tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88825887482555899522024-03-13T07:27:13.649-07:00*O*somewhereNiceDear Reader
This is me. And this is the my adventure of a lifetime.
Love always,
xoxooxoxoxoox
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-30613788382607030412011-05-20T14:07:00.000-07:002011-05-20T14:07:16.139-07:00Wisdom Teeth: Take two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Minor surgery on Friday afternoon means a movie marathon weekend for me!<div>So far, I've done The Tourist (Johnny Depp, Angelina Jolie) which was an excellent movie, even though I found the first bit slow, and Pearl Harbour. </div><div>In eighth grade, my homeroom teacher showed us an extract of that movie, and I've had it in the back of my mind since. Today, I padded down and watched the three hours straight, crying like a baby for the last 30 minute stretch. I have a bad habit of relating characters to people I know, so anything with a Titanic-esque ending turns into a tear fest for me. </div><div>It really is down to the end now, I have 4 weekends left to spend here, I can't believe it! It feels like this must be my 10th post, but alas, we're into the sixties now. By the time monday rolls around, I will only have one month left on the Mediterranean.</div><div>I have pledged to take 10 photos a day, plus enough video to do a montage. </div><div>If anyone has any ideas for things I have to do before I fly home, just drop a comment!</div><div>It is very likely in depth movie reviews are to follow, since I have an abundance of time (and ibuprofen) on my hands, so without further ado, à bientot!</div><div>xoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxo</div><div>*O*</div></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-60251066537640173382011-05-16T14:23:00.000-07:002011-05-16T14:23:38.065-07:00Can't Sleep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I was at the beach the other day, and an old man came by with his metal detector, and started asking me questions like where I was from. He had a big smile, and turned his head as he asked "as tu peur de me parler?" Are you afraid to speak to me?<div>I said no.</div><div>He laughed, ran his metal detector over my toes, and sent off the alarm, saying I was made of gold. He yanked a grubby handful of coins from his pocket, shuffled them with a callused finger and passed me one: a Franc from 1973. I thanked him, he waved it off, and off he went.</div><div>I sat for a few minutes, thought about trying to turn it into a necklace, tried to think of a event from 73, contemplated curling up into a ball and rolling into the water and letting the tides take me away, and ended up on my feet chasing him along the shore.</div><div>Sir laughed, maybe he knew I had a question, and asked what I was doing here. The same old answer: studying. Same old reply: where? </div><div>I never break the Girl Guide code, never tell a stranger where you go to school. So I always say music. </div><div>He asks if I'm married. I laugh, and tell him that I'm not yet 17, and he says that he would have given me at least 18, and so I'm left wondering what the world looks like through eyes that make me old, are old themselves, and who are narrowing on the world while he rattles off what he's made off of selling his treasures.</div><div>Cutting to the point, I ask him what life is. </div><div>He works every weekday, and every other day he combs the beach to help pay his 5 children's bills. He tells me to get married, keep my music and have a family, that's all that matters. Give your children a good life.</div><div>It's been on my mind since last week. I'm scrambling to remember his face, how can you lose someone who has marked you in a matter of days? In my mind, I find him again, and ask him what to do if I have to choose between the two, because I don't know if I can sing and give my family a good life too...</div><div>Food for thought: live for love, or for passion; a personalized mundane or a game of all-or-nothing by someone elses rules?</div><div>Do I have to run the pebbled beach calling "Sir, come back, I have another question"?</div><div>xoxxooxoxoxoxoxoxo</div><div>*O*</div><div><br />
</div></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-49642903381348075132011-03-15T15:39:00.000-07:002011-03-15T15:39:52.540-07:00Mardi QuelconqueIt's tuesday! What does that mean? Two very light bags;<br />
- towel, one piece suit, the usual pool stuff + googles and wet cap<br />
In France, swimming is a mandatory part of their gym class. I can do the crawl, but the "brass", which I had fondly nicknamed the froggy stroke, is pathetic! I'm sure that from an aerial perspective I look like a drowning inchworm!<br />
- very, very uncharacteristically light school bag. We have two hours of straight physics afterwards. The class has finally settled down, and our teacher seems to breathe easier. I was actually surprised when the bell rang today, because it went by so quickly! I'm definitely more chemistry than physics, but hey, turns out studying electric currents isn't half bad either! I had a dip today, and realized I missed Bio class, which ended up making me smile... It means so much when you have teachers who really care about you, and love what they do.<br />
In other news, my flight home is booked!<br />
I leave in a little over a month for Athens with dad. Between now and then, I have my first lyrical performance of Somewhere Over the Rainbow and The Prayer in duo with my Dalila, and a saxophone concert/evaluation type thing! It's going to be a busy one, because second trimester is wrapping up in the next three weeks. I'm not stressed for the Conseil de Classe this time though, which is really, really pleasant.<br />
Keeping Ayako and her home country close to heart, let's keep hoping for the best for Japan. Today was a rough one, they were hit at 6 O'clock their time by a scale 7 on the Richter. Nuclear disasters are rated on scales of 1 through 7, Tchernobyl being a 7; today, Fukushima has been rated a 6.<br />
For anyone who was struggling to find current updates, I found this link.<br />
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/news/japan-tsunami<br />
It is so hard to read these things, but people need to know, we need to learn our lesson.<br />
I'll leave you to read.<br />
xoxox<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-72500316846425532632011-03-12T04:46:00.000-08:002011-03-12T04:46:09.798-08:00This week I am grateful for...my cousin Faithe who had her fourth birthday this week. She'll be going to school soon, but I'm still stuck at smiling she was able to come into this world.<br />
my parents who have made my brothers and I so much more aware of the world, and as such, grateful for Ayako, the Japanese pharmacist who stayed with us for part of the summer. I will be very grateful when she replies and tells me that she in unharmed by the disasters from yesterday.<br />
all the other exchange students we've had with us; Harry, who I hope to see this summer; Juliana, who I hope to see very, very soon; Mathieu, who I spent Toussaint with and who's family is lovely;<br />
especially grateful for Paulina who is as sweet as she is beautiful and taking excellent care of my girl, who's family has made me know I'll be so much more than okay this trip; and for Park who makes me laugh with his Facebook wars, and who I can't wait to meet.<br />
I am hugely grateful for a clean biopsy result for my auntie Michelle, and for her birthday (29 once again, says my uncle).<br />
my wonderful friends here and the love I share with they and their families.<br />
the verses "I have been to the queen Charlotte Islands" and "Come see, come see what I have to show you. The world is not dark, only your intent, take the darken clouds and release them from your sight."<br />
the little moments that make me love being here and remember being home.<br />
the faith my teachers have in me, and the dates for my first big stage solos.<br />
the remarkable ability to overcome and to start again at the most unexpected times, I am grateful for forgiveness.<br />
all the acceptance letters my friends are getting, and knowing that they'll find their way.<br />
my host brother.<br />
my best friend being loved, and loving, and knowing that every once in a while, the stereotypes of the world are wrong.<br />
my time left here, which will be too short.<br />
my summer at home; with family BBQs; thousands of prom pictures; my 17th birthday and Greta's 16th; the clouds on my ceiling; my grandparents and aunts/uncles/cousins that I'll see again soon; Tantallon which I know my heart; U2; Redstar and it's members; the atlantic ocean; my run route; my sheet music collection and piano; most of all, my brothers. I miss them, but I guess that's just proof that I love them.<br />
my music, which I had best go get at!<br />
xoxoxoxooxoxox<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-40197990074434182402011-03-07T14:48:00.000-08:002011-03-07T14:48:27.066-08:00Back to School Once AgainThe problem with having so many vacations is that there are way too many first mondays back.<br />
In all fairness, today was not a bad day; we started theatre in french, learned about the 1st movement of a symphony and then struggled through an hour of math before heading off to sing Crucifixus (last rehearsal before our show on Wednesday!). Fast forward to the afternoon at the conservatory, and I'm in a lovely mood, since I just met an Indian poet with relatives in my hometown!<br />
March 30th will be my "audition" with Dalila. We'll be singing The Promise (Andrea Boccelli and Celine Dion, need I say that it had to be adapted?) and another Italian duet on top of a solo each before a panel of Judges and however many people we can scramble up to fill the massive auditorium. I'll be singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.<br />
This week, Carnavale wraps up. I'll try to put up a few pictures as soon as possible! <br />
Meanwhile, I've found out that I should hear back from Pearsons definitively by May. Ooh lah! That's gonna be a bit of a wait, now isn't it? Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. Patience is...<br />
Well, whatever is it, I am falling asleep. Midnight again already?<br />
Sweet dreams!<br />
xoxoxooxoxooxoxox<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-8522383628520454682011-03-05T16:08:00.000-08:002011-03-05T16:08:27.426-08:00Italia:Top 10 (in no particular order)1) I will start with the smallest of things, since I think the highlight of the trip was realizing that places are only places, and it's the minute joys one draws from life that brings out the light in us. Where we are has very little to do with our happiness; I loved going for a walk in a park on the last night with Juliette and making a daisy crown.<br />
2) Between being a theatre geek and loving history, the explanation of the stage of the Colosseum was brilliant, our tour guide Ziggy was hilarious too.<br />
3) We had a lot of great restaurant experiences, but this one was a favourite: the entrées came so fast we didn't have time to finish our serving before they were dolloping the next gourmandise on our plates! Plus, the live entertainment asked me to dance :)<br />
4) A day of mask hunting and getting lost through the streets of Venice was probably what I will keep most vivid memories of.<br />
5) We did two very different photo shoots: one at night in torrential downpour in Florence (best part of the evening was running in a cobbled side street and landing flat on my caboose in a puddle!) and a very silly set in Juliette and Sophias hotel room back in Nice. Both of those are going to supply me with smiles for many years to come.<br />
6) Pompei was mind blowing. I had never realized it was a full city! Yet another hilarious tour guide showed us the theatres (I was very impressed!), the take away restaurants, beautiful Egyptian influences and lead us on a lovely little stroll through the main brothel, the last bringing an afternoon of snickers. The most moving part for me, was standing in the main square where the temple to their god stood, and knowing that people would have watched Vesuvius erupt behind said temple, what fury, what terror... The museum with the famous plaster cast of people and animals was just off to the right.<br />
7) Dinner and more live entertainment! Only this time, we were in the palace where Napoleons sister lived, in a Medici style palace in Venice. They don't look like much from the outside except massive, but inside is all marble, silks, gold plating and velvet: a real marvel. The entertainment was interactive and period, so we all had a lot of fun!<br />
8) Flip side, a very grave hour was spent at the Commonwealth cemetery. One elderly couple chose this tour specifically to go find the gravestone of his 17 year old brother, and since he had a hard time walking, I walked him to it: he had studied his plot map so much that he walked almost straight for it. When I was taking the picture of them there, he told me that it was the first picture, because before he had only imagined it, and that this was his first visit ever. There's not really much I can say about that day, but it makes my heart writhe when I think about all the unrest there still is today.<br />
9) Karaoke! Nothing like starting off with Celine Dion! There was almost no english repertoire, but the men ended up finishing off the night with I Did It My Way, which I thought was rather splendid :) It recalled earlier on the trip; leading an out of tune Don't Stop Believing to the bus, accompanied solely by my very bad air guitar.<br />
10) To be honest one of the trip highlights was Marco. During the quarter day long bus rides between major destinations, I did on occasion have the desire to bonk him on the head with mis microphone to cease the trivia, I admit. But I am going to carry a great memory of his mafia rants, the way he spiked his lessons with the word 'love' if he thought people were dozing since it made us all laugh, and Irish accent. However, I found it rather exceptional that after trying to find me prom dress shops along the way on shopping days, to no avail, that he not only remembered, but cared enough to add me on Facebook at the end of the trip: and to make sure I sent him a picture of the dress at prom.<br />
We are keeping in touch with a few friends, and though I've discovered that I'm not really a bus tour person, this is definitely going in the golden memory box :)*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-78234391897201074692011-03-03T16:56:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:56:26.929-08:00A Quick Hello Before Another Month Flies ByI am once again, back in Nice!<br />
Mom, Juliette and her mom Sophia and I spend 10 days on a whirl wind tour of Italy; two days in Rome, two days in Venice with a stop over in Verona, followed by two days in Florence and finishing up with two days in Sorento before heading back to Roma to fly home.<br />
Rome was stunning, I was rather entertained that they had stopped trying to build a metro because they kept stumbling on ancient ruins, and that the place where Cesear was stabbed has been transformed into a cat haven. The colosseum was, well, colossal, and it was only when the "stage" was explained to us that it clicked for me that this is where the Gladiators were. For whatever reason, I hadn't put them together in my mind!<br />
Our stop over in Verona was quite literally to get off the bus, stroke Juliettes breast- hang on, I'll explain that before that gets more uncomfortable. See, a local got so sick of tourists coming and searching for Juliette's Balcony (Shakespear of course) that he decided to build one. A statue was erected of her, and for whatever reason, they say it's good luck to stroke her breast. My Juliette's humor ended in a theoretical impersonation of said builder-of-balcony man; "hey guys! Look what we can make the tourists do! *gwafgwafgwaf*"<br />
