakfast. It was awesome. ;) We took off Friday night to explore the town a little and get dinner, and it turned out that the castle was free to explore. So we took goofy pictures with the statues inside the walls and climbed up onto the ramparts and took pictures of the sunset. It was starting to get dark, so we decided to head back to the hotel; unfortunately, we couldn't find the bus line back. We finally figured out how to get to the right stop, and when we got there we found out we had a 55 minute wait for the last bus back. :P That's right. Thank you French public transit system. As much as they love to go out and hang out in town at night, there's never an easy way to get back home for us tourists. I wanted to just sit down on the sidewalk and throw a temper tantrum and cry. I'm so weary of feeling stranded and scared that I'm going to be stuck on a dark street somewhere, even though I tried my best to get home. But...we made the best of it and took more goofy pictures of ourselves at the bus stop. You can see the evidence on Facebook (fortunately or not). lol
Oh, and here's a Kendra quote of the trip: "The world, it's so BIG, Grace, so big!"
It's true. It's just so big...
I've seen so much here, but it's only the very tiniest tip of the iceberg!!
I've always heard that something happens, something changes inside, when you see the white crosses at the American cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer. It's true. There's something so real about seeing 9,000 white crosses stretching as far as you can see, understanding just how many lives they represent, and realizing that even that number is only a fraction of how many lives were actually sacrificed. Those 9,000 are only 39% of the casualty total; the rest were taken home. I just couldn't manage to imagine what it must have been like on the Beach down below the cemetery 66 years ago. Bloody Omaha, they call it, because 3,000 American men fell that morning as they stormed the beach. It was so beautiful yesterday. Blue skies and sunshine, cheerful birdsongs floating on the soft, cool breeze -- how could it be the site of a massacre? They were all just fathers and sons and brothers. I have no sympathy for the German cause, nor do I in any way condone its horrors, but I do grieve for the loss of life on all sides. The wages of sin...
I will always remember meeting Bob at the cemetery. Bob is a D-Day veteran with a Scottish accent and a soldier's eye for pretty girls. I walked up to him and his comrade at the Gold Beach bunkers to shake their hands and thank them for their sacrifice, and he stopped to talk to us when we met again at the American cemetery with his friends calling out, "Come on Bob, not again, Bob!" He told us that he was in the parachute division on D-Day and he was only 19 when he jumped out of that plane over Saint-Mère-Église. "I wasn't frightened," he said. "No?" we both gasped. "Nope. I was scared stiff." I can't imagine. "I couldn't have been much older than you girls," he ventured.
"What are you, 16?"
"21, actually."
"Nawww!"
He wondered why in the world young people like us would be interested in coming to Normandy, and I realized that most of the people around us really weren't our age. I shrugged. "We care about what happened. I wish more people did." If they did, they wouldn't miss out on meeting men like Bob. They might even see some of them show off the magic tricks they learned during all those hours in the barracks. He was still pulling coins out of nowhere for us when our tour guide found us, and we realized that we'd lost track of time and were late for our rendez-vous back at the touring bus. Oops. It was worth it, though. I have a picture of us together so I won't forget him. Thank you, Bob, for everything.
Our tour of the Gold Beach, Omaha Beach, and Pointe du Hoc wouldn't have been the same without the great tour group we were with. Kendra and I hit it off with an older couple named Sue and Tom, who are from Oklahoma but have living in Belgium for the past few years. (What are the odds? It was like us meeting the girl from Little Rock on the tour of the chateaus who lives in a neighborhood right next to Kendra's family. 0_o) Sue was just like a Southern grandma and took good care of us, even though we'd hardly met. :) We all giggled when we drove past one of the d-day weekend barbecues going on and realized they were grilling bratwurst and serving it with sauerkraut. They must have been digging into those German food reserves they captured... ;)
Our hotel was really more like a hostel with a TV, but I was able to take my first bath in 5 months, and we watched some World Cup soccer and Get Smart in French. We ate dry muesli out of plastic hotel cups for breakfast. It was awesome. ;) We took off Friday night to explore the town a little and get dinner, and it turned out that the castle was free to explore. So we took goofy pictures with the statues inside the walls and climbed up onto the ramparts and took pictures of the sunset. It was starting to get dark, so we decided to head back to the hotel; unfortunately, we couldn't find the bus line back. We finally figured out how to get to the right stop, and when we got there we found out we had a 55 minute wait for the last bus back. :P That's right. Thank you French public transit system. As much as they love to go out and hang out in town at night, there's never an easy way to get back home for us tourists. I wanted to just sit down on the sidewalk and throw a temper tantrum and cry. I'm so weary of feeling stranded and scared that I'm going to be stuck on a dark street somewhere, even though I tried my best to get home. But...we made the best of it and took more goofy pictures of ourselves at the bus stop. You can see the evidence on Facebook (fortunately or not). lol
Oh, and here's a Kendra quote of the trip: "The world, it's so BIG, Grace, so big!"
It's true. It's just so big...
I've seen so much here, but it's only the very tiniest tip of the iceberg!!
Catching up
Good morning world. :) Only ten days left until I come home. It's a bittersweet feeling. On one hand, I have really grown to appreciate many aspects of European culture...and on the other hand, I'm ready to be with the ones I love (and not have to worry about getting stuck in a dark alley somewhere with no way home). Cars are a marvelous invention. Of course, if I were here for longer, I could really settle in and take care of things like that, but living as a half-tourist, half-resident can be quite a hassle. That said, I wouldn't trade my experiences for anything.
I think I've pretty much wrapped up my shopping (hehe, no pun intended). Tomorrow is my last real free day before the next whirlwind of travel begins. Tuesday, Kendra and I will set off for the Netherlands to visit Laura and Isabel until Sunday. :) I'm so excited! The Monday after we come home, we'll head to Nantes to spend some time with Clémence and her family, and then on Tuesday, we're setting off on an adventurous road trip in search of a little village called Mortagne-sur-Perche. My great-uncle has traced his ancestry back to this little town and asked if I could possibly find it and bring something back from there. I couldn't find any bus lines that could get us close enough, and then I had the brilliant idea of asking Clémence if we could make a road trip. That way, we can hang out and have some more good times together before I leave...AND I can find this village for my uncle Gene. Happiness all around. :) Wednesday, we'll be back in Nantes, heading for Paris to stay the night with Clémence's sister who is graciously opening her apartment to us to crash for the night. If we took the train to Paris the morning of the flight, we'd run a high risk of missing it. So...anyway, that's how the next week and a half should pan out if things go mostly according to plan, but life never does...so who knows?
I'm thinking about what I've done lately, now that school is out. Taking the ALP exam was a huge milestone...it was hanging over my head for so long. I hated it. But, nevertheless, I'm glad I took it because it definitely enriched my experience here. The exam was probably the strangest exam I've ever taken, though. Here's how it worked. First of all, I walked in, drew a card, and took a seat at the desk in the office to prepare my answer. My task was "Prepare a tourism itinerary for a group of 20 adults on an October afternoon based on the theme of 'medieval Angers.'" Hmm, ok -- most of historic Angers is medieval. :P It really wasn't as difficult as it could have been, because I had access to a collection of tourism brochures in front of me to prepare my presentation. After about 30 minutes, I walked into the jury room and sat down across the table from three judges and the older of my two professors, and then I presented my itinerary, responding to questions from them as I went along. This church here, that church there...you can see this art gallery that's housed in this abbey...that tower dates to blah blah blah...I was pretty nervous, so some of my French broke down, but I felt like I was able to show them that I knew the material. I didn't make it as far as the chateau, which I really wanted to mention, but they decided we need to move on. Hopefully that won't count against me too much. The next phase of the exam felt extremely risky, because I had to draw three cards at random from a selection of questions about Angers and Anjou. They could have been about anything or everything. :P Fortunately, I nailed all of them without having to stop to think. Praise the Lord. Then all three judges picked a letter of the alphabet and asked me to come up with something that started with their letter that was related to Angers/Anjou. M...Mauges.....F...Fontevraud.....B...Bateau, gabares...check, check, and check. Fortunately, they seemed quite satisfied with my explanations of each one, and I noticed that they were putting down checkmarks as they took notes -- that bodes well for me! After all of that, it still wasn't over, though. I still had to piece together a three-part model of a cathedral and give the terminology of certain parts of the architecture in both English and French before it was over. The results will be posted on the 8th (the same day I leave for Holland) - so I can check them when I get back. It's a little unnerving to know that my score will be posted on the wall for everyone to see! :P Anyway, whether I passed or not, I'm thankful to have had the chance to take the class. I'll get a certificate either way, and if I passed, I'll have a tourism diploma of some kind. That could be useful in the future.
Anyway, after the ALP exam was out of the way, I spent Saturday at the beach with the young adults group from church. Well...I say that we spent the day at the beach, but that gives the wrong impression. We stepped off the train in Le Pouliguen in Bretagne into the cold, the drizzle, and the blustery wind, and we thought about climbing back on a train to go back! And, of course, I had picked *that* day to wear my new shorts, since it had been so much warmer the day before. :P We decided to make the most of it and found shelter under the awning of a closed restaurant on the beach, and when it stopped raining, most of us braved the chilliness to play some soccer in the sand and take a walk down to the edge of the sea. Our picnic was rather "n'importe quoi" (whatever, anything, and everything), kind of like us, and we had a blast. We walked around the beach for a while after lunch, ate homemade brownies to celebrate a birthday, and laughed hysterically as Stephane tormented Yolande with the soccer ball. (She gives the perfect reaction every time.) Then on our way back through town, we were passed by a string of cars honking to celebrate a marriage. That's one tradition I love here. If someone gets married, they have a procession through town and you can honk all you want. :) We celebrated with them and then headed back to the train station. Unfortunately, it started raining again as we headed back, and no one could really remember *exactly* which direction the train station was.....and we only had ten minutes to get there. I think we made it with about 2 or 3 minutes to spare because Yannez picked the right direction. Yay, Yannez! We were all so tired...and my hot shower that night felt SO good.
Oh, and church the next day was so wonderful! We had great conversations over lunch about our experiences here, French wedding dinners that last until breakfast, and even international politics. Wei Wei got her first Chinese Bible, too. :) And then we had to say our goodbyes (the not so wonderful part). :( I don't like goodbyes. I had to say goodbye to Magdalena, then Yumi, and Gaelle this past week, as well, and then we had our farewell dinner at Stephane and Véro's place. That was one of the BEST parties we've had here. I don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time. Half of us had tears in our eyes from laughing, and my stomach was sore. (the best kind of soreness, for sure) Léon tried to explain a strange Chinese game, we all broke out into Sunday school songs from our childhood (like "I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N and Father Abraham), and Stephane tried to poison me and Kendra with tea from his mother. (No one likes it, so they try to get rid of it when company comes...and then Yannez started reading the box, and it was "best consumed by October 2008.") :P The taco soup and apple pie that Kendra and I made together were huge hits, too, which made me happy. All the other dishes I've tried to make for picnics have turned out a little strange because the ingredients aren't quite the same here, but these two were pretty simple -- and it gave them a taste of what my momma's cooking is like. Now they all want to come home with me. :) Seriously, I really do want them all to come visit, however unlikely that might be. (With God all things are possible!!!) At least they want me to come back here, too, and do ministry! (and play with Stephane and Véro's new baby when it arrives in October!) :) They said that the west of France is one of the most needy areas when it comes to missions. Heh, wonder why God sent me here. 0_o
Oh yeah, btw, in the middle of all the other things I was trying to do last week, Joselyne informed me that it was urgent that I defrost my refrigerator. I didn't have time the next day, and I asked her if I could just wait until I moved out, since it would only be two weeks. She adamantly insisted that it couldn't wait. :P I didn't have time to take care of it the next day, and when I got home that evening, she had left a note for me on the table saying, "If you would please defrost the fridge *tomorrow*." *sigh* Alright, so I did...but I couldn't stay and watch it all day. I knew all that water was going to have to go somewhere, so I tried to catch what I could with the plastic trays inside, but there was still a little water on the rug when I got home. It wasn't a big problem though, fortunately, because I would have hated to have done something accidentally to these wood floors. That's the last thing I want to deal with right now. Anyway, getting all the water to my window to dump it out was a bit of an ordeal...you know, draining the tray into a plastic wash basin, climbing onto my desk, pouring it down the roof into the gutter...that's just what I thought I'd be doing last week. :P What a house I live in. (Oh, btw, Wei Wei said that Joselyne explained away the "stair stains" episodes by saying that she had had something to drink. Evidently! lol Makes me feel better about her sanity.)
Oh hey, I watched a movie in French last weekend: l'Arnacoeur. And I understood most of it! :) I was so happy. Yolande had to explain a few things that were mumbled in the movie, but for the most part, I knew exactly what was going on. And, it was actually a pretty good movie; I wish it was available in English. As it is, I could watch it with my buddies at home, but they wouldn't get anything out of it. lol Darn this cross-cultural thing.
Kendra and I wrapped up school details with the head of study abroad last week. We ended up talking to her for a while, and she related some of her impressions of the U.S. from her visits. She absolutely loved San Francisco (that's the city that all the French talk about for some reason), but she hated Atlanta and didn't want to ever go back, just because of a random racist comment from someone in the airport. Evidently, she noticed that most of the cleaning and runway employees were black, and when she asked a black man where to find something in the airport, a white middle-aged woman rushed over, took her by the arm, and assured her that "he wouldn't know." Granted, she might have indeed asked a homeless man, but in general, I can see how she would get an unfavorable impression. That was 20 years ago, too, so she admitted that it may have improved since then. They have a much different perspective on black/white racism here in France, so I think that *any* sign of it, however small, is really striking to them. However, they have their own problems when it comes to the Arab/North African population, so it seems pretty hypocritical to me. Oh well, we all have our prejudices and blind spots.
