My Week

There are a few things I know for sure. For instance, I know that if I'm walking from one of my schools to the metro and I come up to Place Marechal Juin (a roundabout where 6 streets intersect), I'm going to walk to the left around the circle because there are fewer stoplights. I will not push the pedestrian button to stop all traffic on the roundabout just so little ol' me can stroll across the 4 lanes, because I will be waiting for at least 5 minutes for the light to turn. (I'll admit, I do enjoy this from time to time just to see the looks of all the grumpy drivers. Though, I agree; it is ridiculous for 50 cars to be backed up so I can cross the road.)

I also know that if I buy more than 3 canned items plus milk at the market, my arms are going to be intolerably sore the next day. I know that no matter how high I turn up the heat, I will still be cold. I know that if I don't ask for une baguette, si vous plait with enough gusto, I'm gonna get the crispy one. I know that the more annoyed I get with children the worse I feel. I know that because I can see perfection but can't attain it, I am too easily dismayed. I know that after the 3rd failed attempt at making cheese fondue, one should wait about a year to go at it again, that way your humiliation has healed somewhat and you can afford to risk dumping 30 Euro worth of cheese in the garbage. As my humiliation has not healed, I will not be attempting it again soon. What I don't understand is that I could totally make it in the States. I made it successfully 3 years ago. Now that I'm in france, with good cheese no less, I can't do it.

So, there are some things I know for sure and many things I don't. Good thing we get to work on those things we don't. For instance, I never knew goat cheese was so delicious. Until a year ago, I never knew that the light in Paris during the winter was so beautiful. (It's because the sun never rises more than about a 45 degree angle to the horizon.) I never knew that I could stand up in front of a class of twenty-five 9-year-old's and actually teach them something. I never knew that getting a haircut consisted of not just trimming the length of one's hair. It involves tossing, schjuzzing, training and/or beating the hair into submission, all while scissors fly dangerously close to one's eyes, leading any normal person to believe they were getting some sort of rough lap dance instead of a haircut. I'm glad I had the chance to find out last week.

I also wanted to share this picture of a snowstorm we had over Christmas break...just for the hell of it since it is so beautiful!


Enough random stuff...back to food!