(Very) Slowly but surely, we made our way up the length of Italy and before settling in to our modern hotel, took a serenaded gondola ride! What a contrast between the ancient canal city, a foreshadowing of a current day Atlantis should the Moses plan fail, and the area of my hotel! After a tour of the Murano factory, we spent the day on a quest for the prefect masks, which I hope to use this week at the end of the Carnavale in Nice :)<br />
Florence was not at all the same as the last time I went, we saw David and aside from that, took a disastrous day trip to Pisa, and attended a very pricy sales pitch at a 'vera pelle' shop.<br />
Sorento started with another tourism distaster of the beautiful Amalfi Coast... In a full fledged storm. The next day was brilliant though, the day was twiddled away, wandering the streets and munching on the best pizza of the trip.<br />
Being prone to anything with more than two wheel sickness, another never ending bus ride back to Rome certainly didn't cut my trip highlight list, but making a bright pink miniature daisy chain was up there... Okay, maybe it wasn't quite incredible enough for that ;)<br />
Perhaps a top 10 and pictures are in order?<br />
Sleep comes first though, so sweet dreams!<br />
xoxoxoxoxooxox<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-41719118471709840362011-02-06T11:56:00.000-08:002011-02-06T11:56:23.402-08:00Another Beach Themed Post/ Italy!Before I get down to the good stuff, I would like to take a moment to praise OPI: fabulous colours, adorable names, and the 4 second dry time means that I can do my nails and write my blog at the same time. <div>To those who know me well, rest assured, I have not falling into the habits of manicures, I just needed a girl power boost before tackling my last week before ITALY! </div><div>The week of the 5th is always fairly hard on me and my family. This year was my uncle Shanes 5th anniversary, and I was pretty out of it yesterday. A friend took me to a show where a few of our friends were dancing, so that distracted me, but I didn't really get much accomplished. </div><div>Today wasn't particularly productive either in terms of scales practices, or children's lullabies transposed, and to be honest, I haven't touched my math or analysis homework yet... But I needed to take today for me.</div><div>I went to a comedy in the matinée, even though I had to get up before the rest of my household (possibly for the first time this year) to catch the bus in town. This week, I have to read Une vie by Maupassant, and was immensely proud of myself when I realized I could get off my bus and onto my tram, with my nose in the book without getting lost. For the first time, I arrived to my destination, on time, without asking for someone's help, and without getting lost. No mishaps. It was the start of a good day.</div><div>After I finished the movie, I followed my feet, and as usual, fell on my market place and the beach. My options were sitting on the Promenade in a resto, or splurging on massive amounts of fresh fruit and hitting the beach. It's impressive the difference in the beach since last week; there are tourists EVERYWHERE. </div><div>And no, it doesn't feel off to address to them as tourists, in the third person. I do not feel like a tourist anymore, for the first time, I felt like I belonged where I spend two hours munching fresh clementines, carrots and a basket of raspberries and strawberries; the Baie des Anges felt right. </div><div>I got off the tram, and almost walked into a couples guys. I was embarrased, because I was once again, with my nose in my book and wasn't paying attention, but if I was blushing then, I must have been tomato red when one straggled behind to stop me and tell me that I was "charmante". He proced to grin, bow, and run to catch his friends and the tram. I smiled for ages :) </div><div>Made my way to the church perched on the port, and inspired by the tourists obsessive photo taking, saw the palms in the same magical light as the very first day I touched down. The scattered memories I have of places Mémère and Pépère took me to on our three days together are all coming together, like the puzzle pieces that build my town. </div><div>It's little things that make you realize the time is passing... Not sure if anyone forgets my pixie cut, but my hair is starting to get wavy again, and hits my shoulders now. The two rings I wear everyday are starting to tarnish. </div><div>Bus ride home ended up taking my breath away since I'm a sucker for cotton candy sunsets. </div><div>I love knowing the moon is as beautiful wherever you are as it was for me <3</div><div>xoxoxooxoxoxooxx</div><div>*O*</div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-12846441703624861532011-01-30T14:26:00.000-08:002011-01-30T14:26:50.303-08:00When It's Friday, and Theres No School in ParadiseI exaggerate: I had two hours of english.<br />
I managed to drag my altiste friend through Old Nice despite her chronic fear of muggers (it's a sunny day, at 10am, I'm not the crazy one I assure you!) where we fell upon an adorable little market. We allowed ourselves the indulgence of a hugely over priced basket of strawberries, and other more reasonably ticketed fruit for a picnic on the beach.<br />
On our way down to the pebbled shore, I, who am distantly but surely related to crows, was mesmerized by a jewellery display. I had been oogling for a minute or two before I realized that the guy running the bicycle stand was speaking to me in a misshapen french. Poor thing, I told him I spoke english, and he was so relived to find a fellow Anglo-Saxon that he started recounting the hardships of a vendor in a tourist town come january. He hadn't had a sale in 4 days, and was willing to give me a deal on his handcrafted wares (6 euros a peice, 2 for 10 euros) three for 10 euros.<br />
Inspired by the sunshine, and perhaps egged on by the perplexed and horrified look on my friends face, I told him Id be back in a bit. The friend and I went for another "stroll of the marketplace", just an excuse to get her to pass by the bakery with me to grab him a mini pizza.<br />
We came back to his stand, and picked out our eclectic and unique accessories, and were chatting in english, complimenting his work, when a flock of young tourists came by, and heard us gushing.<br />
His smile was priceless as he was swarmed, and we discreetly slipped the grocery bag on his bike handle and were off, me beaming at the break in his bad luck streak and on a doing-little-things-for-strangers high, the friend shaking her head and deeming me very, very bizarre.<br />
I've been treated of bizarre a few times since I've been here, and honestly if doing things like stopping to call the numbers on runaway dogs collars is bizarre, then I am absolutely, positutly, bizarre!<br />
One way or another, one passageway after another, we wound our way to the beach, and sat, and basked in the 16 degrees and sun.<br />
I realized, sitting with my hair down that I was surrounded by three kinds of people:<br />
the brazen tourists, speaking loudly, shouting after children in their own languages, making themselves at home and bringing great joy to the souvenir merchants.<br />
old folks, who have worked all their lives, raised their families and are now spending the rest of their well earned lives soaking up the sun and love of grandchildren<br />
But look, they're both on vacation in reality, and make up the vast majority of the population of the beach! What do they have that the workers on lunch break don't?<br />
In fact, the ones who have their priorities straight, the ones who have something right, are the<br />
mothers, sitting on the rocks despite sore backs, and drained expressions, and playing with little ones, who drag strollers up and down bumpy shorelines to find a sandy spot for their munchkins to plop down in. They are the ones taking time out of their busy lives, to breathe, and to remind themselves that there is life beyond ones priorities... In fact, I think they're the ones who have realized that to live and be fully alive is a priority.<br />
These are my daydreams, as the turquoise waves crash on the shores with an absent minded vigour, and a metronomic pulse...*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-25106782037019177832011-01-27T14:32:00.000-08:002011-01-27T14:32:46.325-08:00(the extents of) My Italian!<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What does one do on a trip to Florence when the friend you're travelling with has a fever of 103? Learn her native language of course! In preparation for my tour of Italy with Nina, Suzanna and Juliette, in 16 days, I have decided to learn as much Italian as possible, so that there will be less touristy oopsie daisies. So far, we have covered the very basics: numbers and because it's Italy, and upon some research in my archives, it can be deducted that FOOD is also essential in Italy. How to structure basic sentences should follow at some point next week.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">NUMBERS</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1 Uno</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">2 Due<br />
3 Tre<br />
4 Quattro<br />
5 Cinque<br />
6 Sei<br />
7 Sette<br />
8 Otto<br />
9 Nove<br />
10 Dieci</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">11- Undici</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">12- Dodici</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">13- Tredici</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">14- Quattordici</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">15- Quindici</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">16- Sedici</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">17- Diciasette </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">18- Diciotto</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">19- Dicianove</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">20- Venti....</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">30- Trenta</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">40- Quarenta</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">50- Cinquanta</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">60- Sesanta</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">70- Settanta</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">80- Ottanta</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">90- Novanta</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">100- Cento</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">1000- Mille </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">FOOD</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pasta- pasta (never plural)</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tagliatelle (with egg, like spaghetti, but flat and large) </span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gnocchi (round, potato based, gooey)</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Spaghetti (yum, long round thin)</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Penne (cylinder, cut diagonally)</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tortellini (round, stuffed, served in broth) </span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ravioli (square, stuffed)</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> with pasta...</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pesto (paes-toh); pesto</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Matricciana (mah-trree-tcha-nah); </span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carbonara (karr-boh-nah-rah); </span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Alle Vongole (ahlay-vohn-goh-leh); mussels</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ragu (rrah-goo); meat with tomato sauce</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Al Salmone (ahl-sahl-moe-nae); with salmon</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Aglio olio e peperoncini (aeh-lee-oh owh-lee-oh eh pé-pé-rrohn-chee-nee); oil, garlic and gentle hot pepper</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gelato (plural is Gelati)</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Stracella (stra-cha-tella); chocolate bits, creme</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Crema; eggs</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cioccolato (tcho-ko-la-toh); chocolate</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Vaniglia (vah-neelya); vanilla</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fragola; strawberry</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pistacchio (pea-stack-eeyo); pistachio</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Panna (pah-nah); whipped creme</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fior di latte (Fiehor-dee-latteh); creme au lait</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Amarena (ah-mah-reh-nah); white with pink, bitter berry</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Caffé (kaffeah); coffee</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Menta (men-tah); mint</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Frutti di bosco (frooty-dee-boh-sko); wildberries</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Limono (lee-moh-neh); lemon</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Carne- Meat</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mucca (moo-ka); cow</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Maiale (mah-yah-leh); pork</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Vitello (Vee-tehllo); calve</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Coniglio (kon-eelioh); rabbit</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anatra (ah-nah-trah); duck</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pesce (peh-chae); fish</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Osso buco (oh-soh-boo-ko); tender meat on the bone</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bibite (bee-bee-teh)- drinks</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">- Acqua (ah-kwah); water </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> Naturale (nah-too-rah-lay) Frizzante (free-tsanteh) </span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Succhi di frutta (soo-ki-dee-froo-tah); fruit juice </span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Vino (vee-noh); wine</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Birra (bee-rrah); beer</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Latte (lah-tay); milk</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Frutta (froo-tah); fruits</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mela (meh-lah); apple</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pera (perra); pear</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Arancio (ah-rran-choe); orange</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mandarino (mahn-dah-ree-noh); mandarin</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ananas (ah-nah-nahs); pineapple</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fragola (frrah-goh-lah); strawberry</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Lampone (lam-poh-nay); raspberry</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Anguria (ahn-goo-rri-ah); watermelon</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pesca (pesz-kah); peach</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Albicocca (ahl-bee-koah-kah); apricot</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pompelmo (pohm-pel-moh); grapefruit</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Uva (oo-vah); grapes</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cigliege (chee-leeay-jeh); cherry</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Melone (meh-loe-neh); melon</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Verdura (verr-doo-rah); vegetables</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Spinaci (spee-nah-chee); spinach </span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Incalata (In-sah-lah-tah); salad</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pomodoro (poh-moh-doah-row); tomato</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Patate (pah-tah-teh); potatoes</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mais (mice); corn</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fagiolini (fudge-eeo-lee-nee); string beans</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Fagioli (fudge-oh-lee); beans</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wheats/ grain type things</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pane (pah-ne); bread</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pizza (Pitza); pizza</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Riso (rree-zzo); rice</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Lenticchie (len-tee-keeay); lentil</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Formaggo (forr-madge-oh); cheese</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Mozzarella (motz-ah-rreh-lah) </span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Caprino (kap-rree-noh); goat cheese</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Gorgonzola (gohr-goan-tzo-lah); moldy cheese</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Formaggo grana (forr-madge-oh grrah-nah); parmesan on pasta</span></li>