Even though I think that French people are a bit obsessed with appearance, I do think she did hit the nail on the head when she started talking about the obesity problem she witnessed, though. She went to Las Vegas and saw an obese man in a wheelchair, pushing buttons on a slot machine, with a straw stuck in his mouth, drinking Coke out of a supersized cup with a straw. She thought he was handicapped, but then she saw him move his motorized wheelchair to the bathroom and get out of it. She realized that he was only in a wheelchair because of his size, and he was just conserving his joints. She's right; that doesn't happen here in Europe. I haven't seen one single person in that condition. They do have a mentality that values self-care. It's certainly a healthy mentality. I wish it would catch on in the US, but we're so busy in our rush to go nowhere that we don't think we have enough time to think about it. If only we would STOP and realize that our striving to be busy all the time isn't getting us anywhere, and to top it all off, it's making the journey to nowhere absolutely miserable. :P
She also started talking about the difficulties of travel nowadays, with all the restrictions and paperwork brought on by terror threats. After 9/11, the U.S. become more or less paranoid, a mindset which is reflected in all of our rules and regulations. We noticed that the French and Europeans in general don't seem quite as obsessed with security measures as we are. She agreed, and contrasted our attitude to theirs by reminding us that Europe has already been through so many wars and tragedies on its own soil that they've just adopted an attitude of fatalism. What happens, happens. Rules and regulations just make life difficult, and they don't prevent determined people from committing crimes. If anything, they can accelerate the adaptation and evolution of terror techniques. Makes sense to me. The longer I'm here, the more I realize that America's youth is really quite evident to the European world. They tend to view her as the kid sister. :P
Anyway, I've rambled on about anything and everything for quite some time now. I wouldn't blame you if you read this in installments. :P I just got burned out on processing things these past few weeks, so I guess I'm catching up. There's just too much to process after it's been building up for 5 months, at least for someone like me. I'll talk about my trip to Normandy and the D-Day beaches later. :)
I think I've pretty much wrapped up my shopping (hehe, no pun intended). Tomorrow is my last real free day before the next whirlwind of travel begins. Tuesday, Kendra and I will set off for the Netherlands to visit Laura and Isabel until Sunday. :) I'm so excited! The Monday after we come home, we'll head to Nantes to spend some time with Clémence and her family, and then on Tuesday, we're setting off on an adventurous road trip in search of a little village called Mortagne-sur-Perche. My great-uncle has traced his ancestry back to this little town and asked if I could possibly find it and bring something back from there. I couldn't find any bus lines that could get us close enough, and then I had the brilliant idea of asking Clémence if we could make a road trip. That way, we can hang out and have some more good times together before I leave...AND I can find this village for my uncle Gene. Happiness all around. :) Wednesday, we'll be back in Nantes, heading for Paris to stay the night with Clémence's sister who is graciously opening her apartment to us to crash for the night. If we took the train to Paris the morning of the flight, we'd run a high risk of missing it. So...anyway, that's how the next week and a half should pan out if things go mostly according to plan, but life never does...so who knows?
I'm thinking about what I've done lately, now that school is out. Taking the ALP exam was a huge milestone...it was hanging over my head for so long. I hated it. But, nevertheless, I'm glad I took it because it definitely enriched my experience here. The exam was probably the strangest exam I've ever taken, though. Here's how it worked. First of all, I walked in, drew a card, and took a seat at the desk in the office to prepare my answer. My task was "Prepare a tourism itinerary for a group of 20 adults on an October afternoon based on the theme of 'medieval Angers.'" Hmm, ok -- most of historic Angers is medieval. :P It really wasn't as difficult as it could have been, because I had access to a collection of tourism brochures in front of me to prepare my presentation. After about 30 minutes, I walked into the jury room and sat down across the table from three judges and the older of my two professors, and then I presented my itinerary, responding to questions from them as I went along. This church here, that church there...you can see this art gallery that's housed in this abbey...that tower dates to blah blah blah...I was pretty nervous, so some of my French broke down, but I felt like I was able to show them that I knew the material. I didn't make it as far as the chateau, which I really wanted to mention, but they decided we need to move on. Hopefully that won't count against me too much. The next phase of the exam felt extremely risky, because I had to draw three cards at random from a selection of questions about Angers and Anjou. They could have been about anything or everything. :P Fortunately, I nailed all of them without having to stop to think. Praise the Lord. Then all three judges picked a letter of the alphabet and asked me to come up with something that started with their letter that was related to Angers/Anjou. M...Mauges.....F...Fontevraud.....B...Bateau, gabares...check, check, and check. Fortunately, they seemed quite satisfied with my explanations of each one, and I noticed that they were putting down checkmarks as they took notes -- that bodes well for me! After all of that, it still wasn't over, though. I still had to piece together a three-part model of a cathedral and give the terminology of certain parts of the architecture in both English and French before it was over. The results will be posted on the 8th (the same day I leave for Holland) - so I can check them when I get back. It's a little unnerving to know that my score will be posted on the wall for everyone to see! :P Anyway, whether I passed or not, I'm thankful to have had the chance to take the class. I'll get a certificate either way, and if I passed, I'll have a tourism diploma of some kind. That could be useful in the future.
Anyway, after the ALP exam was out of the way, I spent Saturday at the beach with the young adults group from church. Well...I say that we spent the day at the beach, but that gives the wrong impression. We stepped off the train in Le Pouliguen in Bretagne into the cold, the drizzle, and the blustery wind, and we thought about climbing back on a train to go back! And, of course, I had picked *that* day to wear my new shorts, since it had been so much warmer the day before. :P We decided to make the most of it and found shelter under the awning of a closed restaurant on the beach, and when it stopped raining, most of us braved the chilliness to play some soccer in the sand and take a walk down to the edge of the sea. Our picnic was rather "n'importe quoi" (whatever, anything, and everything), kind of like us, and we had a blast. We walked around the beach for a while after lunch, ate homemade brownies to celebrate a birthday, and laughed hysterically as Stephane tormented Yolande with the soccer ball. (She gives the perfect reaction every time.) Then on our way back through town, we were passed by a string of cars honking to celebrate a marriage. That's one tradition I love here. If someone gets married, they have a procession through town and you can honk all you want. :) We celebrated with them and then headed back to the train station. Unfortunately, it started raining again as we headed back, and no one could really remember *exactly* which direction the train station was.....and we only had ten minutes to get there. I think we made it with about 2 or 3 minutes to spare because Yannez picked the right direction. Yay, Yannez! We were all so tired...and my hot shower that night felt SO good.
Oh, and church the next day was so wonderful! We had great conversations over lunch about our experiences here, French wedding dinners that last until breakfast, and even international politics. Wei Wei got her first Chinese Bible, too. :) And then we had to say our goodbyes (the not so wonderful part). :( I don't like goodbyes. I had to say goodbye to Magdalena, then Yumi, and Gaelle this past week, as well, and then we had our farewell dinner at Stephane and Véro's place. That was one of the BEST parties we've had here. I don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time. Half of us had tears in our eyes from laughing, and my stomach was sore. (the best kind of soreness, for sure) Léon tried to explain a strange Chinese game, we all broke out into Sunday school songs from our childhood (like "I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N and Father Abraham), and Stephane tried to poison me and Kendra with tea from his mother. (No one likes it, so they try to get rid of it when company comes...and then Yannez started reading the box, and it was "best consumed by October 2008.") :P The taco soup and apple pie that Kendra and I made together were huge hits, too, which made me happy. All the other dishes I've tried to make for picnics have turned out a little strange because the ingredients aren't quite the same here, but these two were pretty simple -- and it gave them a taste of what my momma's cooking is like. Now they all want to come home with me. :) Seriously, I really do want them all to come visit, however unlikely that might be. (With God all things are possible!!!) At least they want me to come back here, too, and do ministry! (and play with Stephane and Véro's new baby when it arrives in October!) :) They said that the west of France is one of the most needy areas when it comes to missions. Heh, wonder why God sent me here. 0_o
Oh yeah, btw, in the middle of all the other things I was trying to do last week, Joselyne informed me that it was urgent that I defrost my refrigerator. I didn't have time the next day, and I asked her if I could just wait until I moved out, since it would only be two weeks. She adamantly insisted that it couldn't wait. :P I didn't have time to take care of it the next day, and when I got home that evening, she had left a note for me on the table saying, "If you would please defrost the fridge *tomorrow*." *sigh* Alright, so I did...but I couldn't stay and watch it all day. I knew all that water was going to have to go somewhere, so I tried to catch what I could with the plastic trays inside, but there was still a little water on the rug when I got home. It wasn't a big problem though, fortunately, because I would have hated to have done something accidentally to these wood floors. That's the last thing I want to deal with right now. Anyway, getting all the water to my window to dump it out was a bit of an ordeal...you know, draining the tray into a plastic wash basin, climbing onto my desk, pouring it down the roof into the gutter...that's just what I thought I'd be doing last week. :P What a house I live in. (Oh, btw, Wei Wei said that Joselyne explained away the "stair stains" episodes by saying that she had had something to drink. Evidently! lol Makes me feel better about her sanity.)
Oh hey, I watched a movie in French last weekend: l'Arnacoeur. And I understood most of it! :) I was so happy. Yolande had to explain a few things that were mumbled in the movie, but for the most part, I knew exactly what was going on. And, it was actually a pretty good movie; I wish it was available in English. As it is, I could watch it with my buddies at home, but they wouldn't get anything out of it. lol Darn this cross-cultural thing.
Kendra and I wrapped up school details with the head of study abroad last week. We ended up talking to her for a while, and she related some of her impressions of the U.S. from her visits. She absolutely loved San Francisco (that's the city that all the French talk about for some reason), but she hated Atlanta and didn't want to ever go back, just because of a random racist comment from someone in the airport. Evidently, she noticed that most of the cleaning and runway employees were black, and when she asked a black man where to find something in the airport, a white middle-aged woman rushed over, took her by the arm, and assured her that "he wouldn't know." Granted, she might have indeed asked a homeless man, but in general, I can see how she would get an unfavorable impression. That was 20 years ago, too, so she admitted that it may have improved since then. They have a much different perspective on black/white racism here in France, so I think that *any* sign of it, however small, is really striking to them. However, they have their own problems when it comes to the Arab/North African population, so it seems pretty hypocritical to me. Oh well, we all have our prejudices and blind spots.
Even though I think that French people are a bit obsessed with appearance, I do think she did hit the nail on the head when she started talking about the obesity problem she witnessed, though. She went to Las Vegas and saw an obese man in a wheelchair, pushing buttons on a slot machine, with a straw stuck in his mouth, drinking Coke out of a supersized cup with a straw. She thought he was handicapped, but then she saw him move his motorized wheelchair to the bathroom and get out of it. She realized that he was only in a wheelchair because of his size, and he was just conserving his joints. She's right; that doesn't happen here in Europe. I haven't seen one single person in that condition. They do have a mentality that values self-care. It's certainly a healthy mentality. I wish it would catch on in the US, but we're so busy in our rush to go nowhere that we don't think we have enough time to think about it. If only we would STOP and realize that our striving to be busy all the time isn't getting us anywhere, and to top it all off, it's making the journey to nowhere absolutely miserable. :P
She also started talking about the difficulties of travel nowadays, with all the restrictions and paperwork brought on by terror threats. After 9/11, the U.S. become more or less paranoid, a mindset which is reflected in all of our rules and regulations. We noticed that the French and Europeans in general don't seem quite as obsessed with security measures as we are. She agreed, and contrasted our attitude to theirs by reminding us that Europe has already been through so many wars and tragedies on its own soil that they've just adopted an attitude of fatalism. What happens, happens. Rules and regulations just make life difficult, and they don't prevent determined people from committing crimes. If anything, they can accelerate the adaptation and evolution of terror techniques. Makes sense to me. The longer I'm here, the more I realize that America's youth is really quite evident to the European world. They tend to view her as the kid sister. :P
Anyway, I've rambled on about anything and everything for quite some time now. I wouldn't blame you if you read this in installments. :P I just got burned out on processing things these past few weeks, so I guess I'm catching up. There's just too much to process after it's been building up for 5 months, at least for someone like me. I'll talk about my trip to Normandy and the D-Day beaches later. :)
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Weekends and Day trips :)
Well, it’s a beautiful cool night (finally!) and I’m looking at the moonlit outlines of the clouds from my skylight window, thinking about how crazy it is that I’ll be looking at the clouds over Arkansas in just a few short weeks. I’m not really sure why, but I think it hit me this week just how little time I have left. I'm trying to wrap up my shopping and enjoy the things I haven't had a chance to see yet (or taste). ;) A lot of people ask if I’m sad to leave, and I have to say “not really,” in a general sense. I’m ready to come home and be a part of life with my family and friends there. Of course, I am sad that I have to leave behind so many fledgling relationships, not knowing if or when I will have the chance to come back and deepen them in person. That’s what so hard about being here for only five months. It’s just long enough to establish a foundation for friendships, but not long enough to really build them. Anyway, there is a season for everything, and knowing that makes it easier to move on. Besides, I’m not leaving my new friends behind; I’m just “moving out of visual range.” ;) Sorry, trekkie reference there.
I’m super-excited about the fact that three UCO students will be doing a semester-long exchange at UCA this fall. I know they’re coming to learn English, but I’m definitely going to be begging for a least a little bit of French time so I don’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard for this semester. I hope they won’t mind! Maybe we can play bilingual Scrabble...with French and English words. I played in French with Joselyne and Wei Wei the other day, and it was definitely a lot of fun -- and definitely challenging. Believe it or not, I did score points! That made my night.
Sooo...I forgot to mention that I’ve had two amazing weekends in a row: the first with UCA choir friends and the second with Clémence and Azilys and Kendra. The weekend with the choir was full of the unexpected. I hopped on a train for Orléans on Thursday, hoping to catch up with them at their hotel and surprise them, since they didn’t know when or where I was going to show up. I almost didn’t find them, because they deviated from their itinerary. (Figures.) After getting my bearings from the map in the train station, I wandered in what seemed like the right direction to find the hotel. It took about 45 minutes, one stop to ask directions from a nice lady on the sidewalk, and a little bit of backtracking because of the uncrossable highways, but I finally made it. Unfortunately, they didn’t. :P So I left to find the restaurant where they were supposed to be having lunch, and I didn’t find it, but I found the tour bus in the square (which was hard to miss). I just happened to catch the bus driver getting the bus ready for them and asked if I could wait for them on board. He had no idea who I was, or what I was doing, but he said “sure” with no questions asked. I’m glad I’m not a terrorist. :P Anyway, I was so nervous about seeing them that I’m pretty sure I was shaking. It seemed so surreal to think that I’d be touching people from home and talking to them in person! It was priceless to watch their faces as they filed onto the bus one by one. I snuck up behind Evan and gave him a hug, but I think it took a few hours for it to actually sink in that I was really there. What’s interesting is that I hadn’t planned on sticking around long -- just catching a train back to Angers that night and finding them again in another city. Fortunately, Annie and Ashleigh didn’t let me go, and I just lived out of Annie’s suitcase until Sunday, taking the bus with them to Blois, Tours, and Nantes. It was super, super, super fun hanging out with my buddies, and being a French speaker, I think I came in kind of handy at least a few times. Here’s what I remember most about the weekend:
- Twirly chairs by the Loire. Yeah, they’re on rollers. 0_o
- Orléans being the sketchiest French city I’ve ever visited. Seriously. It didn’t matter who I was with.