</ul><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dolce (dohl-chay); Desert</span></div><ul><li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Torta (torr-tah); cake</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Crostata (kroh-stah-tah); tarte de confiture</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Creme caramel (crehmeh carramel); flan caramel</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Panna cotta (pah-nah coh-ta); white desert thing</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Profitterol (proh-fite-errole); crust with chocolate filling</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cioccolato (tcho-ko-lah-toh); chocolate</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Cioccolato bianco (tcho-ko-lah-toh bee-ahn-ko); white chocolate</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Meringata (meh-rreen-gah-tah); meringue pie?</span></li>
<li style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tiramisu (tee-rah-mee-soo); coffee flavor</span></li>
</ul><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">The trip was really special, despite staying at home more often than was intended, since home, has two rescued dogs, and olive orchard, and the most fascinating couple I've ever met: they just returned from 12 years in India working with the untouchables, he's a world class tai chi instructor (I had a lesson!!!) and she's headed for three years in China to perfect her ancient chinese in order to study traditional chinese medicine. Also note, they are both vegan. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"> In the end, the plan for the afternoon with the ladies will consist of lunch at a little restaurant hidden over the main bridge, then off to the Offices to scurry through the art. We'll stop by an artisans gelato shop on our way to the cathedral to see Dantes golden doors, and then to a different restaurant in a back alley for supper before running to see the Pizi palace.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"> All this, will be done in one afternoon.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">... I hope :)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">I had a lovely trip, and hope that my favourite ballerina gets better soon <3</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">xoxoxoxoxoxoxox</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">*O*</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><br />
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</span></span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-1485157570722395342011-01-21T15:06:00.000-08:002011-01-21T15:06:24.434-08:00From now until WednsdayI am off to Isola 2000, then to Florence! My season of endless travels begin!<div>"Skiing" (I don't ski, or any form of winter sport since my first experience was rather traumatic), then off to do tai Chi and formulate a plan on how to see Florence in one day. Ouf!</div><div>It is unlikely that you'll hear back from me before Thursday, however, I will write about my grand adventures.</div><div>WIth the luck my class has, it should be interesting:</div><div>The week before vacation, our flutist got in not one, but TWO tram addicidents, the opera singer (luckily only) got tapped by a car, our altiste had a messy break up with her boyfriend. Stop. Fast forward to this week, after the plague of bad luck had meandered and spent a few weeks with someone else; French teacher breaks two ribs, three out of 10 of us are sick, and Math teacher took a nasty spill down the stairs and will only be back to school on the 27th because she broke her ankle. So grave was last Friday I don't dare include it in the list, but our english teacher lost her mom to cancer... We wrote her a huge bristol board card, and I made her a heart box, but nothing changes when one day you're saying I love you, and the next you're having to say goodbye.</div><div>I can't complain, or insinuate my luck is bad, no need to taunt the Fates. I realize that I am hugely lucky, and look forward to sharing with you all the things I'm looking forward to! </div><div>Sidenote- I'm on an Amélie Poulain kick... If anyone is in the mood for piano atmosphere, it's excellent!</div><div>Virtue: Appreciation. Otherwise, you can have it all and nothing at all, or at least not until it's gone.</div><div>much love! </div><div>Bisous,</div><div>xoxoxooxox</div><div>*O*</div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-8483702009242452732011-01-21T14:36:00.000-08:002011-01-21T14:36:16.361-08:00My hike/Lycée/Christmas holiday<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vQpXeiFKXYs/TToIiDsPUoI/AAAAAAAAAEA/glEK2VAtKPU/s1600/SAM_3621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vQpXeiFKXYs/TToIiDsPUoI/AAAAAAAAAEA/glEK2VAtKPU/s320/SAM_3621.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My village <3</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vQpXeiFKXYs/TToFaTej47I/AAAAAAAAAD4/i8q8pTlhpr0/s1600/SAM_0328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vQpXeiFKXYs/TToFaTej47I/AAAAAAAAAD4/i8q8pTlhpr0/s320/SAM_0328.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my 'waiting-for-spanish-class' view.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vQpXeiFKXYs/TToGaB2SnoI/AAAAAAAAAD8/6UIWstr73kA/s1600/SAM_3592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vQpXeiFKXYs/TToGaB2SnoI/AAAAAAAAAD8/6UIWstr73kA/s320/SAM_3592.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frohe Weihnachten from my German grandparents.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div><br />
</div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-60605404626341083842011-01-19T14:40:00.000-08:002011-01-19T14:40:43.073-08:00One thought per day keeps the time thief away!Honey! I'm hooome!<br />
Miss me? :)<br />
Since my last post: Paris, Germany, weekend at Evas!<br />
Pictures corresponding will be added tomorrow night, because I still have 2 acts to finish reading of Molières' "l'école des femmes" to read before dawn.<br />
Also since my last post, application has been sent to Pearsons.<br />
Virtue of the moment: Patience<br />
Lots of write ups about my voyages to come, along with a synthesis of how the rest of my saturdays were spent, but for now, my pillow is calling :)<br />
xoxoxoxoxoxo<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-48995613649604608302010-12-04T14:58:00.001-08:002010-12-04T14:58:40.664-08:00Saturday number 21<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">To start, Hello to my readers from the Philippines, Denmark and Russia! I’m really touched to see you’re checking in on me! I'm back in Antibes with Mémère and Pépères for the weekend :D</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Admittedly, I slack, and neglect this blog, but this week, I honestly haven’t had a moment to write, and I fear that this blog is going to boil down to a weekly summary. There will be the occasional doses of poetry, and rants. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Let’s start with a haiku:</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dear Canada Post</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I hate you, corrupted, you</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Christmas gift thieves</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The 8kg package that I spent a small fortune to send home, and to fill with gifts, chosen to remind the people I love that I’m not there, but I’ll always be here, was ‘delivered’ this week. The only things that arrived, albeit in disgusting condition (I spent three school nights to wrap everything individually and meticulously), were soaps and under five gifts. I’m disgusted, and dissuade you all from sending things by mail unless completely necessary. I’m sure there are legal issues with bashing an organization, so I will leave you all with the question, who would steal the ties a 16 year old girl spent two days picking out for her brothers? Books and clothes for little cousins? Though I am convinced there is good (note, the rest of the blog), some people are sick. Enough on that note, because too much incredible has happened this week to stagnate on that topic. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When I look back, at the end of this year, at the end of my studies, at my retirement, I have a chilling feeling that I will have distinct memories of this week.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My world has been slightly overturned since the conseil de classe on Wednesday. The day before, I went to a job interview for a nanny position, and turns out, I started the next afternoon. Between that, and the first day of having to go pick up keys to my classroom on Friday, there are no more huge gaps in my schedule. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These things, of course, though hugely exciting, aren’t by any means life changing. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Neither are having the highest average of my class in french, second highest average in my class, the highest commendation possible, and excellent marks in my vocals. Though flattering to be praised for my work as a delegate and with my prépas was flattering, that didn’t pave a fork in the road for me. There are three paths that I can choose to follow from here, each leading in opposite directions, fulfilling different facets of my potential, and none of them meeting in the middle. The choice to leave, to come here wasn’t a deciding factor in who I will be in this life, but it was the first step towards choosing who I will be.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The staff panel working with me has invited me to stay, to finish my studies in France. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My application for Pearsons College is almost ready to be sent off. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Or, I could go home, and actually have a high school diploma. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This translates to my future as</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The risky road that winds around a cliff bend, overlooking the ocean. The 50/50 path, the one who is naturally and physically beyond my control. If all goes well in operatic training, around the blind corner, there could be a spectacular view, if things in turn, go spectacularly, my life could be what every little girl dreams about. If I’m not careful, and things go less than impressively, I may be running headlong into a drop off, and drown in the music industry. I ignore which is the better, and which the worse, but it’s even more likely that a storm makes the going too dangerous, and without a visa or two year commitment for lodging, and the road is closed. Heads, I could be an opera diva. Tails I could be another unexploited potential, another ‘what a shame’ who had the makings to be somebody. This is my ethereal, hell bound walk, paved by gold stars or cold streets. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">On the flip side, I could choose to walk a stable path, with harsh scenery, and no fluctuation in luxury, since there will be none, and know that every exhausting step I’d take would leave an imprint. I could be a teacher, and blaze a trail for countless third world children, a delegate beckoning for others to follow and to lead, a journalist opening eyes and learning lessons the hard way. My life would always be modest, I wouldn’t have evenings in big theaters, or keep company of orchestras, but I would never feel guilty when I saw a SOS children's villages commercial. I would have the rare, and unmeasurable gift of discovering people and places as they are, and would learn far more than I would teach. Each moon would rise on me too emotionally attached, but more deeply rooted in fulfillment. This is my organic trek to find heaven on earth. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But then again, all roads lead home.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’ve grown up too fast, and looking back, it pains me to realize how early that trail was prominent in me, this feeling being enforced by the fact that I already have perspective on my childhood: I’ve outgrown it. That doesn’t make me better than or better off than anyone my age, it just means that I’m limited by that exact number. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A high school GPA, an awards night, a school play, a Christmas with family, a prom, an acceptance letter. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How ordinary. How exceptionally extraordinary. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And since after all, home is where the heart is....</span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-81427119675696508812010-11-27T13:12:00.001-08:002010-11-27T13:13:04.416-08:00Saturday number 22<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">If all my saturdays are destined to be like this one, there is no living for anything other than the weekend.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My brother said he would take me running, and it only took a few minutes to realize that either the trail was for hiking, not running, or my cardio has failed miserably since I’ve left home. The minutes that had elapsed before I admitted defeat and started walking were so few that I’m lead to (hope) believe it was both. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">He was very patient with me, and didn’t make fun of me for marveling when we finally made our way out of the brush and onto the mountain chain trail. It reminded me of Cape Breton, only with parasol pines, and little villas freckling the hills. For a moment, I was immobilized, and moved, and craved hearing an eagle cry. I felt so far from home. A good friend wrote to me once, and asked that I have an unconquerable faith in my dreams, but that I never fly so fast that my guardian angel couldn’t keep up. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I had a lonely moment, and conveniently, had a trail to run it off. He’s much faster than I am, but he walked with me when I stopped, and waited for me to catch up. Sometimes words don’t make it better, and sometimes cold is a sage healer.