- Hanging out with the staff at the hotel bar, teaching Sean and Evan some French, and learning that Evan’s last name doesn’t translate well into French.
- Nutella ice cream!!
- Tasting real champagne for Evan’s 21st...in France. What are the odds?
- Uhhhhh....petit français! (Ben was trying to say he spoke only a little French...but kept saying “little frenchman” -- until some waitresses finally lost it. And then it was just too funny to stop saying it.)
- Goodies from Bretagne, including pork intestine. Yeah...even I couldn’t get that down.
- Wondering if perhaps Annie and I have the same...parents? Hmm...
- An American choir and a French choir, lots of cider, and lots of singing -- in a creperie. I’m sure the Star Spangled Banner never sounded so good. (And neither has Lookin’ for a City...beat boxing included!)
I teared up when we said goodbye on Sunday morning, but at least I’ll see them soon. Not much longer!
Last weekend was awesome, too. Clémence, Azilys, Kendra, and I set off for Nantes Friday morning and had a lovely lunch with Clémence’s mom. It felt so good to be with a real family again. For some reason, we ended up talking about our host families, and I recounted some of my most interesting experiences. (I hate feeling like I'm complaining, but people ask, and I feel like I have to be at least honest.) She was really disappointed and a little bit shocked that we’ve had to go through what we have here. (Not that it’s been horrific; all the same, it’s not exactly ideal.) It’s just like if I found out someone had been through some difficult living situations in the U.S. Not only does it reflect badly on Americans, but I don’t want anyone to have a bad experience when they’re visiting my country. I want them feel warmly welcomed, to enjoy their time, and to have a rich cultural and relational experience without being burdened. Anyway, she said that she knew that the English had a reputation of being very exacting, cold, and very profit-oriented when hosting French students, but she had thought better of the French. Evidently it’s becoming just as much of a problem here. (Even our tour guide to the chateaus of the Loire pointed that out to us today, and he’s hosted students before.) Makes sense though...after all, the love of money isn’t limited to a particular nationality. All of my friends have told me that my rent is definitely high for what I’m getting, and wi-fi and laundry and meals aren’t even included. 3 euros extra for her to do a load of my laundry, 8 euros a month for wi-fi, and 6 euros per meal if I choose to have her cook for me. I’ll probably be writing a letter to the housing office here to let them know about my particular situation as well as some of the other experiences other students have told me about. I don’t think students have reported things as much as they should have in the past, or else the university has ignored the complaints. In any case, they need to do a better job of screening and keeping tabs on their host families, because in most cases, they aren’t really hosting -- they’re just offering a hotel -- or at the worst, abusing the trust of the university in the way they provide for the students. :P
Annnnnyway, back to the weekend. We packed up the dog and headed to the beach for the afternoon - about an hour’s drive. It was great, being on the road, in the sunshine, wind blowing in my hair...and even if walking around in the sun was a bit warm, the Speculoos ice cream did a fantastic job of cooling me off. We all had a wonderful time with her family at dinner, laughing and telling stories (one thing I’m going to miss SO much), before collapsing on the couch for Finding Nemo in French. Oh yeah, Clémence had to wrestle with the bedsheets first...but those pictures are on Facebook. 0_o
Saturday, Clémence’s parents took us out for lunch at a little restaurant on the shore of the Erdre river -- one of the most beautiful rivers in France. (THE most beautiful, according to the Sun King Louis XIV, and we all know how important his opinion was. :P ) The smoked seasoned salmon, white wine, fish in white butter sauce, cheeses, and profiteroles were *amazing*, especially since we were enjoying them outside with such a gorgeous view. It was probably one of the best meals I’ve had in France. To continue the good times, her parents rented pedal-boats, and we all climbed in for a leisurely pedal up and down the river. I couldn’t have imagined a lovelier way to spend the afternoon. And, as if that wasn’t enough fun for the day, we headed to Chateaubriant for a cookout soirée and night out with friends from the language department. We all goofed off for a while before heading out to the Bilbok to dance. It was quite an adventurous evening (and quite a long one), but I had lots of fun and now have lots of memories. :)
Other than those two weekends, a day of shopping with Gillie and Kendra yesterday, I’ve been laying low, trying to get rid of this chest cold I picked up somewhere. It’s been hanging around for a little while now, and I’m ready for it to be on its way. :P However, I did get the chance to take a day trip with Gillie, Kendra, and Ninh today to see several chateaus of the Loire. :) It was absolutely beautiful today, except for a little rain this afternoon, but overall it was the perfect weather for visiting Chenonceau, Clos Lucé, Langeais, and Ussé. We took the train to Tours early this morning to catch the all-day tour from the office of tourism. (Too bad no one gives prizes for the abundant usage of the word “tour”; I could have won today!) :P Our driver was quite friendly, and I really enjoyed our drives through the countryside just as much as visiting the chateaus. I hadn't realized just how much of France is rural or agricultural. These chateaus were a lovely change of scenery from what I'm used to, since they’re from the Renaissance era, and the ones I’m used to seeing in my region are better examples of medieval fortresses: impressive, of course, but not quite as aesthetically pleasing. (Oh, just a bit of trivia for you: Ussé is better known as the chateau in Sleeping Beauty.) I thought Kendra was going to faint. ;)
Well.....I think I’ve about written myself to sleep, or written up an appetite, so I’m going to find some fruit and head to bed. Tomorrow I have some hard-core reviewing to do for my ALP exam, but at least part of that will be giving a tour of Angers to Kendra to practice my tourism skills. Even so, I will be SO glad when this is finally behind me and not hanging over my head anymore. Night everyone!
I’m super-excited about the fact that three UCO students will be doing a semester-long exchange at UCA this fall. I know they’re coming to learn English, but I’m definitely going to be begging for a least a little bit of French time so I don’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard for this semester. I hope they won’t mind! Maybe we can play bilingual Scrabble...with French and English words. I played in French with Joselyne and Wei Wei the other day, and it was definitely a lot of fun -- and definitely challenging. Believe it or not, I did score points! That made my night.
Sooo...I forgot to mention that I’ve had two amazing weekends in a row: the first with UCA choir friends and the second with Clémence and Azilys and Kendra. The weekend with the choir was full of the unexpected. I hopped on a train for Orléans on Thursday, hoping to catch up with them at their hotel and surprise them, since they didn’t know when or where I was going to show up. I almost didn’t find them, because they deviated from their itinerary. (Figures.) After getting my bearings from the map in the train station, I wandered in what seemed like the right direction to find the hotel. It took about 45 minutes, one stop to ask directions from a nice lady on the sidewalk, and a little bit of backtracking because of the uncrossable highways, but I finally made it. Unfortunately, they didn’t. :P So I left to find the restaurant where they were supposed to be having lunch, and I didn’t find it, but I found the tour bus in the square (which was hard to miss). I just happened to catch the bus driver getting the bus ready for them and asked if I could wait for them on board. He had no idea who I was, or what I was doing, but he said “sure” with no questions asked. I’m glad I’m not a terrorist. :P Anyway, I was so nervous about seeing them that I’m pretty sure I was shaking. It seemed so surreal to think that I’d be touching people from home and talking to them in person! It was priceless to watch their faces as they filed onto the bus one by one. I snuck up behind Evan and gave him a hug, but I think it took a few hours for it to actually sink in that I was really there. What’s interesting is that I hadn’t planned on sticking around long -- just catching a train back to Angers that night and finding them again in another city. Fortunately, Annie and Ashleigh didn’t let me go, and I just lived out of Annie’s suitcase until Sunday, taking the bus with them to Blois, Tours, and Nantes. It was super, super, super fun hanging out with my buddies, and being a French speaker, I think I came in kind of handy at least a few times. Here’s what I remember most about the weekend:
- Twirly chairs by the Loire. Yeah, they’re on rollers. 0_o
- Orléans being the sketchiest French city I’ve ever visited. Seriously. It didn’t matter who I was with.
- Hanging out with the staff at the hotel bar, teaching Sean and Evan some French, and learning that Evan’s last name doesn’t translate well into French.
- Nutella ice cream!!
- Tasting real champagne for Evan’s 21st...in France. What are the odds?
- Uhhhhh....petit français! (Ben was trying to say he spoke only a little French...but kept saying “little frenchman” -- until some waitresses finally lost it. And then it was just too funny to stop saying it.)
- Goodies from Bretagne, including pork intestine. Yeah...even I couldn’t get that down.
- Wondering if perhaps Annie and I have the same...parents? Hmm...
- An American choir and a French choir, lots of cider, and lots of singing -- in a creperie. I’m sure the Star Spangled Banner never sounded so good. (And neither has Lookin’ for a City...beat boxing included!)
I teared up when we said goodbye on Sunday morning, but at least I’ll see them soon. Not much longer!
Last weekend was awesome, too. Clémence, Azilys, Kendra, and I set off for Nantes Friday morning and had a lovely lunch with Clémence’s mom. It felt so good to be with a real family again. For some reason, we ended up talking about our host families, and I recounted some of my most interesting experiences. (I hate feeling like I'm complaining, but people ask, and I feel like I have to be at least honest.) She was really disappointed and a little bit shocked that we’ve had to go through what we have here. (Not that it’s been horrific; all the same, it’s not exactly ideal.) It’s just like if I found out someone had been through some difficult living situations in the U.S. Not only does it reflect badly on Americans, but I don’t want anyone to have a bad experience when they’re visiting my country. I want them feel warmly welcomed, to enjoy their time, and to have a rich cultural and relational experience without being burdened. Anyway, she said that she knew that the English had a reputation of being very exacting, cold, and very profit-oriented when hosting French students, but she had thought better of the French. Evidently it’s becoming just as much of a problem here. (Even our tour guide to the chateaus of the Loire pointed that out to us today, and he’s hosted students before.) Makes sense though...after all, the love of money isn’t limited to a particular nationality. All of my friends have told me that my rent is definitely high for what I’m getting, and wi-fi and laundry and meals aren’t even included. 3 euros extra for her to do a load of my laundry, 8 euros a month for wi-fi, and 6 euros per meal if I choose to have her cook for me. I’ll probably be writing a letter to the housing office here to let them know about my particular situation as well as some of the other experiences other students have told me about. I don’t think students have reported things as much as they should have in the past, or else the university has ignored the complaints. In any case, they need to do a better job of screening and keeping tabs on their host families, because in most cases, they aren’t really hosting -- they’re just offering a hotel -- or at the worst, abusing the trust of the university in the way they provide for the students. :P
Annnnnyway, back to the weekend. We packed up the dog and headed to the beach for the afternoon - about an hour’s drive. It was great, being on the road, in the sunshine, wind blowing in my hair...and even if walking around in the sun was a bit warm, the Speculoos ice cream did a fantastic job of cooling me off. We all had a wonderful time with her family at dinner, laughing and telling stories (one thing I’m going to miss SO much), before collapsing on the couch for Finding Nemo in French. Oh yeah, Clémence had to wrestle with the bedsheets first...but those pictures are on Facebook. 0_o
Saturday, Clémence’s parents took us out for lunch at a little restaurant on the shore of the Erdre river -- one of the most beautiful rivers in France. (THE most beautiful, according to the Sun King Louis XIV, and we all know how important his opinion was. :P ) The smoked seasoned salmon, white wine, fish in white butter sauce, cheeses, and profiteroles were *amazing*, especially since we were enjoying them outside with such a gorgeous view. It was probably one of the best meals I’ve had in France. To continue the good times, her parents rented pedal-boats, and we all climbed in for a leisurely pedal up and down the river. I couldn’t have imagined a lovelier way to spend the afternoon. And, as if that wasn’t enough fun for the day, we headed to Chateaubriant for a cookout soirée and night out with friends from the language department. We all goofed off for a while before heading out to the Bilbok to dance. It was quite an adventurous evening (and quite a long one), but I had lots of fun and now have lots of memories. :)
Other than those two weekends, a day of shopping with Gillie and Kendra yesterday, I’ve been laying low, trying to get rid of this chest cold I picked up somewhere. It’s been hanging around for a little while now, and I’m ready for it to be on its way. :P However, I did get the chance to take a day trip with Gillie, Kendra, and Ninh today to see several chateaus of the Loire. :) It was absolutely beautiful today, except for a little rain this afternoon, but overall it was the perfect weather for visiting Chenonceau, Clos Lucé, Langeais, and Ussé. We took the train to Tours early this morning to catch the all-day tour from the office of tourism. (Too bad no one gives prizes for the abundant usage of the word “tour”; I could have won today!) :P Our driver was quite friendly, and I really enjoyed our drives through the countryside just as much as visiting the chateaus. I hadn't realized just how much of France is rural or agricultural. These chateaus were a lovely change of scenery from what I'm used to, since they’re from the Renaissance era, and the ones I’m used to seeing in my region are better examples of medieval fortresses: impressive, of course, but not quite as aesthetically pleasing. (Oh, just a bit of trivia for you: Ussé is better known as the chateau in Sleeping Beauty.) I thought Kendra was going to faint. ;)
Well.....I think I’ve about written myself to sleep, or written up an appetite, so I’m going to find some fruit and head to bed. Tomorrow I have some hard-core reviewing to do for my ALP exam, but at least part of that will be giving a tour of Angers to Kendra to practice my tourism skills. Even so, I will be SO glad when this is finally behind me and not hanging over my head anymore. Night everyone!
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Cold showers, but short ones.
Oy, I didn’t think I would get this hot in France! My room is on the top floor, with a skylight window, so I’ve discovered that during the day the heat in here is rather abominable even if it’s not scorching outside. I felt like I should be taking a Spanish siesta this afternoon and took a cold shower just to cool off. :P (No, I didn’t count the liters.)