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Mountain air ripping through your lungs, feeling a tense wind tearing through your hair, coasting from the waist up and feeling your heart beat in your heels it chilling. It took hail to warm my heart. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">On the 27th of november 2010, it started snowing in Nice. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Global warming, yes I’m sure, say what you will, but someone was out to remind me that home is where the heart is. No eagle graced the sky, the shriek was mine, but in glee. You don’t have to see to know someone is there, just as I didn’t need to see the snow, that melted on foreign soil so quickly one could doubt it’s existence. I know he was here. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We hurried home, and brought in wood, found Christmas decorations, spent an hour trying to find that one box that goes missing every year. We went to a Christmas fair, and took our time examining local art, and I walked the stands, thinking of Grammy with each angel, of my Mom inevitably at each stand, Nana when I came across a pig in a manger set, Pépé at the honey stand, Parrain would love that apron for summer barb-qs, that necklace would look so pretty on Nanny. Nothing makes a person more homesick than wishing you could be there to give the people you love a reason to smile. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I was less jolly walking out as I was walking in until we opened the door and snowman material snowflakes started cascading from the sky. Silly me. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We bought a christmas tree on the way home, even though they usually just use a fake one, we came home and tried to find a christmas CD, squabbled over what goes on first, the ornaments or the garlands, and ended up all smiling in the salon, imagining the fires and roasted hazelnuts to come. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Changing plans at the mast minute are always a massive pain, and in less than 12 hours, I’ll be halfway down town to meet up with my friends, assuming everyone got the same message, and everyone is on time. And assuming busses are working in my particular case. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To end a splendid day, I saw from start to finish for the very first time, Little Women. Is there anyone who can get up and stretch, feeling four sets of emotions swelling in their chest, and not feel peaceful? Reflective on one’s own life, the time we have to change it, and the things that are so much closer than they seem. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A thank you goes out to Louisa May Alcott for reminding me of the standards I have set for myself. Do I dare hope for a tomorrow as good as today?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I do believe I do.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">xoxoxooxxoxxoxooxo</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">*O*</span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-31050086141010551862010-11-26T13:37:00.000-08:002010-11-26T13:37:52.349-08:00I have been 16 for 33 percent of a year today- Christmas day in one month!Okie Dokie.<br />
I'm having a harder time maintaining this than I had anticipated... Everyday it seems like there's something else on top of the schedule, still buzzing fresh through my mind. Every other Friday from here on out, I'll be tutoring sets of 5 of my prépas for an hour each before my spanish lesson.<br />
Today, I had lunch with them, and I am completely inspired. They are without a doubt the most dedicated people I've ever met. 12 hour days of solid lessons are far from foreign, and they're bolting for a goal none of them deem themselves successful enough to achieve. Their drive for a dream they've filed as unrealistic for the satisfaction of being the best they can be. It's an honour to work with them, and I do believe more frequent lunch dates are in order :)<br />
Less good today, I spent an hour, flabbergasted and more than slightly repulsed arguing with someone who believes in child abuse, to install and enforce respect. I'm going to leave that there, since I already feel nauseous.<br />
I want up to the conservatory today, and one of the guards (security guards I met before I started to understand the laws of the bise, so I'm the adorable little Canadian, and none of them bother with the tough face around me :) asked if I would potentially be interested in a babysitting job. !!! I miss munchkins! Of course I'm interested! So I'll be getting details on that monday at the same time that I'm meeting a fellow Canadian (Québecoise).<br />
The azure sky is particularly enjoyable sitting on a tended lawn under olive trees with music wafting through the airs and sonatas from the building a few feet behind. There's a little patch of lawn in front of the CRNN, walled with the usual stone plan, and it makes a great picnic spot with the ladies. I took a break this afternoon, and chatted about Christmas, rock bands from years ago (think Sum 41, Blink 182, Simple Plan, all that good stuff :P ), country air and the world in starlight vs. full moonlight.<br />
In other news: I am finally going to see Harry Potter this Sunday! I'm coming Daniel Radcliffe, my darling! It's almost sacrilegious that the girl who went as Hermione Granger four consecutive halloweens to not go see her first crush almost die on the big screen. This is a grave error on my part, but fear not, there will be a gushing, lamenting review as soon as the issue is rectified!<br />
Shall we play a number game?<br />
Not including breaks (Christmas break I'm gone, February break is potentially claimed, this leaves spring break, and then it's summer (!!!), and not counting any days of summer since I don't know how much time I'll spend here, tomorrow marks the first of the last 22 Saturdays I have in France. This is a number I don't dare share with my girls, who had their bi monthly "you're staying. You're not leaving. Don't be silly, you can't leave" day. I love my class, they're cute :) It's flattering, but I feel guilty since, after all, I am leaving them.<br />
This Wednesday coming (that would be the first of December already ladies and gentlemen!!), is the trial date of one of the guys in my class: Depending on the decision made at the Class Consultation, he may be expelled from the program, in which case, he would have to return home, and go back a grade level since he can't join the normal classes now. He's not a strong student, and this would be a condemnation. Fighting for him, and trying to find a loophole to shove him through, anything to convince them to let him stay would be condemning the rest of the class to two more frustrating and inefficient terms. To complicate matters father, another girl in my class, his buddy, has decided that she wants to drop out and couldn't be bothered to attend school today. That would leave our class toll at 8. They would be a group of seven come fall.<br />
Numbers, numbers, numbers. In one month, I will have already adjourned and represented my class, serving as the defendant of all voices (I may sound as if that's exaggerated, and I'm sure in most cases it is, but it turns out, it's for cases like my class that the official document had to be signed when we accepted the position.), given not only the major result of guy and girl in my class, but distribute results, and play messenger between teachers and students until all the wrinkles are ironed out. I will have squeezed in two courses with my prépas ladies, three more sax scale sets, packed for, driven to and spent a week in Paris, and creme de la creme, will be in the land of Christmas! :) One week later is back to school and diving back into second term. Ack! time should really slow down a little bit, I think I'm prescribing the poor thing a nap, it must be exhausted from running all the time.<br />
A friend pointed out to me today that I can either lock myself in my room here, and have things go by slower, or hold on tight and treat this like a really fast ride. He says that I'd do better to leave with the wind knocked out of me and as many memories as my mind can hold than to leave and simply go home.<br />
There are times when I'm serious out of my element, I recognize that I still don't know all the rules and that there is a stark difference between the norm and the outsider, but I'm pleased to report that the line is starting to fade. I don't think when I speak, I understand jokes (so long as my lack of sense of humour doesn't interfere), and expressions don't escape me like they used to. Even when I don't know things, I can usually work my way through them.<br />
I'm going to wrap this up now, because I'm singing along to John Lennon and my host brother is going to sleep now.<br />
I'll write again before the weekend is over and tell you how Saturday number 22 went.<br />
Much much love<br />
xoxoxooxoxoxoxoox<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-86502953972852847792010-11-20T15:14:00.000-08:002010-11-20T15:14:40.360-08:00Roller CoasterRecap:<br />
Last Sunday was a great day, spent with Rhett, his mom and little sister. We saw my viola player in Ta Bouche, second row, and were entertained by the set of munchkins in the front row who found playing peekaboo with me almost as entertaining as watching their parents squirm in risqué passages. Then, our quarto braved crowds to get into the final showing of Natalie Choquette, the Diva from Quebec, and what a show it was! If anyone ever gets the chance to see her, jump on it! She's an operatic comedian, if ever a wonderful operatic diva, there was, Natalie Choquette is one because, because, because, because, because! Because of the wonderful show she does!<br />
Monday, it poured as though the sky were mourning the end of the world. I had the high heeled construction boots mom just sent me, and when I got off the bus at the wrong stop (it was the first night I headed for my MAO course), I stepped in a rather rapid river up to my ankles. Unpleasant to say the least. I made it to my course, bringing a comedic value that only a bewildered student could bring to a teacher, after having run through rain. The punch line is that it was too windy for an umbrella. My bag left a puddle. Enough said.<br />
I can't remember anything particular that happened on Tuesday. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.<br />
Wednesday, I went to the fair in Monaco, and it was a lot of fun once I convinced the girls to get on a few real rides with me. We ate churros; a delectable deep fried pastry that you dip in melted nutella, and temporarily paralyses you after you work your way through a dozen of them (you're stuffed after 5 or so, but the thought of such a scrumptious treat wasting away in a trash bag is practically unbearable, so one only forfeits around 10). The other class delegate and I drove there and home with her parents, and stopped in at her house for a little while... I love being there. It reminds me of home. Not sure why, since both of her siblings have moved away from home, and it's a very musical family, but I just feel like me there. Choir went as well as Bach can go, followed by a rough night.<br />
Thursday was both polarities: excellent, and catastrophic. My english lesson to the prépas went so well she assigned me another topic to cover this week, and by Friday morning when I had my english class with my homeroom teacher, they had spoken, and apparently, it was as if I had replaced her, and given a real lesson. As of next week, I'm taking on a smaller personal class for another hour! The girls invited me to have lunch with them if I like :) But of course, that didn't last. The very next class went from a moving conversation about our work done on WW2 to escorting one of my classmates by the elbows to meet with the head of the lycée, where we stayed for an hour despite three interruptions, all turned away, because he was dealing with a very serious matter. Youpi. The collateral damage should be reported next week after the second meeting and report is written, but in the meantime, another blinded us. Well, one of our other classmates rather. See, he couldn't. Something is wrong with his eyes and it's been two weeks now that he's been having an awful time (two trips to the infirmary for him alone this week), but the minute I walked out of the class, my attention was frantically brought to my friend, who was unable to open his burning eyes. Needless to say, the canteen meal of pasta was typical, and almost as fun to deal with as guiding him through the city to the conservatory. I survived my harmony and sax lessons.<br />
Yesterday was almost as fun as the precedent. My morning course was fine (c'est à dire English), math was a madhouse since everyone shouts and whines and laughs hysterically as we slowly lose our minds for lack of concentration. A friend rescued me from both babysitting a second day in a row, and from getting lost trying to find an obscure little side street where my sax mouthpiece had unexpectedly come in and needed to be retrieved that afternoon. I've never taken the bus back to the lycée. I got off at the wrong stop. I took the tram in the wrong direction. I missed my spanish course. I have evaluations next week to asses my level. I was not happy to say the least. Even better, I needed to go get new jeans. It was night when I got off the bus at home and had to walk up the drive in the pitch black, and turn off the alarm alone. I ended the evening with a late night chat, and had a surprisingly difficult time getting to sleep.<br />
This morning (note, it's Saturday), I woke up late at 640am, and leapt out of bed, and had my new jeans half on before I noted that it was Saturday. I proceed to sleep until noon, and drizzle the gloomy afternoon away in dribs and drabs of french comics, National Geographic s, history magazines and a few songs on replay.<br />
We just finished watching Schindlers List, and I'm in a rather sober mindset, so, I shan't depress you all. Tomorrow I take back up running! Enthusiasm!<br />
It's snowing at home. It's still 15 during the day here...<br />
On that note :P<br />
Goodnight <3<br />
xoxoxooxoxoxoxoox<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-77489721183968643202010-11-13T16:33:00.000-08:002010-11-13T16:33:45.665-08:00I lied, but this can't wait until tomorrow.<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I have to tell you about the concert tonight, tonight, because I’m already losing precious details that I need to share.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The day was planned around going in town to meet up with Rhett, and see the John Williams tribute concert, day two of C’est Pas Classique. And until I got into town, and realized that I could squeeze in a few minutes at a Satie concert in Old Nice, there was no trip for Soca and some other unidentifiable desert in the plans. However, walking back from the so called Satie concert (a bunch of children and their parents... Turn out they were playing the entire set, which lasts 20 hours, so the shifts aren’t always well known musicians per say) with my host parents, I almost walked into a mob of people in front of the Acropolis! What is this blockade? I have a concert to get to! Silly people!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">... Who are all trying to get into the same concert as I am.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Oh Dear.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I made it through the jungle of people waiting in line, and grit my teeth, ignoring the people who cut in line, because I knew as soon as I got through the entry doors, Rhett was waiting to accompany me in doing the same. Ickyyyy. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We arrived to the front of the line where he and his friends had already been waiting for an hour just as the wave of people flooded the floor. Security guards chopped the line literally in front of us and told us to wait, that the first two floors of the 2500 seat auditorium were full. -WHAT- Which would have been fine, had Rhetts mom and little sister (who is my buddy, she drew me a picture!! <3) had already gone ahead of us, and would be waiting with seats. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The first time we tried to force the doors to get to them, we got yelled at by a security guard, who proceed to go yell at someone else. Rhett put on his serious face, walked up to the door man and told him that we were going to go meet with his mother, and that two more people were coming later to join us. The guard, though not as impressed as I was, was enough so to let us all pass (five of us!) into the “full” levels, and sent us off with best wishes for the evening. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The family charm obviously doesn’t start or end with the future delegate, because by the time we caught up to his ladies clad in pink, they had sealed us an entire row, for whichever friends were going to join us later. A feat near enough to impossible, since as I already stated, this was the floors closed to the public already. But as always, it gets better! </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Which row did the adorable smile of a little girl in a pink jacket win us? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Third. Yes. Three rd. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My host brother managed to join us after pulling a needing to find his parents line, and also be escorted by Rhett, and I can’t tell you how hard he laughed when he seated himself, and received a call from two friends on the balcony letting him know he had an identical twin sitting way up front. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">None of that was pressing enough to make me stay up and write, so say farewell to emoticons and exclamation points, and brace yourselves for an excessively wordy text. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The announcer started the evening off by congratulating us on surviving getting seats, and said that it was only fitting that we started with what easily could have been our theme song for the past two hours: Indiana Jones. One hit knock out. I was sitting dazed clapping my hands numb by the end of the piece, startled that a band of 100 could be so perfectly synchronized, and keep an audience of two and a half thousand so perfectly silent. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The 7 by 15 meter screen in the background displayed movie clips, and the next to be featured was Jurassic Park, the very first scene with the little girl, crying out that she found something. I wonder how many others in the audience had the slightest idea what she was saying. It was then that I realized that while my attraction to this show was a union of famous movie music, that every other soul in the room was there to have their will to speak taken away, be gracefully and perhaps even gratefully silenced, to understand something beyond the spoken word, whatever language it may be.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The next piece gave me goosebumps before the solo violinist had even raised her bow, and that’s a powerful statement, since the first notes played in the Schindlers List theme belong to the soloist. My memories of the film are few, and faint enough as to only induce one tear, as I tried to recall the plot line. The violinist on the other hand, was visibly possessed. No, possessed isn’t the right word. How can I describe the way she swayed, the way she drank into the notes? It was as though she had no instrument, but a third limb, and she was being consumed by it’s tragedy, writhing to escape from the murderous grip of their fingers and strings tangling. The piece reached it’s climax, and the release was not only that of a single sustained note, but of the breath of thousands, a simultaneous oxygen rush, so unified there was a change in the pressure of the room, though the unmistakeable shift in objectivity may to have been to blame. To be granted the right to breathe, breathe free...</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Naturally, I was so lost in my thoughts at this point, the Superman theme song struck an unpleasant chord within my currently peaceful and pensive soul. My mind wandered, and waited out the end of the melodramatic chords, and decided to stop on the song lyrics to Insensitive by Jann Arden. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bringing me back to earth, and almost giving me the impression of being brought home, I laughed out loud when a shot of Emma Watson in the Sorcerers Stone flashed across the screen, and images of me four consecutive Halloweens flashed before my eyes. I guess some things will never change: I still have a crush on Harry Potter, and I would still tolerate Hermione’s hair to be go to Hogwarts. Embarrassing confession checked off the bloggers to-do list, we move onto another series embedded into my memory. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We were treated to a 5 part Star Wars: Luke’s Theme, Leia’s Theme, (we were invited by the director to put on our official Darth Vador masks for the) Force Theme, (and were invited to exchange the Darth Vador mask for a shrink ray and little green suit for)Yoda’s Theme and finished the show with a bang on the finale. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My first instinct was, as predicted, a reflection on all the times I refused to watch the Friday family movie because it was Star Wars again, how mad I would get when I had to hear Anakin’s theme for the second time in one day, and that if I heard a light saber one more time on the car ride to Cape Breton I was going to snap. Believe it or not, I smile thinking back on those days. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I didn’t reflect too long on memories though, because the familiar spectacle or listening and seeing mesmerized me again. Suddenly, I was day dreaming about the Nutcracker, where not only did I know which notes come next, but the rise and fall of the bows and chests of the musicians are familiar, predictable even. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Being in the audience of a concert like this was different. I knew all the notes, but there had never been a visual like this, all I ever “saw” when I “heard” Star Wars was film clips. This time, and despite a lack of a score, I saw what I heard for the very first time. There were no staves, no notes, no rhythms to count, or dynamics to account for. But the orchestra looked like a loom with a hundred needles, treading each fine thread of the melody together into a tapestry, rich in all it’s colors, and richer for it’s absence of a particular image. Does a song not warm the cold heart more deeply than any material? They're the same, but one you can touch, and one you can feel. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m no good with the written word when it comes to expressing what only the written harmony can express. Being able to give a material, personal form to each nuance in a song is mind blowing, and slightly out of body. As you try to stretch your mind around the concept that the four arms leaning and dipping, seemingly tied by their unique strings to some ethereal puppeteers finger is perplexing enough without expanding your focus, and realizing that for the metaphor to be accurate, they would be tied to one finger, and to each tutti their own. Who could possibly master the complexities and abilities demanded to read a dozed lines of a different languages, translate and program it into the corresponding individual’s heart, while simultaneously teaching and accompanying them in the recital of this new prose? Who could fluently speak such languages, posses the patience and technical ability, and emotional fluidity? Who could overcome the massive and impressive beast that is the connexion uniting a song?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A composer, who interprets the undeniable inspiration. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">An orchestra’s director, who interprets the unidentifiable intention.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A musician, who interprets the unspeakable inflection.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A human, who interprets the unalphabetized indentation on the soul that is music. </span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-44105109315026426742010-11-13T07:46:00.000-08:002010-11-13T07:46:05.592-08:00Khakis or kakis?Though knowing my luck, there is probably a third way to spell what sounds like "kah- kiis", and that's probably how you spell the fruit we picked today.<br />
The orange gourd-tomato type fruit still isn't ripe despite the trees nakedness, and has to be lain out on boards to dry out before they're edible.<br />
I'm told they're not related to tomatoes... But if they're not, they're pretty good at identity theft if you ask me. Perhaps my favourite horticulturist can clear up the situation?<br />
For the past few weeks, I've been working on an application to a school in BC, and this blog came up in one of my questions. I expressed what a great outlet this is for me, and how often I smile at the demographics of my readers, so this is a shout out to to my international readers! Hello world!<br />
In all seriousness though, I really appreciate knowing that people who don't know me care to know the comings and goings of my séjour. So thank you :)<br />
In other news, my package arrived from Germany last night! I suppose it's logical that sweaters and scarfs made in Canada are made warmer, but logic didn't make the surprise any more pleasant. Also tenderly swaddled in bubble wrap (which was very quickly and much less tenderly popped) came a few gifts to pass along (one of which being a bottle of prune and blackberry jam my momma made from my grandfather's orchard and the boughs of our front lawn), a spectacular necklace from my german grandparents ( <3 ) and more sweets! YUM! I'm spoiled rotten (my teeth have a mind of their own). One of the people who I shared the gingerbread puffs with particularly appreciated the gesture, because her great aunt used to send them to her! This is course made me smile.<br />
I know he doesn't read this, but I feel like everyone should know that my baby brother chose the cutest card ever to stick in the goody bag. Please in mind that he is a 10 year old boy trying to express how he feels about the big sister that only last week he replied "fighting with her" when asked what he missed about me. The front read: If anyone were to ask me if I miss you, I would have to answer "yes".<br />
I was thanking Hallmark for giving him words that I knew he never would have found himself, when I opened the card, and realized that he very well could have chosen the words printed inside:<br />
"And then kick them in the shins for reminding me."<br />
There you have it folks! Be careful not to ask my playing-in-the-provincial-football-tornament-this-weekend little brother if he misses me, because you will get kicked in the shins. I tease, but I know that in little boy that means "I love you O".<br />
So I love you too Buddy.<br />
This is short, but you'll hear from me again tomorrow, and I shall bear news of tonight's John Williams tribute concert, and tomorrows 'Ta Bouche' operette! There shall be musical reviews, most likely accompanied by a barrage of childhood Star Wars related memories.<br />
"Stick around, things get much stranger. "<br />
- some pin I saw a while ago when I was going somewhere<br />
Oh! Spoiler Alert: next week the olives will be ready to pick!! :)<br />
xoxoxooxoxooxoxox<br />
*O**O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-53280571530783188272010-11-11T12:37:00.000-08:002010-11-11T12:37:22.857-08:00l'ArmisticeNovember 11th 1918.<br />
92 years ago today, millions of girls just like me were crying, not unlike the day that will have precede it, or the months that precede those days. But for the first time in four years, they are without a doubt, tears of joy. Maybe some of them already have their husbands, their fathers, their sons, their brothers back in their arms, because night has fallen on a peaceful France, Europe, World.<br />
The end of WWI. The atrocities were over, and in retrospect, had only begun.<br />
My grandmother asked me to attend a ceremony today, and bearing in mind the monuments and plaques that I seem to see everywhere, I got up early, dressed in black and headed out to church.<br />
Churches intimidate me as it is. I played the right hand of a song my host father sang, and my host brother played the organ in mass, stood when called, and said Alleluia with everyone else. But I couldn't help but be distracted and fall behind in the prayers that are unfamiliar to me as it is. My mother tongue is english. Everyone surrounding me were French. Reflecting on all the wars that came before the War to end all Wars, I never could have been here.<br />
And the world still has so far to go, because there is still someone dying tonight.<br />
The graveyard that we went to say a prayer to my host father's parents was beautiful, covered by flower pots left over from Toussaint. The part of the ceremony that we got to consisted of playing the french equivalent of The Last Post, and the mayor reading off the names of the young men who died, to which the solemn crowd muttered each time "mort pour la France" which means died for France. There were men in old uniforms, and an American flag represented, because they liberated this town.<br />
Today is hugely important, more so than May 8th, as is the case Canada as well. However there is a startling difference. Here, November 11th is strictly l'armistice, the end of the first World War, not Remembrance Day, in recognition of peace, and respect for those lost to war. The losses suffered by France in the second World War were a tiny fraction of what they lost in the first, because most of the losses in the Second were members of the resistance: France was taken so swiftly in the second, they didn't lose many men in battle before they were under German rule. The first, on the other hand, was 52 straight months of bloodshed.<br />
I think it's time people swallowed their pride, and accepted that no matter how superficial the statement has become due to medialism, world peace is the greatest dream of them all.<br />
After all, it's the rare, good and dazzlingly simple things in life that are the most sought after.<br />
This post is short, but so too is the day of recognition, and thus sobering to admit that it's fitting.<br />
My closing statement is brief:<br />