The whole “water usage” obsession has gotten ridiculous. Joselyne basically told my housemate the other day that she needed to find another place to live after her summer holidays because it made Joselyne sick to hear so much water running. She also used the same wording to express how bad it would make her feel if Wei Wei moved out, which made me mad. How can you put a human being, especially a human being that you’ve developed a friendship with over the course of a year and a half, on the same level of importance as a few liters of water? For a person as friendly as Joselyne, it’s not logical. It’s not like she’s obsessive about everything else; on the contrary, she’s a pretty spontaneous kind of person, not the anal retentive kind that keeps track of everything meticulously. Well, she was pretty obsessive about a couple of marks on the stove and wouldn’t let anyone use that burner for weeks until she finally cleaned it, and she doesn’t know how to use her oven, so she doesn’t let us use it either. :P But everyone has their quirks, and it’s understandable that she’s being careful with the kitchen she just remodeled. The water is just a strange obsession, though, and I can’t help but wonder if something is a little...”off”...there. It’s plausible, especially since the “stains on the stairs” incident, when she called me and Wei Wei out of our rooms at 11pm to tell us that there were marks on the stairs that had just ... appeared. Now, this is an old wooden spiral staircase, with lots of marks from use over years and years and years, and it’s not especially “finished,” so there are a lot of imperfections and darkened places just due to the natural appearance of the wood grain. At first, though, I thought maybe someone had tracked something in on their shoes, so we checked ours, but there was nothing there. Neither me nor Wei Wei had brought any heavy loads upstairs that would have made any marks on the stairs, but Joselyne insisted that the dark places on the stairs were new and weren’t there the other day when she looked at them. She spent a good ten minutes pointing them out and talking about them, while Wei Wei and I stood at the top of the stairs shaking our heads. I even scratched at the marks with my fingernails and rubbed them with the bottom of my shoe, and absolutely nothing came off. But still, she insisted that it would only come off if we scrubbed it with some kind of cleaning solution. (Right...cleaning solution will magically remove, what, the wood?) Finally she went to bed, telling us not to worry about cleaning it right then and that it could wait until later. (Yes...it most definitely could. I love her, but I’m not scrubbing imaginary stains on the stairs at 11:30 at night...) Anyway, every day is an adventure, that’s for sure.
I do need something to keep me on my toes, I suppose, because without classes to keep me busy, the hours can pass pretty slowly during the week. Kendra and I did enjoy an afternoon of sight-seeing and shopping with Cassie during the middle of the week, though, which was really refreshing (and much needed). She studied abroad like us when she was an undergrad, and this semester, she was asked to come back and teach an American culture class at UCO. It was super-helpful to hear about her experiences (from another American’s perspective) and to glean some wisdom about taking advantage of the time here and preparing for the culture shock of going home. I had been feeling rather anxious about whether or not I was really taking advantage of my time here, but talking to her really helped put some of those doubts to rest. Evidently, I have had the opportunity to see the region and spend time with French friends a lot more than most exchange students. So, even though it’s still hard to feel “integrated,” I’m extremely thankful for what I *have* experienced. Cassie introduced us to her first host mom, who is probably one of the best host moms here - probably because she’s more like a grandma! I’m making a mental note of all of the good host families I hear about here, just in case I need to make recommendations. It’s hard to find a good one. Andrew’s family takes him shopping, barbecues in the backyard, buys him French candy...it’s insane. Mine just complains about less than 5 minute showers. (I timed myself.) Oh well, I’m here for a reason...I just don’t know how best to take care of her yet! She’s taken care of me -- even brought me a rose when my grandma passed away. That’s why I’m kind of confused about this whole thing...
Anyway, yeah...I only have one exam left now: ALP on Friday. Not looking forward to it. Well, I take that back; I’m ready to finish it. I just have no idea if I’ll be prepared for it or not. There’s really no way to tell! I could be asked anything from the entire semester, whether it be castle or church architecture, the history of the kings of France and the dukes of this region, traditions of the different areas of Anjou, the different scenes in some tapestry somewhere -- there’s no telling. There was information in some of the practice questions they gave us a few weeks ago that we hadn’t ever covered, so, I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee anything. :P Overall, I’m just glad that I had the opportunity to take the class and learn more about where I’ve been living.
Hmm, what else have I been up to lately? I’m generally occupied with friends on the weekends, fortunately. A couple of weeks ago, the group of young adults from church had a Bible study fellowship which was super-fun. I always love hanging out with them, and I am going to be sad to leave them in a few weeks. Going to Louis’ baptism a few weeks ago was special, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people crowded around a tiny backyard pool! In a country like France where so few people actually follow Christ, a baptism is a cause for a huge celebration. It hasn’t lost its significance, and I love that. I’m pretty sure the entire church was there, and we all sang together, prayed together, and celebrated together in Louis’ backyard. (I think they must have asked for a “feed the 5000” miracle, because there was a seemingly endless supply of little pastries. Every time I finished one off, I was being offered another one from a newly-replenished tray. I wasn’t complaining, though.) Anyway, Louis has health problems, especially with his feet, which makes mobility especially difficult. Three of the guys in the church, fully clothed, jumped into the pool to help get Louis in the water and baptize him. Watching it nearly brought me to tears. I just love it when the body of Christ gets it.
Soooo, wow, it’s later than I thought and I should be getting caught up on some sleep. It was a great weekend, but that story will have to wait. :) Night!
(Oh by the way, 25 days...but who's counting? ;) )
The whole “water usage” obsession has gotten ridiculous. Joselyne basically told my housemate the other day that she needed to find another place to live after her summer holidays because it made Joselyne sick to hear so much water running. She also used the same wording to express how bad it would make her feel if Wei Wei moved out, which made me mad. How can you put a human being, especially a human being that you’ve developed a friendship with over the course of a year and a half, on the same level of importance as a few liters of water? For a person as friendly as Joselyne, it’s not logical. It’s not like she’s obsessive about everything else; on the contrary, she’s a pretty spontaneous kind of person, not the anal retentive kind that keeps track of everything meticulously. Well, she was pretty obsessive about a couple of marks on the stove and wouldn’t let anyone use that burner for weeks until she finally cleaned it, and she doesn’t know how to use her oven, so she doesn’t let us use it either. :P But everyone has their quirks, and it’s understandable that she’s being careful with the kitchen she just remodeled. The water is just a strange obsession, though, and I can’t help but wonder if something is a little...”off”...there. It’s plausible, especially since the “stains on the stairs” incident, when she called me and Wei Wei out of our rooms at 11pm to tell us that there were marks on the stairs that had just ... appeared. Now, this is an old wooden spiral staircase, with lots of marks from use over years and years and years, and it’s not especially “finished,” so there are a lot of imperfections and darkened places just due to the natural appearance of the wood grain. At first, though, I thought maybe someone had tracked something in on their shoes, so we checked ours, but there was nothing there. Neither me nor Wei Wei had brought any heavy loads upstairs that would have made any marks on the stairs, but Joselyne insisted that the dark places on the stairs were new and weren’t there the other day when she looked at them. She spent a good ten minutes pointing them out and talking about them, while Wei Wei and I stood at the top of the stairs shaking our heads. I even scratched at the marks with my fingernails and rubbed them with the bottom of my shoe, and absolutely nothing came off. But still, she insisted that it would only come off if we scrubbed it with some kind of cleaning solution. (Right...cleaning solution will magically remove, what, the wood?) Finally she went to bed, telling us not to worry about cleaning it right then and that it could wait until later. (Yes...it most definitely could. I love her, but I’m not scrubbing imaginary stains on the stairs at 11:30 at night...) Anyway, every day is an adventure, that’s for sure.
I do need something to keep me on my toes, I suppose, because without classes to keep me busy, the hours can pass pretty slowly during the week. Kendra and I did enjoy an afternoon of sight-seeing and shopping with Cassie during the middle of the week, though, which was really refreshing (and much needed). She studied abroad like us when she was an undergrad, and this semester, she was asked to come back and teach an American culture class at UCO. It was super-helpful to hear about her experiences (from another American’s perspective) and to glean some wisdom about taking advantage of the time here and preparing for the culture shock of going home. I had been feeling rather anxious about whether or not I was really taking advantage of my time here, but talking to her really helped put some of those doubts to rest. Evidently, I have had the opportunity to see the region and spend time with French friends a lot more than most exchange students. So, even though it’s still hard to feel “integrated,” I’m extremely thankful for what I *have* experienced. Cassie introduced us to her first host mom, who is probably one of the best host moms here - probably because she’s more like a grandma! I’m making a mental note of all of the good host families I hear about here, just in case I need to make recommendations. It’s hard to find a good one. Andrew’s family takes him shopping, barbecues in the backyard, buys him French candy...it’s insane. Mine just complains about less than 5 minute showers. (I timed myself.) Oh well, I’m here for a reason...I just don’t know how best to take care of her yet! She’s taken care of me -- even brought me a rose when my grandma passed away. That’s why I’m kind of confused about this whole thing...
Anyway, yeah...I only have one exam left now: ALP on Friday. Not looking forward to it. Well, I take that back; I’m ready to finish it. I just have no idea if I’ll be prepared for it or not. There’s really no way to tell! I could be asked anything from the entire semester, whether it be castle or church architecture, the history of the kings of France and the dukes of this region, traditions of the different areas of Anjou, the different scenes in some tapestry somewhere -- there’s no telling. There was information in some of the practice questions they gave us a few weeks ago that we hadn’t ever covered, so, I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee anything. :P Overall, I’m just glad that I had the opportunity to take the class and learn more about where I’ve been living.
Hmm, what else have I been up to lately? I’m generally occupied with friends on the weekends, fortunately. A couple of weeks ago, the group of young adults from church had a Bible study fellowship which was super-fun. I always love hanging out with them, and I am going to be sad to leave them in a few weeks. Going to Louis’ baptism a few weeks ago was special, too. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people crowded around a tiny backyard pool! In a country like France where so few people actually follow Christ, a baptism is a cause for a huge celebration. It hasn’t lost its significance, and I love that. I’m pretty sure the entire church was there, and we all sang together, prayed together, and celebrated together in Louis’ backyard. (I think they must have asked for a “feed the 5000” miracle, because there was a seemingly endless supply of little pastries. Every time I finished one off, I was being offered another one from a newly-replenished tray. I wasn’t complaining, though.) Anyway, Louis has health problems, especially with his feet, which makes mobility especially difficult. Three of the guys in the church, fully clothed, jumped into the pool to help get Louis in the water and baptize him. Watching it nearly brought me to tears. I just love it when the body of Christ gets it.
Soooo, wow, it’s later than I thought and I should be getting caught up on some sleep. It was a great weekend, but that story will have to wait. :) Night!
(Oh by the way, 25 days...but who's counting? ;) )
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Daily Happenings
So, I realized that I haven’t really caught you up on the happenings around here lately. Not that they’re ground-breaking or anything; I thought you might find some of them amusing.
After I got home from London a few weeks ago, Joselyne left for a week in Toulouse with some friends and family. Wei Wei was still gone on vacation, too, which left me in charge of the house for the week. No big deal, right? Just go on with life as usual, and close the shutters at night. It really wouldn’t have been a big deal -- had it not been for the strange man at the door. Yes, the very same day that Joselyne left, a young-ish looking man passed in front of the kitchen window (that faces the street) and rang the doorbell. He’d already seen me in the window, so I obviously couldn’t pretend no one was home. I opened the door, thinking it was the person who brings her newspapers every now and then. He asked for Mme. Leau, I told him she wasn’t there at the moment; he paused and wondered aloud if she was on vacation. Suspicious, I said no, but he followed up by asking if she would perhaps be home in the evening. I played the “I’m an exchange student and she has a different schedule and I’m clueless” card, and asked him if he needed something in particular. He said no and left, just like that. I closed the door, and the freak-out commenced. Was he a burglar scouting out the territory? A rapist? A murderer? I talked to my mom and a few friends for advice and decided to assume the worst. I spent the afternoon doing my best to think like an unsavory character on Criminal Minds, finding all of the possible ways into the house and accounting for all of the possible scenarios. I probably looked a little odd walking around the outside of the house, taking note of all of the windows and doors. At least no one could see me moving the living room armchairs in front of the doors after I bolted the shutters, putting the big iron frying pan at my bedside, and bundling up all of the kitchen knives to hide them in my room. (Hey, you’d be paranoid too if you were home alone in a foreign country in house that wasn’t yours after a strange man stopped by with no motive other than to find out if the owner was home and when she was coming back. Trust me. It makes sense.)
Fortunately, nothing happened, so all of the precautions were largely unnecessary, apart from the fact that they gave me a bit more peace of mind. I had thought about spending the night with Kendra, but then I realized that I wouldn’t know if something happened at my house. I also considered calling Kendra and having her spend the night, but I decided against it, because really: who wants to get a call that essentially says, “Hey, I think someone’s going to break into my house tonight, you wanna come over and be my human shield?” 0_o
So...that was my week at home alone. I was incredibly lonely, probably the loneliest I’ve been to date in France. I had just enough homework to do that I couldn’t justify occupying myself outside of the house. You can’t imagine how slow the hours go by when you’re by yourself, in a quiet house, with no one to talk to and not enough work to hold your attention. You can't imagine how glad I was just to have someone to eat dinner with when they came home!
After that week, I was down to the last week or two of classes, which were kind of like the last week or two of classes at home: long. At least I was able to finish up two of my classes for good, because the final exams took place during the last week of class instead of during the weeks of finals. In addition to that, my 20 page dossier and my 3-text translation project kept me pretty busy. Call me crazy, but I actually liked working on them. Maybe it was because the work didn’t seem useless or pointless; it had a purpose. I was actually learning and growing by doing the projects.
Not last weekend but the weekend before, I spent a couple of days with Azilys, Clémence, Kendra, and Andrew at Azilys’ house in St. Pazanne, a lovely little village west of Angers, close to the Atlantic. We spent Saturday afternoon enjoying the sunshine and the breeze on the beach, marvelling at the tide at the Passage du Gois, and laughing at Andrew’s fascination with cows. Saturday night we ate homemade crêpes, thanks to Azilys’ dad, and watched our favorite youtube videos, and Sunday we enjoyed a wonderful traditional family lunch on the patio. I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten that much in my life: marsala from Italy, fresh oysters, salad, bread (of course), homemade ratatouille, grilled sausages, white wine from Azilys’ grandfather’s vineyard, an assortment of French cheeses, fruit cocktail, coffee, and Italian hazelnut and Croatian fig cookies. (Her mom had just gotten back from a trip to Italy and the surrounding region, so that’s why the meal had such an international flair.) Azilys’ mom is American, and her father is French, so we had some interesting discussions about cultural practices and the challenges of growing up multilingual. I learned that it’s not just my perception; the French really do value their “joie de vivre,” and they are very protective of their “living” time: whether that’s playing, eating, enjoying personal relationships. Even in the world of business, taking time to be interested in your business partner’s life outside of the workplace is considered to be as important as the work itself. Taking time to have a glass of wine or a coffee together is just as much a part of the deal and the business relationship as hammering out the details. Americans are much more to the point, and it’s very difficult for the French to understand and adapt to that mentality. That’s one reason why diplomacy and international relations issues involving France and the U.S. can be so complicated. Americans have a mentality of directness, of a solution-based process; the French do not. They focus on the process, the exploration, the relationships, and the openness of the end-result (and even the lack of a definite solution). If you can understand that, you can begin to understand why we misinterpret each other so much. Diplomacy is complicated. What’s funny is that the only reason we Americans wonder why it’s complicated is because we have a typically American mindset of, “There’s the problem. We can do this. Let’s fix it. Now.” Not every culture has that.....but of course, we wouldn’t pay attention to a little detail like that...
Well, it’s time that I got ready for my exam this afternoon. I’ve been reviewing the history of France during the 19th century off and on for the past few days, and I’m honestly not sure how much more I can remember. I’ll read everything again over lunch and then wing it from there. :P I’m all for doing my best, and striving for excellence, but honestly, there’s not much reason to know what date a certain number of miners in some tiny French village went on strike (for the fourth time). Anyway, I’ll write more when I don’t have more studying to do. Which will be...later this week. My last two exams until the 28th are next Monday, and I don’t have to study for them. (translation exams) Later!
After I got home from London a few weeks ago, Joselyne left for a week in Toulouse with some friends and family. Wei Wei was still gone on vacation, too, which left me in charge of the house for the week. No big deal, right? Just go on with life as usual, and close the shutters at night. It really wouldn’t have been a big deal -- had it not been for the strange man at the door. Yes, the very same day that Joselyne left, a young-ish looking man passed in front of the kitchen window (that faces the street) and rang the doorbell. He’d already seen me in the window, so I obviously couldn’t pretend no one was home. I opened the door, thinking it was the person who brings her newspapers every now and then. He asked for Mme. Leau, I told him she wasn’t there at the moment; he paused and wondered aloud if she was on vacation. Suspicious, I said no, but he followed up by asking if she would perhaps be home in the evening. I played the “I’m an exchange student and she has a different schedule and I’m clueless” card, and asked him if he needed something in particular. He said no and left, just like that. I closed the door, and the freak-out commenced. Was he a burglar scouting out the territory? A rapist? A murderer? I talked to my mom and a few friends for advice and decided to assume the worst. I spent the afternoon doing my best to think like an unsavory character on Criminal Minds, finding all of the possible ways into the house and accounting for all of the possible scenarios. I probably looked a little odd walking around the outside of the house, taking note of all of the windows and doors. At least no one could see me moving the living room armchairs in front of the doors after I bolted the shutters, putting the big iron frying pan at my bedside, and bundling up all of the kitchen knives to hide them in my room. (Hey, you’d be paranoid too if you were home alone in a foreign country in house that wasn’t yours after a strange man stopped by with no motive other than to find out if the owner was home and when she was coming back. Trust me. It makes sense.)
Fortunately, nothing happened, so all of the precautions were largely unnecessary, apart from the fact that they gave me a bit more peace of mind. I had thought about spending the night with Kendra, but then I realized that I wouldn’t know if something happened at my house. I also considered calling Kendra and having her spend the night, but I decided against it, because really: who wants to get a call that essentially says, “Hey, I think someone’s going to break into my house tonight, you wanna come over and be my human shield?” 0_o
So...that was my week at home alone. I was incredibly lonely, probably the loneliest I’ve been to date in France. I had just enough homework to do that I couldn’t justify occupying myself outside of the house. You can’t imagine how slow the hours go by when you’re by yourself, in a quiet house, with no one to talk to and not enough work to hold your attention. You can't imagine how glad I was just to have someone to eat dinner with when they came home!
After that week, I was down to the last week or two of classes, which were kind of like the last week or two of classes at home: long. At least I was able to finish up two of my classes for good, because the final exams took place during the last week of class instead of during the weeks of finals. In addition to that, my 20 page dossier and my 3-text translation project kept me pretty busy. Call me crazy, but I actually liked working on them. Maybe it was because the work didn’t seem useless or pointless; it had a purpose. I was actually learning and growing by doing the projects.
Not last weekend but the weekend before, I spent a couple of days with Azilys, Clémence, Kendra, and Andrew at Azilys’ house in St. Pazanne, a lovely little village west of Angers, close to the Atlantic. We spent Saturday afternoon enjoying the sunshine and the breeze on the beach, marvelling at the tide at the Passage du Gois, and laughing at Andrew’s fascination with cows. Saturday night we ate homemade crêpes, thanks to Azilys’ dad, and watched our favorite youtube videos, and Sunday we enjoyed a wonderful traditional family lunch on the patio. I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten that much in my life: marsala from Italy, fresh oysters, salad, bread (of course), homemade ratatouille, grilled sausages, white wine from Azilys’ grandfather’s vineyard, an assortment of French cheeses, fruit cocktail, coffee, and Italian hazelnut and Croatian fig cookies. (Her mom had just gotten back from a trip to Italy and the surrounding region, so that’s why the meal had such an international flair.) Azilys’ mom is American, and her father is French, so we had some interesting discussions about cultural practices and the challenges of growing up multilingual. I learned that it’s not just my perception; the French really do value their “joie de vivre,” and they are very protective of their “living” time: whether that’s playing, eating, enjoying personal relationships. Even in the world of business, taking time to be interested in your business partner’s life outside of the workplace is considered to be as important as the work itself. Taking time to have a glass of wine or a coffee together is just as much a part of the deal and the business relationship as hammering out the details. Americans are much more to the point, and it’s very difficult for the French to understand and adapt to that mentality. That’s one reason why diplomacy and international relations issues involving France and the U.S. can be so complicated. Americans have a mentality of directness, of a solution-based process; the French do not. They focus on the process, the exploration, the relationships, and the openness of the end-result (and even the lack of a definite solution). If you can understand that, you can begin to understand why we misinterpret each other so much. Diplomacy is complicated. What’s funny is that the only reason we Americans wonder why it’s complicated is because we have a typically American mindset of, “There’s the problem. We can do this. Let’s fix it. Now.” Not every culture has that.....but of course, we wouldn’t pay attention to a little detail like that...
Well, it’s time that I got ready for my exam this afternoon. I’ve been reviewing the history of France during the 19th century off and on for the past few days, and I’m honestly not sure how much more I can remember. I’ll read everything again over lunch and then wing it from there. :P I’m all for doing my best, and striving for excellence, but honestly, there’s not much reason to know what date a certain number of miners in some tiny French village went on strike (for the fourth time). Anyway, I’ll write more when I don’t have more studying to do. Which will be...later this week. My last two exams until the 28th are next Monday, and I don’t have to study for them. (translation exams) Later!
Monday, May 10, 2010
and today is...
6h43: Birds are singing, rain is pattering, nature is calling. Unghhh, 8h30 is too early to get up today. 9h15 sounds better. Reset alarm.
11h57: Wow, it feels late. Why hasn’t the alarm gone off yet? I must have been really into that dream. *look at phone* NOON?! My alarm obviously didn’t go off.
12h15: I try to wake myself up with some cereal. It doesn’t seem to be working.
13h03: Maybe some history homework will perk up my brain. Nope.
13h26: Coffee? ...
14h22: Ok, maybe exercise. Hmm. Good idea, but it’s not working today either.
14h54: Browse ThinkGeek and find adorable Star Trek uniform onesies for babies. Post link on profile like a loser.
14h58: Video chat with Mom for a while, discover that she can’t seem to wake up either. (Mom: “Dead sea horses are so funny.”) It’s just one of those days.
15h42: I eat an apple, because somewhere I heard that they can wake you up better than coffee. I’m not so sure.
16h08: Give up and take a shower. I don’t care how many liters of water I use today. :P
16h29: Reluctantly trudge to the library to return overdue books. Oh, wonderful...I’m out of toilet paper too. Looks like a trip to the store as well.
Ten hours in, and my conclusion? It’s a Monday. Most definitely, without a doubt, Monday.
11h57: Wow, it feels late. Why hasn’t the alarm gone off yet? I must have been really into that dream. *look at phone* NOON?! My alarm obviously didn’t go off.
12h15: I try to wake myself up with some cereal. It doesn’t seem to be working.
13h03: Maybe some history homework will perk up my brain. Nope.
13h26: Coffee? ...
14h22: Ok, maybe exercise. Hmm. Good idea, but it’s not working today either.
14h54: Browse ThinkGeek and find adorable Star Trek uniform onesies for babies. Post link on profile like a loser.
14h58: Video chat with Mom for a while, discover that she can’t seem to wake up either. (Mom: “Dead sea horses are so funny.”) It’s just one of those days.
15h42: I eat an apple, because somewhere I heard that they can wake you up better than coffee. I’m not so sure.
16h08: Give up and take a shower. I don’t care how many liters of water I use today. :P
16h29: Reluctantly trudge to the library to return overdue books. Oh, wonderful...I’m out of toilet paper too. Looks like a trip to the store as well.
Ten hours in, and my conclusion? It’s a Monday. Most definitely, without a doubt, Monday.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Optimism? Nah.
Well, I haven't accomplished much today, so I thought I might write something to at least be able to say I did ONE thing. (Well...I did eat lunch with Clemence, and that definitely counts. So two things.) I actually didn't wake up until 11:57 this morning because my shutter was closed; thus, my room was dark. I must have needed the rest after this week, though. Unfortunately, I was also supposed to meet Clemence at noon, so I rushed around and was out the door in five minutes -- not a bad record! All that energy expended in such a short amount of time must have done me in for the day, though, because I've been worthless ever since. I balanced my checkbook, talked with my mom, and watched clips from The Match Game. :P But...taking into account the fact that I walked all over Angers with Cassie and Kendra on Tuesday, finished classes last Thursday, spent the weekend with friends by the beach, got sick Sunday night, turned in a 3-text translation project Monday morning, finished a 20 page paper for Wednesday, took a test Wednesday afternoon, and then attended my grandmother's funeral by webcam Wednesday evening...I'd say I probably needed some rest today.
I am so, so, so thankful for God's provision in my life right now. Over the past few weeks, I guess I've been struggling with the fact that I can't really *feel* Him or *hear* Him right now, but today, one of my friends reminded me of something very simple, but very true. "God takes care of us in his own way. He may not be speaking because it's working as planned. All you need to do is endure and serve and let HIM be your strength."
So yeah, given that I have a tendency to overanalyze, I had totally missed that completely obvious truth. (Yes, it's true, I overanalyze things. You don't have to pretend to look so surprised. :P ) Things *are* working as planned. He *is* taking care of me. And He's taking care of the people around me, too. I just wasn’t expecting Him to be so quiet about it. I guess this is just another reminder that he isn’t a *tame* lion, and He isn’t constrained to working the way I expect Him to. I had gotten used to very obvious, charismatic, emotional experiences with Him over the course of the past year, but here, it’s been different. He’s been consistent and caring, but a lot more quiet. However, I could still give you an example from any given day of how He's been involved in some of the most important situations and some of the tiniest details of my life. He’s been perfectly faithful and perfectly present all along; I guess was just looking for Him to show up how *I* expected Him to - silly sheep that I am. :P I just need to learn to calm down and trust Him to show up the way *HE* wants to.
Here are just a few examples of His amazing care, despite my silly sheep-ness:
- I have wonderful friends here that I love spending time with.
I have Kendra, who puts up with me and all of my weirdness, all the time. She’s also a great prayer partner.
- I have a beautiful church family here that has welcomed me with open arms and that cared for me with sweet notes of encouragement as soon as they heard about the loss of my grandmother
- I have an incredibly sweet host mom who is interested in my life and brought me the most gorgeous pink rose and affectionate card this afternoon with her condolences
- My family and Sylvania church family were kept safe during the tornadoes and storms as they cared for one another and for Grandma while she was in the hospital
- I have not only survived several tests and projects so far, but I have been able to do work that I am proud of. His grace is sufficient, even in learning a foreign language!
- All of my injuries or health issues have been healed or if not, I’ve at least been given the strength to endure them.
- I have been blessed to see the world from so many new perspectives, with so many special people, in so many different places: London, Paris, Marseilles, Strasbourg, Offenburg, Angers, Nantes, Ile de Noirmoutier, Saumur, the Loire, various châteaux. I never imagined I would have experiences like this.
- I have a fresh view of life: what's really important, and what really isn't.
I can say that I am truly thankful for all of this despite having come through some very difficult moments here: my knee injury, my difficult first living situation, loneliness, an OCD relapse, academic challenges and stresses, the loss of my grandmother.
Some people say that I have a very optimistic outlook despite these setbacks. I disagree. I think it’s a very realistic outlook. Consider this: I have a God who promises me that He has plans for me, to prosper me and not to harm me, to give me a hope and a future. He promises me that all things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. He promises that His Spirit will testify to the truth and be my Comforter. He promises me that He will never leave or forsake me. And he has delivered on every one of those promises, every step of the way. That is a basis for very real faith, not just optimism.
Well, perhaps I was a bit more ambitious than I should have been. I had other things to write about so that you'd have an idea of what I've been up to lately (other than final projects...). I suppose that can wait until tomorrow, because I'm utterly exhausted. It never ceases to amaze me how I can be exhausted by doing nothing sometimes. :P I'll just blame it on the week catching up to me. Anyway, goodnight!
I am so, so, so thankful for God's provision in my life right now. Over the past few weeks, I guess I've been struggling with the fact that I can't really *feel* Him or *hear* Him right now, but today, one of my friends reminded me of something very simple, but very true. "God takes care of us in his own way. He may not be speaking because it's working as planned. All you need to do is endure and serve and let HIM be your strength."
So yeah, given that I have a tendency to overanalyze, I had totally missed that completely obvious truth. (Yes, it's true, I overanalyze things. You don't have to pretend to look so surprised. :P ) Things *are* working as planned. He *is* taking care of me. And He's taking care of the people around me, too. I just wasn’t expecting Him to be so quiet about it. I guess this is just another reminder that he isn’t a *tame* lion, and He isn’t constrained to working the way I expect Him to. I had gotten used to very obvious, charismatic, emotional experiences with Him over the course of the past year, but here, it’s been different. He’s been consistent and caring, but a lot more quiet. However, I could still give you an example from any given day of how He's been involved in some of the most important situations and some of the tiniest details of my life. He’s been perfectly faithful and perfectly present all along; I guess was just looking for Him to show up how *I* expected Him to - silly sheep that I am. :P I just need to learn to calm down and trust Him to show up the way *HE* wants to.
Here are just a few examples of His amazing care, despite my silly sheep-ness:
- I have wonderful friends here that I love spending time with.
I have Kendra, who puts up with me and all of my weirdness, all the time. She’s also a great prayer partner.
- I have a beautiful church family here that has welcomed me with open arms and that cared for me with sweet notes of encouragement as soon as they heard about the loss of my grandmother
- I have an incredibly sweet host mom who is interested in my life and brought me the most gorgeous pink rose and affectionate card this afternoon with her condolences
- My family and Sylvania church family were kept safe during the tornadoes and storms as they cared for one another and for Grandma while she was in the hospital
- I have not only survived several tests and projects so far, but I have been able to do work that I am proud of. His grace is sufficient, even in learning a foreign language!
- All of my injuries or health issues have been healed or if not, I’ve at least been given the strength to endure them.
- I have been blessed to see the world from so many new perspectives, with so many special people, in so many different places: London, Paris, Marseilles, Strasbourg, Offenburg, Angers, Nantes, Ile de Noirmoutier, Saumur, the Loire, various châteaux. I never imagined I would have experiences like this.
- I have a fresh view of life: what's really important, and what really isn't.
I can say that I am truly thankful for all of this despite having come through some very difficult moments here: my knee injury, my difficult first living situation, loneliness, an OCD relapse, academic challenges and stresses, the loss of my grandmother.
Some people say that I have a very optimistic outlook despite these setbacks. I disagree. I think it’s a very realistic outlook. Consider this: I have a God who promises me that He has plans for me, to prosper me and not to harm me, to give me a hope and a future. He promises me that all things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. He promises that His Spirit will testify to the truth and be my Comforter. He promises me that He will never leave or forsake me. And he has delivered on every one of those promises, every step of the way. That is a basis for very real faith, not just optimism.
Well, perhaps I was a bit more ambitious than I should have been. I had other things to write about so that you'd have an idea of what I've been up to lately (other than final projects...). I suppose that can wait until tomorrow, because I'm utterly exhausted. It never ceases to amaze me how I can be exhausted by doing nothing sometimes. :P I'll just blame it on the week catching up to me. Anyway, goodnight!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
In Memory and Celebration
The Saturday evening before my flight left for France, my mind was swirling with all of the last-minute travel details still waiting for my attention. As I pulled up to the retirement home to visit Grandma one last time, somehow through all the noise I could hear something whispering, “Go love on your Grandma now. She might not be here when you get back.” And so I did. We talked about my trip, my studies, my plans, and she told me she was proud of me. She told me she loved me. And we almost didn’t manage to let go of each other when we said goodbye. Her kisses were always the best kind of Grandma kisses, whether they were the messy ones for her little grand-baby or the sweet ones for her grown-up granddaughter. This time they were even more tender than usual.
I will always cherish the memory of that last visit with her.
It was a Saturday, so none of her favorite shows were on. Her TV was sitting on the dresser, dark and gray. Now it reminds me of the times I spent at her house when I was little, watching Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, and the Price is Right -- calling out the answers I knew and surprising her when I got them right. That was back when I was small enough to sit in her lap. We loved to sit and work word-search puzzles together in her recliner. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I can attribute much of my puzzle-working prowess to her. Of course, I did get bored from time to time, and that’s when I amused myself by playing with her arm flab. She always rolled her eyes and scolded me, but I could tell she was just trying not to laugh. When we weren’t working puzzles or watching TV, we were playing Yahtzee or Dominoes and she was teaching me how to score points. Playing with double-nines sure was complicated for a seven year old’s brain.
Visiting Grandma also meant eating Cheerios for breakfast and wondering why anyone would want to drink prune juice every morning. I got to eat graham crackers and milk out of a big, green glass goblet for dinner, too, and for some reason, she even let me eat peanut butter out of the jar with a toothpick when I got hungry for a snack. It wasn’t often that she didn’t have a Werthers in her candy dish or a big jar of crisp chocolate chip cookies to munch on. That was life at Grandma's house. She used to take me to the beauty shop all the time just so she could show me off to all of her friends. I still remember climbing into her Lincoln Town Car to drive over there, mostly because her leather seats always burned the backs of my legs. That’s okay, though; I cherish that memory, too, because it reminds me of she always made sure I knew that she was proud of me -- always.
Life with Grandma wasn’t all about fun and games and cookies and trips to the beauty shop, though. She taught me the value of working hard, whether it was shelling peas, shucking corn, or studying for school. She also knew how to motivate me with quick mention of the fly swatter on the wall, and all it took was one look in her sharp blue eyes to know she was serious. I guess you didn’t always have to look in her eyes to know it, though. After all, it was dark that one night a hoodlum tried to break into her house, and all she had to do was let him know that she already had her shotgun in her hand. I've always been proud to have a Grandma like that. She was such a strong woman. (She was also rather strong-*willed* -- or tenacious, independent, stubborn...however you want to say it -- as anyone who knew her well could tell you. But that’s another story. We’ll just suffice it to say that now you know where I get it.)
My family would also tell you that I must have inherited my sense of humor from my Grandma, although I can only hope to one day have a wit half as sharp as hers (and to know how to use it half as well). With her sly sense of humor, she could always slip in the best quips when no one expected them. She always managed to look away so you couldn’t see her snicker, but if you caught her eye, you couldn’t miss that telltale sparkle. Those lively blue eyes of hers would always let you know when she was up to something mischievous, and that was a lot of the time.
We were always going somewhere when we were together, because Grandma was a woman who never let a day go to waste. She truly squeezed every last drop out of life: always on the go and hardly ever still! That’s actually how she earned her nickname: Verla Go Berkau. I know she was so happy that I had this opportunity to study in France. I think that I’m following in her footsteps, seeing the world and experiencing all that I can every day, and that makes me happy because it's just what she would have wanted.
What makes me the happiest, though, is knowing that my Grandma was a woman who loved her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. She was a woman who left a strong legacy of faith to her family, and that steadfast faith not only touched my father’s life, but it has touched the life of every member of my family. She may not be with us now, but we will all see her again, and the next time we see her, she’ll be wearing her well-deserved heavenly crown. I’m sure the jewels will be a rich, royal purple, too; I can’t see her wearing anything else.
That last Saturday night I spent with Grandma, I asked her if she had any advice for a girl my age. I’ll always remember what she said: “Hold on to the Lord, appreciate what you have, and live life to the fullest every day, because you won’t be 21 forever.” Looking back on her life, it’s obvious that she lived by that advice, and I plan to do the same.
So, I guess this is goodbye for now, Grandma, but only for a little while. I’m holding onto the Lord, and I’ll see you soon. (Oh, and make some blackberry cobbler for Jesus, okay? I'm sure He'd love it.)
I will always cherish the memory of that last visit with her.
It was a Saturday, so none of her favorite shows were on. Her TV was sitting on the dresser, dark and gray. Now it reminds me of the times I spent at her house when I was little, watching Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, and the Price is Right -- calling out the answers I knew and surprising her when I got them right. That was back when I was small enough to sit in her lap. We loved to sit and work word-search puzzles together in her recliner. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I can attribute much of my puzzle-working prowess to her. Of course, I did get bored from time to time, and that’s when I amused myself by playing with her arm flab. She always rolled her eyes and scolded me, but I could tell she was just trying not to laugh. When we weren’t working puzzles or watching TV, we were playing Yahtzee or Dominoes and she was teaching me how to score points. Playing with double-nines sure was complicated for a seven year old’s brain.
Visiting Grandma also meant eating Cheerios for breakfast and wondering why anyone would want to drink prune juice every morning. I got to eat graham crackers and milk out of a big, green glass goblet for dinner, too, and for some reason, she even let me eat peanut butter out of the jar with a toothpick when I got hungry for a snack. It wasn’t often that she didn’t have a Werthers in her candy dish or a big jar of crisp chocolate chip cookies to munch on. That was life at Grandma's house. She used to take me to the beauty shop all the time just so she could show me off to all of her friends. I still remember climbing into her Lincoln Town Car to drive over there, mostly because her leather seats always burned the backs of my legs. That’s okay, though; I cherish that memory, too, because it reminds me of she always made sure I knew that she was proud of me -- always.
Life with Grandma wasn’t all about fun and games and cookies and trips to the beauty shop, though. She taught me the value of working hard, whether it was shelling peas, shucking corn, or studying for school. She also knew how to motivate me with quick mention of the fly swatter on the wall, and all it took was one look in her sharp blue eyes to know she was serious. I guess you didn’t always have to look in her eyes to know it, though. After all, it was dark that one night a hoodlum tried to break into her house, and all she had to do was let him know that she already had her shotgun in her hand. I've always been proud to have a Grandma like that. She was such a strong woman. (She was also rather strong-*willed* -- or tenacious, independent, stubborn...however you want to say it -- as anyone who knew her well could tell you. But that’s another story. We’ll just suffice it to say that now you know where I get it.)
My family would also tell you that I must have inherited my sense of humor from my Grandma, although I can only hope to one day have a wit half as sharp as hers (and to know how to use it half as well). With her sly sense of humor, she could always slip in the best quips when no one expected them. She always managed to look away so you couldn’t see her snicker, but if you caught her eye, you couldn’t miss that telltale sparkle. Those lively blue eyes of hers would always let you know when she was up to something mischievous, and that was a lot of the time.
We were always going somewhere when we were together, because Grandma was a woman who never let a day go to waste. She truly squeezed every last drop out of life: always on the go and hardly ever still! That’s actually how she earned her nickname: Verla Go Berkau. I know she was so happy that I had this opportunity to study in France. I think that I’m following in her footsteps, seeing the world and experiencing all that I can every day, and that makes me happy because it's just what she would have wanted.
What makes me the happiest, though, is knowing that my Grandma was a woman who loved her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. She was a woman who left a strong legacy of faith to her family, and that steadfast faith not only touched my father’s life, but it has touched the life of every member of my family. She may not be with us now, but we will all see her again, and the next time we see her, she’ll be wearing her well-deserved heavenly crown. I’m sure the jewels will be a rich, royal purple, too; I can’t see her wearing anything else.
That last Saturday night I spent with Grandma, I asked her if she had any advice for a girl my age. I’ll always remember what she said: “Hold on to the Lord, appreciate what you have, and live life to the fullest every day, because you won’t be 21 forever.” Looking back on her life, it’s obvious that she lived by that advice, and I plan to do the same.
So, I guess this is goodbye for now, Grandma, but only for a little while. I’m holding onto the Lord, and I’ll see you soon. (Oh, and make some blackberry cobbler for Jesus, okay? I'm sure He'd love it.)
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
London Chronicles, the Fourth
The Fourth, and final, installment of the London Chronicles, I think. There's not much to say after Sunday, because we obviously arrived safely in Angers. :)
Alright...Friday Friday Friday. What do I have to say about Friday? Oh yes. Bon-bons and mal-mals.
Hehehe.
I’ll have to let you in on a little secret: if you leave us alone too long without supervision, Kendra and I have a tendency to get a little goofy. Or...maybe a lot goofy. And given the fact that we’ve been unsupervised for going on four months now, you can imagine how much a “lot” goofy really is. Just give us some chocolate bars, ice cream, and a camera, and you’ll see. 0_o Or, take for example the story of the bon-bons and mal-mals. (I just realized that all of these stories seem to involve sugar of some kind. Hmm.) Anyway, we were taking a short ride on the Underground, going...somewhere...(only God knows where now)...and I pulled out a little bag of candies (bon-bons) that a friend at church had given me before we left. I asked if she wanted a bon-bon, because I’m nice. ;) But, I used the French word instead of the English one by habit, like we usually end up doing. We chuckled about that for a second, and then all of a sudden I had one of my “linguistic moments.” That’s when all of a sudden, I make a connection or think of a question that has never occurred to me before. It’s usually something obvious. :P This time, I was wondering why bon-bons are called bon-bons. “Bon” means good...so I assumed that perhaps they were “good-goods.” I mean, it makes sense, given that it’s candy we’re talking about. So, I wondered this aloud, and Kendra took the question even further, wondering if perhaps there could be such as thing as a “mal-mal,” because “mal” means “bad,” and if there’s a “good-good,” it stands to reason that there could be a “bad-bad.” And then we both realized how ridiculous the whole thing was and cracked up laughing in the middle of the train car.
Yeah...I know, it’s not really all that funny to most of you. But to us? It’s priceless.
Friday we actually did succeed in seeing the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, and once again, I could hardly believe I was really there. The ceremony took forever, and I’m awfully glad I’m not one of those guards who has to stand there for over an hour, or one of the officers who has to march to and fro for no practical reason whatsoever. However, I am glad that I could be one of the tourists who took pictures of them while they did it. I have to say, though, that my favorite part of the ceremony was the concert given by the guys in the furry black hats. (Yes, I know they have a special name, but I kind of like calling them that.) Anyway, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that God planned it for me, because why else would the band have picked that day to play a medley of Star Trek theme songs? It was soooo beyond awesome. I couldn't wipe the grin off my face, and I'm pretty sure Kendra thought I was weird. ;) I took a video of the whole thing, but I haven’t had a chance to upload it yet. Chances are it will take a great deal of time to put it on Facebook, but I’ll try.
We also saw some of the Veterans’ Monuments before heading off to Covent Garden. I’ve always kind of wondered exactly what Covent Garden *was* - and now I know. It’s basically just a shopping area, more posh than anything else. There are a lot of name brand boutiques, interesting specialty stores, and open spaces for street shows, as well as a few market areas displaying the goods of local artisans. I know it’s kind of touristy, but I really do like watching certain kinds of street shows. I’ve seen some incredibly talented acrobats and breakdancers who are also quite good at entertaining a crowd.
Anyway, after freshening up at the hostel, we found a well-established diner, where I ordered more fish and chips, and Kendra and I split an apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. It was like being in the South again, I’m tellin’ ya. :)
And then...one of my biggest, wildest dreams came true: I went to see a performance of the Phantom of the Opera. Live. And in London, no less! Aside from the small pillar in front of us and the restricted view of the ceiling (and the inebriated man behind me who felt the need to sing from time to time), our seats were actually very good. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered which seat I was in - it was the freakin’ Phantom of the Opera for cryin’ out loud. I had to pinch myself three times to make sure I was really there! It is one of the memories that will always be vivid in my mind. Not only was it absolutely surreal just to be there, but the performance itself was truly spectacular. The cast was well-chosen; I think that their Phantom is one of the best I’ve ever heard, and Christine was definitely a star as well. Raoul, well, I think he was probably just a bit too old for my taste, but a good Raoul despite that little detail. As a general rule, though, I never really like Raoul very much anyway; his character is just too much of a pansy.
After the performance, Kendra and I made our way past all of the nightclubs in the Piccadilly Circus quarter, winding through the wild, half-drunken crowds on the sidewalks waiting to get into clubs like “Tiger Tiger” and “Koko.” I’m so glad I wasn’t one of the crowd. If I had been, Kendra and I wouldn’t have heard strains of “Open the Eyes of my Heart” bleeding through noises of other street performers, and we wouldn’t have been able to join their tiny group of Christians doing ministry in the madness, and we wouldn’t have been able to pray with them before heading back to our hostel. Honestly, the way God orchestrates things still amazes me. :)
Saturday was a more slow-paced day, because by that time, we were pretty well exhausted. We ended up spending the day at the Imperial War Museum (and outside on the grass, picnicking in the sunshine), and I’m very glad we did. The WWI and WWII exhibits were interesting, but the Holocaust exhibit really grabbed me. It was so dark, so heavy, and so real, but so absolutely beyond comprehension. I wanted to cry for the victims, but I couldn’t. Instead, I found myself angry at the men and women who could commit such horrific, satanic evils. But then, I was reminded of Jesus’ response to such cruel and unjust acts committed against him: “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” All of a sudden, I was aware of the fact that every person who could be named a perpetrator of Holocaust atrocities was a human being - a human being just like me.
By birth, I am no different from a German who slaughtered ten thousand Jews.
Yes, me. I was born with the same depraved human nature and the same capacity to sin. But, by God’s grace, I was redeemed. I was bought from that slavery, and it’s humbling to think that any one of those criminals could be bought back, just like me. By believing on Jesus Christ, they could be freely given the same pardon, just like Paul, who had devoted his life to eliminating Christian believers before Jesus called him to new life. That is a truly mind-blowing concept, after having seen the filmed documentation of those Holocaust atrocities and heard the testimonies of the traumatized eye-witnesses who saw as children their parents brutally murdered in front of them. Of course, most of the Nazis I saw didn’t repent of their wanton bloodlust; their hearts were hardened to the reality of their sin. But how incredible would have been the grace of God for those few who might have believed?
And so ends the London Chronicles. I am so thankful to have been blessed with the opportunity to visit London after having dreamed about it for so long, and I will definitely treasure the experience for the rest of my life. :) That said, London is not the only blessing I've been given...after all, God has been faithful every day of my stay here in France, just as he was in the United States. For that, I will always be thankful as well.
Alright...Friday Friday Friday. What do I have to say about Friday? Oh yes. Bon-bons and mal-mals.
Hehehe.
I’ll have to let you in on a little secret: if you leave us alone too long without supervision, Kendra and I have a tendency to get a little goofy. Or...maybe a lot goofy. And given the fact that we’ve been unsupervised for going on four months now, you can imagine how much a “lot” goofy really is. Just give us some chocolate bars, ice cream, and a camera, and you’ll see. 0_o Or, take for example the story of the bon-bons and mal-mals. (I just realized that all of these stories seem to involve sugar of some kind. Hmm.) Anyway, we were taking a short ride on the Underground, going...somewhere...(only God knows where now)...and I pulled out a little bag of candies (bon-bons) that a friend at church had given me before we left. I asked if she wanted a bon-bon, because I’m nice. ;) But, I used the French word instead of the English one by habit, like we usually end up doing. We chuckled about that for a second, and then all of a sudden I had one of my “linguistic moments.” That’s when all of a sudden, I make a connection or think of a question that has never occurred to me before. It’s usually something obvious. :P This time, I was wondering why bon-bons are called bon-bons. “Bon” means good...so I assumed that perhaps they were “good-goods.” I mean, it makes sense, given that it’s candy we’re talking about. So, I wondered this aloud, and Kendra took the question even further, wondering if perhaps there could be such as thing as a “mal-mal,” because “mal” means “bad,” and if there’s a “good-good,” it stands to reason that there could be a “bad-bad.” And then we both realized how ridiculous the whole thing was and cracked up laughing in the middle of the train car.
Yeah...I know, it’s not really all that funny to most of you. But to us? It’s priceless.
Friday we actually did succeed in seeing the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, and once again, I could hardly believe I was really there. The ceremony took forever, and I’m awfully glad I’m not one of those guards who has to stand there for over an hour, or one of the officers who has to march to and fro for no practical reason whatsoever. However, I am glad that I could be one of the tourists who took pictures of them while they did it. I have to say, though, that my favorite part of the ceremony was the concert given by the guys in the furry black hats. (Yes, I know they have a special name, but I kind of like calling them that.) Anyway, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that God planned it for me, because why else would the band have picked that day to play a medley of Star Trek theme songs? It was soooo beyond awesome. I couldn't wipe the grin off my face, and I'm pretty sure Kendra thought I was weird. ;) I took a video of the whole thing, but I haven’t had a chance to upload it yet. Chances are it will take a great deal of time to put it on Facebook, but I’ll try.
We also saw some of the Veterans’ Monuments before heading off to Covent Garden. I’ve always kind of wondered exactly what Covent Garden *was* - and now I know. It’s basically just a shopping area, more posh than anything else. There are a lot of name brand boutiques, interesting specialty stores, and open spaces for street shows, as well as a few market areas displaying the goods of local artisans. I know it’s kind of touristy, but I really do like watching certain kinds of street shows. I’ve seen some incredibly talented acrobats and breakdancers who are also quite good at entertaining a crowd.
Anyway, after freshening up at the hostel, we found a well-established diner, where I ordered more fish and chips, and Kendra and I split an apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. It was like being in the South again, I’m tellin’ ya. :)
And then...one of my biggest, wildest dreams came true: I went to see a performance of the Phantom of the Opera. Live. And in London, no less! Aside from the small pillar in front of us and the restricted view of the ceiling (and the inebriated man behind me who felt the need to sing from time to time), our seats were actually very good. Honestly, it wouldn’t have mattered which seat I was in - it was the freakin’ Phantom of the Opera for cryin’ out loud. I had to pinch myself three times to make sure I was really there! It is one of the memories that will always be vivid in my mind. Not only was it absolutely surreal just to be there, but the performance itself was truly spectacular. The cast was well-chosen; I think that their Phantom is one of the best I’ve ever heard, and Christine was definitely a star as well. Raoul, well, I think he was probably just a bit too old for my taste, but a good Raoul despite that little detail. As a general rule, though, I never really like Raoul very much anyway; his character is just too much of a pansy.
After the performance, Kendra and I made our way past all of the nightclubs in the Piccadilly Circus quarter, winding through the wild, half-drunken crowds on the sidewalks waiting to get into clubs like “Tiger Tiger” and “Koko.” I’m so glad I wasn’t one of the crowd. If I had been, Kendra and I wouldn’t have heard strains of “Open the Eyes of my Heart” bleeding through noises of other street performers, and we wouldn’t have been able to join their tiny group of Christians doing ministry in the madness, and we wouldn’t have been able to pray with them before heading back to our hostel. Honestly, the way God orchestrates things still amazes me. :)
Saturday was a more slow-paced day, because by that time, we were pretty well exhausted. We ended up spending the day at the Imperial War Museum (and outside on the grass, picnicking in the sunshine), and I’m very glad we did. The WWI and WWII exhibits were interesting, but the Holocaust exhibit really grabbed me. It was so dark, so heavy, and so real, but so absolutely beyond comprehension. I wanted to cry for the victims, but I couldn’t. Instead, I found myself angry at the men and women who could commit such horrific, satanic evils. But then, I was reminded of Jesus’ response to such cruel and unjust acts committed against him: “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” All of a sudden, I was aware of the fact that every person who could be named a perpetrator of Holocaust atrocities was a human being - a human being just like me.
By birth, I am no different from a German who slaughtered ten thousand Jews.
Yes, me. I was born with the same depraved human nature and the same capacity to sin. But, by God’s grace, I was redeemed. I was bought from that slavery, and it’s humbling to think that any one of those criminals could be bought back, just like me. By believing on Jesus Christ, they could be freely given the same pardon, just like Paul, who had devoted his life to eliminating Christian believers before Jesus called him to new life. That is a truly mind-blowing concept, after having seen the filmed documentation of those Holocaust atrocities and heard the testimonies of the traumatized eye-witnesses who saw as children their parents brutally murdered in front of them. Of course, most of the Nazis I saw didn’t repent of their wanton bloodlust; their hearts were hardened to the reality of their sin. But how incredible would have been the grace of God for those few who might have believed?
And so ends the London Chronicles. I am so thankful to have been blessed with the opportunity to visit London after having dreamed about it for so long, and I will definitely treasure the experience for the rest of my life. :) That said, London is not the only blessing I've been given...after all, God has been faithful every day of my stay here in France, just as he was in the United States. For that, I will always be thankful as well.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
London Chronicles, the Third
So, Thursday was kind of an off-day, for me anyway. We tried to see the changing of the guard in the morning, but we found out when we got there that they only change them every other day (MWF) during certain seasons. Friday would be our last chance. So, instead we took some pictures around Buckingham Palace (which looks exactly like it does in the movies...of course), and goofed off by the fountains before taking a stroll down The Mall. Now, in my opinion, it bears a strange resemblance to the Champs-Elysées in Paris...but I’m sure that’s just me. ;) There are some beautiful mansions that line it one side, and Hyde Park on the other, with two arches at either end. It leads straight to Trafalgar Square, so we wandered past once again and found our way to the scenic walkway along the Thames. The London Marathon was planned for the Sunday our our departure, so the sidewalks were teeming with runners. When we weren’t dodging them, we were admiring the view and the monuments along the way to London Bridge. One of my favorites was Cleopatra’s Needle, with its Sphinxes on either side, one of which still bears the war wounds left by the Blitzkrieg. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to endure night after night of bombings in London. Thankfully, we’ve been spared that kind of terror in the United States so far. I’ve always been impressed by the strength with which the British faced that trial. I wonder how we would react?
On our very long walk, we also passed by Cannon Street, which is in the financial sector of London, and found ourselves in front of The Monument. Yes, that’s the only name it has. “THE Monument.” As if there aren’t hundreds of others. :P Anyway, THE Monument stands in remembrance of the Great Fire - another horrible tragedy that I simply can’t manage to wrap my mind around. A city as large as London...engulfed in flames. I guess I would have felt pretty helpless, like all of those people who just sat down to paint it. What else could they do?
Anyway, we also found St. Paul’s Cathedral, which turned out to be even more massive than I thought. We didn’t feel like paying several pounds to go inside another church, even though I’m sure it was impressive, so we just admired the architecture from the outside and continued our pilgrimage toward London Bridge and the Tower of London. London Bridge isn’t really that pretty (I wasn’t expecting it to be), and the view was definitely not as spectacular as the view from some of the other bridges. But, now I can say I’ve been there. :P I can also say I’ve visited the Tower of London, and I have to say it wasn’t exactly what I expected. It felt more like a tourist trap than a historical site. The tour was also extremely expensive, and we were exhausted and starving by that point. Of course, the history behind the Tower of London has always intrigued me, and I would have liked to have seen the ravens and maybe the Crown Jewels, but I realized that it wasn’t really worth as much to me as I thought. So, we ate a picnic lunch in Hyde Park, watching a man do some sort of really strange yoga. It looked pretty boring, since he kept doing the same thing over and over and over. Anyway, that wasn’t really the highlight of the afternoon. Hehe. The highlight of the afternoon was the British Library.
I’ve wanted to see the British Library for a long time (just like a lot of things in London), and it was definitely not a disappointment. Well...that is, once we found it. Let’s just say we encountered some navigational difficulties. Anyway, there is one room in the Library completely devoted to their collection of famous, original works. I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open during half the time I spent in there, because - get this - not only do they have the original Magna Carta and its subsequent editions, but the earliest copy of Beowulf, some of Shakespeare’s printed plays and collaborative work, one of Jane Austen’s teenage diaries filled with her early stories, Jane Austen’s writing desk, Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre” manuscript, three pages of sketchings and theorems from Da Vinci’s scientific notebooks, a Gutenberg Bible, Caxton’s Aesop’s Fables, the illustrated “Alice in Wonderland” manuscript given as a gift to the real Alice, the Codex Sinaiticus, a piece of papyrus displaying one of the Psalms, an original manuscript copy of Handel’s Messiah, Ravel’s “Bolero,” and original manuscripts of Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Haydn, and Schubert.
So yes, I saw the Magna Carta. I read part of the last chapter of “Jane Eyre” in Charlotte’s handwriting. I took a peek into Jane Austen’s imaginative diary. I stood a foot away from the pages of Da Vinci’s famous theorems written in mirror-image Italian. I gazed at the oldest copy of the Greek New Testament known to exist (Codex Sinaiticus). I noticed the stylistic differences of notation in the written music of Mozart and Handel and Beethoven.
It was humbling to be surrounded by the lingering remnants of so much creativity and discipline, but at the same time, it was even more humbling to realize that those remnants, those legacies, are all that remain of those great men and women. None of them cheated death, no matter how famous, creative, or talented they were. And I’m a human being just like them, gifted with my own unique talents and my own potential to shape the world, but ultimately, I am finite, just like the rest of humanity.
But, there is 1 Corinthians 15.
50I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. 51Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— 52in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. 53For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. 54When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."[g] 55"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"[h] 56The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. 57But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
58Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
And that was Thursday. More on Friday later. :)
On our very long walk, we also passed by Cannon Street, which is in the financial sector of London, and found ourselves in front of The Monument. Yes, that’s the only name it has. “THE Monument.” As if there aren’t hundreds of others. :P Anyway, THE Monument stands in remembrance of the Great Fire - another horrible tragedy that I simply can’t manage to wrap my mind around. A city as large as London...engulfed in flames. I guess I would have felt pretty helpless, like all of those people who just sat down to paint it. What else could they do?
Anyway, we also found St. Paul’s Cathedral, which turned out to be even more massive than I thought. We didn’t feel like paying several pounds to go inside another church, even though I’m sure it was impressive, so we just admired the architecture from the outside and continued our pilgrimage toward London Bridge and the Tower of London. London Bridge isn’t really that pretty (I wasn’t expecting it to be), and the view was definitely not as spectacular as the view from some of the other bridges. But, now I can say I’ve been there. :P I can also say I’ve visited the Tower of London, and I have to say it wasn’t exactly what I expected. It felt more like a tourist trap than a historical site. The tour was also extremely expensive, and we were exhausted and starving by that point. Of course, the history behind the Tower of London has always intrigued me, and I would have liked to have seen the ravens and maybe the Crown Jewels, but I realized that it wasn’t really worth as much to me as I thought. So, we ate a picnic lunch in Hyde Park, watching a man do some sort of really strange yoga. It looked pretty boring, since he kept doing the same thing over and over and over. Anyway, that wasn’t really the highlight of the afternoon. Hehe. The highlight of the afternoon was the British Library.
I’ve wanted to see the British Library for a long time (just like a lot of things in London), and it was definitely not a disappointment. Well...that is, once we found it. Let’s just say we encountered some navigational difficulties. Anyway, there is one room in the Library completely devoted to their collection of famous, original works. I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open during half the time I spent in there, because - get this - not only do they have the original Magna Carta and its subsequent editions, but the earliest copy of Beowulf, some of Shakespeare’s printed plays and collaborative work, one of Jane Austen’s teenage diaries filled with her early stories, Jane Austen’s writing desk, Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre” manuscript, three pages of sketchings and theorems from Da Vinci’s scientific notebooks, a Gutenberg Bible, Caxton’s Aesop’s Fables, the illustrated “Alice in Wonderland” manuscript given as a gift to the real Alice, the Codex Sinaiticus, a piece of papyrus displaying one of the Psalms, an original manuscript copy of Handel’s Messiah, Ravel’s “Bolero,” and original manuscripts of Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, Haydn, and Schubert.
So yes, I saw the Magna Carta. I read part of the last chapter of “Jane Eyre” in Charlotte’s handwriting. I took a peek into Jane Austen’s imaginative diary. I stood a foot away from the pages of Da Vinci’s famous theorems written in mirror-image Italian. I gazed at the oldest copy of the Greek New Testament known to exist (Codex Sinaiticus). I noticed the stylistic differences of notation in the written music of Mozart and Handel and Beethoven.
It was humbling to be surrounded by the lingering remnants of so much creativity and discipline, but at the same time, it was even more humbling to realize that those remnants, those legacies, are all that remain of those great men and women. None of them cheated death, no matter how famous, creative, or talented they were. And I’m a human being just like them, gifted with my own unique talents and my own potential to shape the world, but ultimately, I am finite, just like the rest of humanity.
But, there is 1 Corinthians 15.
50I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. 51Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— 52in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. 53For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. 54When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."[g] 55"Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"[h] 56The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. 57But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
58Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
And that was Thursday. More on Friday later. :)
Sunday, April 25, 2010
London Chronicles, the Second
Alright, I’m done with classes for the day, and I don’t have anything else pressing to finish...and I’m actually rather bored. Everyone else seems pretty busy, and hanging out at the park alone gets old after a while. So I’ll write another installation of “The London Chronicles” for you while I eat my fresh endive salad. (That’s my new addiction.)
Where was I anyway? Oh...umm, the end of Tuesday. That’s right. There were a couple of things I forgot to mention about that day. In Westminster Abbey, you can see the memorial stone on the floor where Oliver Cromwell - the guy who had King Charles I beheaded and disposed of the monarchy for about 9 years - *was* buried for about three years, that is, until the new king, Charles II, the son of Charles I, just couldn’t stand the fact that he had gotten away with killing his father and had him dug up and executed by hanging (you know, just to make sure he was dead). As if that wasn’t enough, he was then beheaded, and his body was thrown into a well. (Good riddance.) What did they do with his head, you ask? Well, what else would you do with the decomposed head of the man who murdered your father but mount it on a spike over Westminster Abbey? Right, I knew you were about to say that. Anyway, it stayed up there for close to 25 years, and then it just toppled off in a strong wind and somebody took it home. (“What’s that new centerpiece on the mantel there, George?” “Oh, just something I picked up on the street this afternoon.”) 0_o
Oh yes, and we also saw St. Margaret’s church, next to Westminster Abbey, which was full of plaques and stones and graves, too. Sir Walter Raleigh (in two pieces, of course) is buried under the altar. Some of the members of the Parliament still meet at St. Margaret’s to take Holy Communion and then have breakfast together once a month. I thought that was interesting. Whether it means anything to them or not, it’s still completely opposite of the mentality I’m surrounded by in France: this mentality of “laicity” to which they are extremely attached.
Alright, so here we are at Wednesday (finally, after my longwinded “bizarre secrets of history” lesson). Wednesday, of course, was another full day of exploring. We dashed off first thing to find the British Museum, and we spent all morning wandering around amidst the mummies and artifacts and books and sculptures and really, really, really old rocks. Well, I am giving a bit of a tongue-in-cheek description there, but honestly, I did find it interesting. It’s not every day that you find yourself face to face with ancient Egyptian bodies and relics that you could reach out and touch (even though you’re not supposed to), nor bits and pieces of culture that date back to the time of Jesus. The intricacies of the written artifacts from thousands of years ago, the evidences of scientific developments, the belief systems whose mythologies bear remarkable resemblances to Biblical accounts...it was all right there. I couldn’t begin to count the number of historical discoveries that prove the authenticity of the Bible, but that were cleverly ignored by museum historians. Check this one out:
Hmm. Great Flood anyone?
So, Kendra and I goofed off a bit in the Museum too, because looking at history for too long just does something to you.
Oh yeah - and we saw the Rosetta Stone. Yep, the real thing.
For lunch, we decided that fish and chips were in order, so we found a pub by Trafalgar Square and that’s what we got. The verdict? Not bad, not bad at all. It’s fried fish and thick-cut french fries, served with green peas. It honestly reminded me of the South. :)
On the agenda for the afternoon was The National Gallery. I remember seeing a street preacher in front of the Gallery. I think I rolled my eyes at first, because I’ve seen so many who just spew hatred and lies, but then I started listening to what he said, and he was actually speaking the truth - in love! It was actually rather refreshing. It was also an abrupt change from the completely a-religious environment I’ve become accustomed to here in France. Anyway, the National Gallery. So many rooms, so many paintings. Van Gogh, Monet, Cézanne, Rembrandt, Roden, Da Vinci - so much astounding talent displayed in one location. It made me wonder though: what about those not-so-famous painters and artists? I’m sure they were rather talented in their own right. I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between a Monet and another impressionist if Monet’s paintings weren’t so famous. So why do we give all the glory to one, and not the others? I’m sure it’s not because all of those famous painters were the first or the best. I mean, it can be true, but it’s definitely not always the case. Walking around gazing at all of their works of art also made me wonder why God gifts certain people with creative talents like that. It must be because he is a beautiful God, and wants his creation to reflect that beauty. It’s the only reason I can think of, because looking at paintings is something to enjoy more than anything else. I also realized as I wandered through the maze of galleries that each of those painters represents more than just a name in the pages of history. Each one was a human being just like me. Each one had his or her share of joys and heartaches, struggles, setbacks, and successes. Most of them weren’t even famous during their lifetimes. And, I’m sure most of them probably underestimated the quality of their work, thinking there was always someone better than them. There probably was, but that didn’t keep them from working, persevering, and creating something that was their own. There’s a lot to think about, walking through a gallery of paintings. Or, maybe I just have an overactive mind. I like to compare myself to August in the novel, “The Secret Life of Bees” (that I read while in London). The author says that some people bite off more than they can chew, but August, she always chewed more than she bit off. That sounds an awful lot like me.
After spending some time in the Gallery, we headed off to Harrod’s to see what all the fuss was about.
Indeed, it is one of the biggest and fanciest places to spend money on over-priced merchandise that I’ve ever seen. Everything you could think of is there: gourmet food, makeup, perfumes, designer clothing, accessories and jewelry, toys -- you name it, it’s there, and it’s expensive. Honestly, most of the luxury goods in that store are only expensive because someone said they should be. I guess I just don’t really understand the obsession with name-brands and fashion. It just seems extravagant to me (being my father’s daughter). ;)
Well, that brings me to the end of Wednesday, so I'll stop here and pick up with Thursday when I have more time to write.
Where was I anyway? Oh...umm, the end of Tuesday. That’s right. There were a couple of things I forgot to mention about that day. In Westminster Abbey, you can see the memorial stone on the floor where Oliver Cromwell - the guy who had King Charles I beheaded and disposed of the monarchy for about 9 years - *was* buried for about three years, that is, until the new king, Charles II, the son of Charles I, just couldn’t stand the fact that he had gotten away with killing his father and had him dug up and executed by hanging (you know, just to make sure he was dead). As if that wasn’t enough, he was then beheaded, and his body was thrown into a well. (Good riddance.) What did they do with his head, you ask? Well, what else would you do with the decomposed head of the man who murdered your father but mount it on a spike over Westminster Abbey? Right, I knew you were about to say that. Anyway, it stayed up there for close to 25 years, and then it just toppled off in a strong wind and somebody took it home. (“What’s that new centerpiece on the mantel there, George?” “Oh, just something I picked up on the street this afternoon.”) 0_o
Oh yes, and we also saw St. Margaret’s church, next to Westminster Abbey, which was full of plaques and stones and graves, too. Sir Walter Raleigh (in two pieces, of course) is buried under the altar. Some of the members of the Parliament still meet at St. Margaret’s to take Holy Communion and then have breakfast together once a month. I thought that was interesting. Whether it means anything to them or not, it’s still completely opposite of the mentality I’m surrounded by in France: this mentality of “laicity” to which they are extremely attached.
Alright, so here we are at Wednesday (finally, after my longwinded “bizarre secrets of history” lesson). Wednesday, of course, was another full day of exploring. We dashed off first thing to find the British Museum, and we spent all morning wandering around amidst the mummies and artifacts and books and sculptures and really, really, really old rocks. Well, I am giving a bit of a tongue-in-cheek description there, but honestly, I did find it interesting. It’s not every day that you find yourself face to face with ancient Egyptian bodies and relics that you could reach out and touch (even though you’re not supposed to), nor bits and pieces of culture that date back to the time of Jesus. The intricacies of the written artifacts from thousands of years ago, the evidences of scientific developments, the belief systems whose mythologies bear remarkable resemblances to Biblical accounts...it was all right there. I couldn’t begin to count the number of historical discoveries that prove the authenticity of the Bible, but that were cleverly ignored by museum historians. Check this one out:
Hmm. Great Flood anyone?
So, Kendra and I goofed off a bit in the Museum too, because looking at history for too long just does something to you.
Oh yeah - and we saw the Rosetta Stone. Yep, the real thing.
For lunch, we decided that fish and chips were in order, so we found a pub by Trafalgar Square and that’s what we got. The verdict? Not bad, not bad at all. It’s fried fish and thick-cut french fries, served with green peas. It honestly reminded me of the South. :)
On the agenda for the afternoon was The National Gallery. I remember seeing a street preacher in front of the Gallery. I think I rolled my eyes at first, because I’ve seen so many who just spew hatred and lies, but then I started listening to what he said, and he was actually speaking the truth - in love! It was actually rather refreshing. It was also an abrupt change from the completely a-religious environment I’ve become accustomed to here in France. Anyway, the National Gallery. So many rooms, so many paintings. Van Gogh, Monet, Cézanne, Rembrandt, Roden, Da Vinci - so much astounding talent displayed in one location. It made me wonder though: what about those not-so-famous painters and artists? I’m sure they were rather talented in their own right. I honestly couldn’t tell the difference between a Monet and another impressionist if Monet’s paintings weren’t so famous. So why do we give all the glory to one, and not the others? I’m sure it’s not because all of those famous painters were the first or the best. I mean, it can be true, but it’s definitely not always the case. Walking around gazing at all of their works of art also made me wonder why God gifts certain people with creative talents like that. It must be because he is a beautiful God, and wants his creation to reflect that beauty. It’s the only reason I can think of, because looking at paintings is something to enjoy more than anything else. I also realized as I wandered through the maze of galleries that each of those painters represents more than just a name in the pages of history. Each one was a human being just like me. Each one had his or her share of joys and heartaches, struggles, setbacks, and successes. Most of them weren’t even famous during their lifetimes. And, I’m sure most of them probably underestimated the quality of their work, thinking there was always someone better than them. There probably was, but that didn’t keep them from working, persevering, and creating something that was their own. There’s a lot to think about, walking through a gallery of paintings. Or, maybe I just have an overactive mind. I like to compare myself to August in the novel, “The Secret Life of Bees” (that I read while in London). The author says that some people bite off more than they can chew, but August, she always chewed more than she bit off. That sounds an awful lot like me.
After spending some time in the Gallery, we headed off to Harrod’s to see what all the fuss was about.
Indeed, it is one of the biggest and fanciest places to spend money on over-priced merchandise that I’ve ever seen. Everything you could think of is there: gourmet food, makeup, perfumes, designer clothing, accessories and jewelry, toys -- you name it, it’s there, and it’s expensive. Honestly, most of the luxury goods in that store are only expensive because someone said they should be. I guess I just don’t really understand the obsession with name-brands and fashion. It just seems extravagant to me (being my father’s daughter). ;)
Well, that brings me to the end of Wednesday, so I'll stop here and pick up with Thursday when I have more time to write.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)