The parents, lovers and children we are shooting at recognize that we are parents, lovers and children too. The problem lies in being paranoid and over protective parents, proud lovers eager to come home heroes, and that when both sides are reduced to terrified little children, we'll both just keep shooting.*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-86198457822976498432010-11-10T16:06:00.000-08:002010-11-10T16:06:55.662-08:00three Bill Evans CDs later, I hope this serves as an apology for my neglect<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I feel so old.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When a child hears their parents say that they get up in the morning, and don’t know how they got back into bed a full day later, they swear they’ll never be that way. When a child hears their parents say that no matter how many times they starts the dishwasher, it seems like they’re always reloading it, maybe the child helps clear the table, but won’t think anything more of it. When a child hears their parents lament never feeling caught up at work, and knowing that they’ll barely spend 12 hours at home before they start a new day headed for the office, a child sees the simple solution of choosing a job they like, and maybe it gives them motivation to do better.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I know seeing exhausted people, slaving to jobs they hate has driven me to make sure I’ll slave to something rewarding, and that because I know everyone else is just as tired as I am, I always help clear the table. But I’m still a child. And despite that, when I go to turn out the light, and reflect on my day in the darkness that still scares me sometimes I feel like I’ve lived three days. And despite that, when I get to friday (again) I wonder where my week went. The weeks melt into months, and suddenly, you realize that 10 days from now, you’ll have been gone from home for 3 months. That’s a quarter of a year.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">The second wave of the same old questions, don’t you miss home? Don’t you miss your family? is hitting. I can’t put to words how strange it is to admit, a bit guiltily that the answer is still much the same. Of course some days, and lots of nights, I miss telling my mom goodnight, or watching tv with my dad, hearing my brothers shout at their video games. I miss falling asleep with my head tucked in the crook of poster covered walls, and waking up and remembering why I put each one there. Avril Lavigne, my canadian idol (no pun intended) that Dom gave to me for christmas two years ago, and the one from last year with a Bono quote ‘where you live should no longer determine whether you live’ under Africa. The John Lennon, an Audrey Hepburn, dad’s old Beatles poster I rescued, and the Tragically Hip plaque from their tour the week I was born. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">A deeper analysis of my room might very possibly end in the conclusion of the content of my soul. But one way or another, that room will change when I get home, after I leave home, and even if it were to stay the same, it would look and feel different for the change in me.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Of course I miss having a space where I am in my own, with shreds of magazines for collages, my shoe collection, books I honestly do intend to read and half written songs are scattered on every flat surface. Of course I miss getting to hug my baby cousin (who’s rather quickly seeming less and less a baby), and not being scared that the next time he sees me on Skype, he won’t smile, and reach out, kiss the screen. Of course I miss waking up on Sunday mornings and fighting with my brothers and their assortments of friends because they didn’t leave any milk. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I miss the rotation of my week coming back to a supper table with my family around it, bickering, laughing hysterically, and acting our daily roles the the Theater of the Absurd. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And I say ‘I miss’.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But in all honesty, it’s not so much that I miss it, which suggests a longing, but it’s still more of a consciousness that what I’m experiencing is completely and utterly different. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We have a sit down supper every night, here in the white kitchen, say grace, and I can always tell how hungry the men are by which one they choose, because there’s a really short one. It’s still a family meal, and I know they actually care when I tell them how my day went, but it’s not my dining room, that usually still has decorations from some holiday of birthday in one orange corner or another. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Sunday mornings when I get up, I never have to fight with anyone about milk, or waking me too early, or needing the computer, because when I go downstairs whenever I wake, by bowl is set out. There are my chocolate flakes on the table, and I don’t have to share my laptop with anyone while I check my email, and work on whatever, quietly, until my family gets home from church. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My host brother is wonderful. He really is an amazing person, and I’m incredibly lucky that he’s the one that I spend the most time with of anyone here. But he’s the rule, not the exception to the strange coldness people here have. I’m breaking my new friends, my classmates into the habit of hugs, and some are taking the beating very well, I’m pleased to say. But the guys aren’t built like the guys back home, it’s like tending to a pine when you’re used to oaks. The girls are adorable, there’s no better word, but it strikes me as odd that we never laugh out heads off, never kidnap each other’s old comfy sweater. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">As for the churning inside of a black hole that is my bedroom, I still have all those things, they’re just neatly filed away, in folders, drawers, containers, shelves, where they tend to be forgotten. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">My room here is yellow. My room at home is blue with clouds on the ceiling. The only common factors are a butterfly I made back in second grade, my dream catcher that I’ve had since I was tiny, the japanese character for ‘friendship’ with one of the many angels Grammy gave me hanging from it, along with an behemoth of a teddy bear. Here, I have a row of dictionaries, a music stand and an entire shelf of National Geographic s at my disposal. They not at all, however, the ‘cut out interesting articles, and turn inspiring quotes into bookmarks, or, oh! that picture is the missing puzzle piece for my next scrap book page!’ kind of disposal. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">This space, freshly rid of a coat of wrapping paper bits, and tape adhering to random angles everywhere, is my place here. It’s so permanent. It’s hard for me to grasp that the only difference anyone will see when I’m gone is one less row of textbooks, no saxophone case, an absence of cowboy boots and slippers, and that the months of the Toy Story calendar are full of past events. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Like going to see ‘Ta Bouche’ that it seems that Eva just started rehearsing for, just the other week in September. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Like the class assembly that’s going to hit us all with our first trimester marks like a ton of bricks on the fourth of December. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Like my flight date to Paris, the day after school lets out here. I won’t blink, and I’ll be on my way to Germany, ( <3 ) where I won’t be meeting up with a friend, who’s going home. He’s sick of going to bed with headaches from speaking a different language all day every day, for smiling, thinking at the end of your last course, I get to go home, and then not knowing where to find the vacuum cleaner. He misses faces that look at him, and smile at him, not ‘the canadian’. He’s tired of having to explain for 15 minutes before he can make anyone start to understand what he’s feeling. He has the strength to overcome his pride and say that this incredible adventure of ours isn’t for him after all. I can’t say how proud I am of him for that.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I don’t wish I were going back with him.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">If I were to go home now, I wouldn’t ever take the initiative to learn to appreciate electro)acoustic music that my friend Christophe is teaching me about. I wouldn’t see the old city ruins that I pass on my way to school everyday, nor will I see the butterfly museum in the old tower of Tourettes. I won’t get to see if the old stone house fixes their ‘moulin’ in the spring. I wouldn’t get to pick olives next week, or be eternally amused by a full state shut down if it snows this winter. I won’t know how my prépas exams go, and it wouldn’t seem wrong come next fall for my class to be 9. I would waste all the money left of my canteen card. I would miss the new years eve party with my choir, and I would only see pictures of Aurélien with his braces off. I would never see the carnival in Monaco with Greta, and I would never see the Chateau D’If in the spring.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I could give you a reason why one week after another, it would really be a waste for me to go now. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I chose this direction one year ago now. With the help of my mom, and Pépère, and the support of everyone around me, I’m carving this trail. I figure I might as well see it to the very end, and worst comes to worst, I’ll get to the top of this mountain, and find that I’ve come to a cliff, that I can’t go any farther. I’ll enjoy the sunset, and bask a little bit in the sun of what i’ve accomplished before I make my way back to start again. The way home is always going to be easy now, the trail is there, and after this, my hike should get easier, since I think this is the hardest road I could have chosen. I will bear in mind to wear sneakers, not ballet flats, since my blisters are only just healing now from my second day in Marseille.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That’s all inspiring, fancy talk to say that I’m too busy, too determined to make it on my own, to let home sickness catch up to me.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Exhaustion, on the other hand, is another story. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Tomorrow, we have the day off, but I’m getting up early for an Armistice ceremony, and then spending the afternoon getting ahead on my work for this week coming, since this week ends on the ‘lendemain’ which means the day after tomorrow. But next week, in turn will come soon enough, and I’m trying not to let it catch me off guard. Besides, I’ll be behind again by Tuesday, and by the time I get through another Wednesday, the week will practically be over. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Another week that is. Another week that missing anything won’t find a fissure to seep into. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And so it goes, and so I reply to them, I love this place, I’m finding new reasons every day to be here, and I’m so busy living each moment I’m here that I don’t really have the time or energy to miss home. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But my quota of time and energy for today has been spent. Lights out, again. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I really do feel old. </span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-46301738896349220892010-11-03T09:42:00.000-07:002010-11-03T10:25:08.826-07:00Train Ride Back From Marseille<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Day sheds a whole new light on the world</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">2, 15, 85, and I’ve found my place.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">What tales do I have to recount to you all about the city of Marseille? To start, let me tell you that it’s filthy. It seems to me that my reason for existing this year was to describe the caricature that is France this year. A people, riled up in revolt against a senseless government isn’t something extraordinary for this country. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As for stereotypes of the french lifestyle, stripes are very à la mode this year, I can probably count on one hand the number of meals I’ve been served without bread and indeed, they eat an insane amount of cheese. They do hold themselves in a way I’ve never seen a canadian walk, and they tend to like beautiful things. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Focusing in on this city, any travel brochure, any review with forewarn you not to travel here in the company of germaphobes. It is fact, not fiction, that the streets are littered with bits of paper, cigarette butts, empty Cola cans, I could go on. On this particular year, in this particular month, and this particular week was the beginning of the mass clean up. Why so particular?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Among the many workforces to go on strike against a raise in the age of retirement were the sanitation and disposal workers: Indeed. The garbage men. A week ago now, they had to quit the strike, because the health department were interfering, for fear that the water (contaminated by rat urine) was going to cause widespread illness. Charming. The incessant rain didn’t held matters, reducing the piles of carton boxes, restaurants leftovers and household trash to piles of sludge 2 meters high. There was literally no where to dispose of trash but the streets, so the streets turned into long, traffic and trash jammed dump yards. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Luckily for me, they had called in the army a few days before my arrival, and the bulk of the work had been done. One of the first things I saw when I left the Gare St Charles was an incredible palace, built five years before the Eiffel Tower, under the same principal. It was stunning. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Graffiti, graffiti, graffiti.... This is the city of a thousand fading colors and names. There is no exaggeration to say that it is on almost every building. What are the stories of the people who thought that their names were so important, they should be written? What sorrows were they enduring to cry out for someone to recognize them, without a voice? What are the messages they’re pleading for someone to decode? Have any of them faded with the elements?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">We’re on the outskirts of Marseille now. This trip will be a lot longer than my last, since I’m passing Toulons, Cannes, Antibes, and headed all the way home to Nice. When I get off the train, I have to take the bus, to get to the tram, to arrive at the Gare Routiere where Thierry will be waiting for me. I will do all this carrying my satchel (laptop, three books, one binder, two textbooks, and most of my other heavy items. It’s a force of habit to travel with my items of weight and worth on me at all times because of airports), saxophone (affectionately nicknamed “le bete” meaning the beast, or the stupid one), and my duffel bag (it suffices to say that a Girl Guide packed for a week and a half long trip, and foresaw rain and cold, heat and excercise, and a costume party. Needless to say that almost polishing off one’s Christmas shopping didn’t lighten the load any). I will do all this? In black suede pumps. Aurélien will love the justice of it all. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">During my stay with the Chamouleaus, I (cringe to offend any athletes by saying “played”) tested Christophes patience (he passed!) by trying to embrace an education in squash, I blundered, and tripped, and would have made a fortune had I made a video out of my attempt at soccer. I lounged in a 19° pool while the boys did laps, and laughed when they complained about the “cold” (has anyone else ever been to the ocean water pool at White Point Beach Lodge back home?). I rediscovered an (dare I say it?) enjoyment of badminton, only after rediscovering that only idiots play sports with rings on because they give you water blisters. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The single blister, beyond worth the glee of realizing I’m not a miserable failure at every single sport on earth, was barely noticed as it was. The hike that the boys took me on, saw me home with the bouquet that Mathieu will surely remove from his desk now that he’s recovered his room, and a collection of blisters. Four band aids later, I was able to enjoy my mothers cackles, knowing that there was a little shred of butch in me after all. :) </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Yesterday, despite the threat of rain, Mme. Chamouleau took me in town before lunch (we were back by 1, and were gone for two hours, let your mind theorize the hour I’ve been getting up), and took me to what is possibly the city’s best known feature: L’eglise de Notre Dame de la Garde. I’ve been to a few churches since my arrival, but I have to say that this one is beyond special. Perched on it’s mountain overlooking the city, it’s crowned by a multiple meter gold painted statue of the Virgin. The inside of the chapel is adorned by plaques, thanking her for the boat men she returned safely from long voyages and storms. Strung from the arched roof are chains of exquisite boats, offered to her as thanks for delivering ships home safely. The basement, however, was what caught me off guard.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">There was an aerated chamber downstairs full of the candles for which a circulation system was specifically installed. The point was to allow the candles to burn all the way out, never being put out even through the night, which is only slightly short of evil. The candles are wishes, said to be granted by Mary if they are made with pure intentions. In Marseille, she is more prominent, and these candles in her name are more potent than prayer to Jesus.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">As always, it was only stepping out of the church that I realized that I was moved almost to tears, felt the same quiver in my heart that I feel every time I’m in an old church. Either way, getting off the topic of religion now.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">On our way down from the mountain, after capting the panorama to the best of my ability on my cell (camera is dead again), she stopped the car in the middle of the road to point out a tank from the second world war. It was guarded by a white picket fence, and the fresh writing on her side read Jeanne D’Arc. She told me about the canon that was dragged up to the church in the last year of war by the Germans to destroy the 26 century old city below, and she told me about how the soldiers who manned that canon managed to destroy the German counterpart and saved the city before they all died. My throat was already tight before she looked at me and smiled gently, and told me they were all Canadian. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Just thought that I should let you all know that I think I’m learning more about my culture, my history and what it means to be Canadian since I’ve left than I ever would have known at home. My country just keeps meaning more and more to me. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Tomorrow is my little man’s first birthday. That’s impossible, I forgot about even putting together my application together when he was born, how can a year have passed already? Where did the time go? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The train is stopped in Toulons. I still have three quarters of the trip to go.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But am I talking about the train, or this year?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks from little Shane’s birthday, and I will have been gone from home for three months. Two weeks is nothing at all.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks is sight reading and a first run through a new vocal piece.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks is two or three scale sets in saxophone.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks is buying a sandwich on the run to choir twice.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks is only putting a dent in my lesson for the prépas.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks is a quarter of the new session we’re starting in gym.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks is barely any progress in spanish class.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Two weeks is almost half of a month.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">And I just said that two weeks go by in the blink of an eye, a month passes, and the only change I notice here since there really aren’t seasons is a little surprise when I start have to change from writing Sept to Oct and Oct to Nov on my worksheets. Other than that, one month flows quietly into the next, without a distinction in the whirlwind I’m waging war against. Holy accidental alliteration (can you tell my dad was a journalist?). The point is, I honestly didn’t realize much time had passed until vacation started, then I knew that I had already done 7 weeks of schooling, and had two off. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But those silly little two weeks are over now, just like the preceding, and the next two will fly away just as quickly.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">My trip is flying by, in a flash of cypress trees, music scores and marks out of 20, in castles I didn’t have time to see (this trip), smiles of people I’ll see again soon and the days that melt away between one event and the next. On the 14th, I’m going to see Ta Bouche, an Operette where Eva and her brother will play (and sing). That’s 10 days away now, but when I first arrived at her house it was a week short of a month away. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I’ll blink and a year will have gone by, and I’ll blink, and a year will have gone by and I’ll be gone again. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Somehow, when I had imagined a train ride through the mountains of Province in france, I didn’t imagine as many factories, and storage plants. How strange, to look up one minute, and be in a concrete graveyard, and the next be passing a winding road that leads up to a villa on a hill, over looking infant vineyards. How beautiful, to see a 2 meter high farmhouse, in the middle of a field where a nameless farmer is storing his rusty old tools. It’s like a photograph my mother feel in love with, only a fall rendition. I guess there are seasons here after all, I just have to stop looking for red maple leaves.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Actually, I guess I wouldn’t find such a spectacle at home either, since you’re already sleeping under flurries. What a funny friend you are time, it seems to me that you steal everything that we r. </span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-65456980090527334732010-10-29T02:53:00.000-07:002010-10-29T02:53:35.149-07:00Train ride to Marseille<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">17:45</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Station, Mémère and Pépère waving forever</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mother running alongside</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Promenade of the Anglais</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Brief splotch of ghetto</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This train is an ocean liner on wheels</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Filthy sea gulls</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rough turn, shifting in my seat</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tunnel, why I’m not sure</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Madames et messieurs, en quelques instants nous allons vous offrir un repas</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tunnel is over; another station, Cannes already?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Si.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jackass 3D, Mister Mystère, Carte SFR, Saw 3D</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Train stations are almost as desolate as airports, which I hate.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How much hair gel would just the men represented in this car amount to? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Scarfs. Furs. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Very old lady in a wheelchair, pushed by pretty woman.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Did I end up in the wrong seat? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Goodbye Cannes </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Graffiti lines my windows, where did my sea view go?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Swarms of little black birds that whirl, and dance, and remind me of my brother</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There’s la mer (not the ocean, very important)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Three different types of clouds, though one set may be jet stream residue</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Beaches are rocky, but the water is nice and dark today</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Will I really make remarks like this for an hour? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think I mis heard the announcement earlier</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wheels need to be oiled, how much would that cost, how many lives could that money save?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh. Park full of trees like the ones you see in Tarzan</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Attendant steps into my seat to let someone pass: Back to the trees</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">River, apartment, tall pines, with skinny trunks that touch the sky, topped with a tupé</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Volleyball court in a man made beach (I know it’s man made because it’s sandy)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Something metal just feel and made a lot of noise behind me</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Two idiots beside me guaffing over a video game</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mountains, with a village at the foot, painted pinky-orange-tan (pretty?)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Other side of tunnel: rock facades sprinkled with houses and trees</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">baby blue, roan, this road is too twisty to describe the graduation in color</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The rocks are really red here, like Arizona</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Nice light at a distance, premonition of actual Atlantis?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I haven’t seen an oliver in a few minutes. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">18:07</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tourist on a cliff and sailboat in the distance.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Erosion of the stone</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">French flag Red Rocks, White Waves, Blue doesn’t fit</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Putting away the biscuits since I already ate two rows</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">October 27th: I’m a day early</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Trees are vivacious green, they’ll always be</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sunset is painting everything gold, I can see that even though my back is to the sun</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No I haven’t been smoking.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was up early this morning to walk 2km for a haircut (he straightened it) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Eyesore gas stations, revolting in disuse</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Well maintained cyprès lining a road, lined with expensive cars </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">With such a denser population, what’s the city’s carbon footprint?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tiny red (gold) stone church (I like them from the outside) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whoosh whoosh, another tunnel</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m not scared of the dark</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Out of tunnel, a moment of silence- baby cries, squealing wheels, idiots game</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Will I be used to the rush of palm trees when I see them aerially? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I should be working on my prépas course about Allen Ginsberg</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Another announcement:</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">En quelques instants, nous allons arriver à la Gare Saint Raphael</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In that case, hello gaufres, goodbye guaffers! </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What a gloomy little station- man runs by with bichon frisé</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lady in front of me with IPad types like mom</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Little Barbie girl walks by to go to the bathroom, her mother leans to stalk her clearly</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Another mother arrives with daughter and a son. Snooty stock man is in the wrong seat (his book is an english money book, I’m unimpressed, he’s unimpressed by having to sit beside types-like-a-chicken-lady)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yes Mr, I will smile at you while you wait for the roadblock to pass.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Old train cabs, rusting where the’ve stalled, arts in progress</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">18:23</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This is going to be long. Maybe, I can cut it into segmets, and on nights I don’t have time to write a blog, I’ll post these instead. Am I lazy, or do I fear no one will read for disintrest?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oui, doucement les enfants, il faut surtout rien dire qui pourra offendre (ou etre trop fort)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When did I get into the countryside? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">SHh.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Depots-car lots-suburbs-fields and everything is fenced in (keeping in or out?)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There are three rows of men sleeping in the mirror on the ceiling</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Holy Hills. Am I in Nevada or France? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Cotton candy sky; Exhibition Park in Bridgewater every year; for birthday, failed plans</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That’s unfortunate</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I could have sworn that train of thought would end well</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Barely out of infancy, children speak better than I do: unsettling (but well behaved)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Farmers fields</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Maybe these windows are tinted red: the soil seems off tone too</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Graffiti themed route? A little house, floorboards to tiles; recreated</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Massive plant (do you import or export) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Abandonned sink, chair, front half of old truck- we must be close to another stop</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Something burning a village away, the wind is chewing the smoke</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Recycled air makes my hair cranky (also unfortunate, I was hoping to make a presentable impression) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of the men in the mirror woke up</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Night is falling, street lights defend their posts valiantly</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One single, orange-yellow house perched on a large hill like a crown</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I like cars</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Montrez vos billets s’il vous plait!</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">DidItaketherightseat?Whatifsomethinggoeswrong?WheredidIhidemydarnedtickets?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Star punched in the paper by the uniformed attendant (Polar express! -don’t think about Christmas stories you dolt- I’m still definitely keeping that ticket) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">18:41</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">41- 23 equals 18 / 23 - 07 equals 16 / 18- 16 equals 2</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have to coincidentally check my phone at (18:41+ (:18+:2) equals 19:01) 19:01 to keep my rhythm (yes I distort numbers like that for fun, who knows why I dislike math class) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Pictures-Application-Lesson-FrenchHomework-Pictures-Am I boring you?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Chicken lady’s book must have been boring her because she’s asleep now </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Leather Jacket Money man is writing in his book (how many times could he replace the crayon that crying little girl broke for that one pen? How many slates could he buy for a school in Africa? How many schools in Africa could he have built with the bulging wallet that just fell out of his pocket? Would he offer one bill? Doubt it)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Excusez- moi Messieur, je crois que vous aviez perdu quelque chose...</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ouf. British buisness men have bad french accents (attitudes)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No, you do not need another chocolate wafer.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Coutryside in greyscale: Brown-green (grey), Green (grey), dark Green (tree line is also grey), dark Charcoal (first row of mountains fading into the darkness are almost black (but definitely are grey)), Slate Blue (suggesting a certain greyishness) and a constant tone shift from light blue to midnight blue is a starless sky. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How optimistic.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’m not being (moody - a typical teen - emo - depressive) pessimistic though</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Head to toe, I’m new!</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">New boots! They drive my brother insane, who already confesses ‘heels aren’t his thing’ since he’s far too polite to admit he can’t stand them (black suede booties with little metal claps on a bow that ties up on the heel) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">New jeans! Never shop in France unless you’re a US size 6, it will send you into a swirling vortex of self-image doom (nonetheless, I don’t hate these baggy-style, lowrise)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">New sweater! White, which is self explanatory (but for those of you who don’t baby sit, haven’t been in Girl Guides, and have never pitied their mothers doing brothers laundry: for the other 98 percent of the world, rule of thumb states that nothing ever stays white) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">New pull! No, I’m not sure if that’s a word in english (it’s a navy blue warm thing, not a sweater since it’s open in the front, and not a cardigan, since it has a sash, not buttons) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">New haircut! I already complained about that today. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Hmm. Optimism, optimism...</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What isn’t new? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The rings on my middle fingers:</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Left: Fleur- de- Lys surrounded by a thick band of half heart shaped flowers that my brothers offered me for my sweet 16</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Right: My name spelled out in hieroglyphics (I have déja-vu, and no, I didn’t just say that to stick another french expression in there, I’m pretty sure I already told you about these rings, so I’ll drop the subject) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And of course my locket, from grammy - in my pocket when it’s not around my neck</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was told that when you put a picture in a locket, you never take it out, so to choose them wisely. I think I did pretty well: I put the two boys who don’t have the choice but to put up with me for the rest of their lives. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Salut Toulon. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Is it possible I still have three stops to go? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">19:11 </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ten minutes late. I wrecked my pattern. 50 minutes to go.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have aquired a seat mate! </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Naturally, she would not like a chocolate, and takes out her cell phone. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">People are so friendly. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I love kids. The little broken crayon boy is playing Mario Kart. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How many hours does an American boy play per capita? European? South American? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What about the little boys that manufacture the cardboard boxes they come in?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">On that note, the flavor of my munchies is ruined.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">A fine state of affairs the world is in when people can type and watch out the window for inspiration to fill cyber-pages, tasting disgust at the idea of blood shed over chocolate and diamonds, people throwing away their money on Gucci bags, ripped jeans and-</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And still, every mother puts in a full day, that’s only begun when it’s PJ time. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘The world doesn’t need a president: It needs a mother’</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Cathy (the comic book that I was obsessed with in 9th grade) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Not only from Cathy, from the same volume, but the same strip states</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘If you played fair, and shared with the others then people wouldn’t fight with you! And for goodness’ sake, if you make a mess clean it up!’</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Imagine the government that could be run strictly on a regime of a mothers critiques...</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Eat your vegetables (good for the environment! They use a tiny fragment of the space to produce in comparison to the mass amounts of meat north America consumes). </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Clean your room, I don’t care if it’s your room, it’s nice for everyone else not to see the mess- Don’t you dare hide it all under your bed or put it in the laundry for me to take care of! (Landfills, carbon footprint, you name it.) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don’t care what the class average is, I know you can do better! (In each student taking responsibility, class average goes up, class average goes up, initiative goes up, etc) We’re having leftovers, it would be wasteful to throw that all away (did you know that the average European throws out 23 percent of their meals? Don’t quote me on that, I heard it on the radio, but I don’t know if the radio is a citable source. On that note-) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Who told you that? you can’t believe everything you hear! (Oh hey Cold War)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Turn out the light when you leave the room (If we all cut back on energy consumption... Or consumption in general actually...) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Don’t swear! It makes you sound less intelligent! </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That one I just agree with</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It’s not an epic metaphor to solving the worlds issues</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">19:29 </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">my laptop battery is at 40 percent</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So far: One thousand Nine hundred Twenty Nine</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">words. </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now that was a fun number puzzle to work out!</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Am I really that different from Mr Money (who left without saying a word)</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yes, I like to think I am (who am I to say? I didn’t look up at his stop) </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We both play with numbers, he just made a career out of it</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For all I know, he might enjoy opera and jazz music</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I can’t tell when we’re in tunnels anymore - Are they the track lights or city lights?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">City lights to kitchens, and living rooms, and children's bedrooms, where those two poor little kids should be tucked in right now, not on a bus</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What a sheltered life I’ve led</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How can my generation bring children into the world in good conscience? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They’re destined to latch onto technology like crack babies, destined to fail at bringing global warming back from the brink, destined to die in guilt of the hundreds of thousands of younger people taken by AIDs and cancer before them</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">They’re destined to leave less for their children, less space, food, water, hope, goodwill, clean air, moments they can recall total silence without the infernal buzz that is the value of our society</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Neon, drills, engines, four different IPods, crackling receipts in brand name pockets</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don’t fear for my children, because they would have enough</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I don’t fear aging, wouldn’t wage a war against wrinkles with cremes or incisions, I’m too much like my mother for that who loves her smile lines</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But I fear my children wouldn’t be like their grandmother, or mine</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Is it not terrifying, the idea of watching the last real wax and twine candles burn out? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That in time may come the dawn of a day where nothing is genuine, nothing is real? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What of a mothers love? Will even that prevail institutions, and the need for careers, to buy a better life, to take cars, not trains? </span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Marseilles.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here we are.</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One day, this station will be reduced to rubble</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">How will mothers get their children home safe?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Where will the grandmothers wave from, on the day the world falls?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Will I be a mother or a grandmother on that day?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Will I already be burnt out?</span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because it will come.</span></span></span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-58399295452020768682010-10-29T02:34:00.000-07:002010-10-29T02:34:18.690-07:00The Misadventures of Having Three Brothers<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Day 1</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Technically, day one was when I arrived at a train station at 8 in the evening, a last minute switch, for fear of not arriving because of trains of strike. I showed up a day early, and was received to their home by a meal Thomas and Christophe prepared. We watched a french comedy, and then I settled into Mathieus room (I’m told it was quite the escapade, an original endeavor, a three hour task; to clean), and fell asleep to the sound of the youngest two brothers laughing and cracking jokes through the wall. Is it possible that I missed the rowdiness of having brothers? We’ll see. That was day minus One.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I woke up at 8, since the night before Mathieu make a joke about seeing me at lunchtime I wake up so late at home (mom wakes me at 10:30), and the boys proclaimed it story time! All the times they dunk the last one under, the time with the ice cubes, oh joy! Turns out, my cell phone has a built in alarm clock, and it only took me 20 minutes to work it out!</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Up, breakfast, and making sure Thomas is up; I was in my room working on my lesson by 10. Yeesh! Everyone in the house works quietly until, maybe noon? Either way, I got half of my prépas course finished, started tweaking a poem I wrote on the train (depending on how much sense I manage to extract from the rambling, I may post it later), got all of Mathieu’s english assignment for the vacation done with him. I was laughing at Thomas, who apologizes when he kills people in his grand theft auto style video game, when we sat down for lunch.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And then.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Would you like to see a view of marseilles? Of course I would! ... What kind of shoes did you bring?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Two hours later found me with (multiple blisters and) my french men atop a mountain: the wrong mountain. Christophe cut me two branches of Provincial flowers! They’re pretty :) Anyway, I saw half of the view Marseille has to offer. From there, the boys were able to plan this week, one day I’ll go to see these ruins, another, knowing I’m a female they proposed to take me shopping, one day I definitely have to go downtown (How unfortunate I'm not 18, Christophe would have taken me dancing), et cetera! But, we had to scurry on our way down so as not to make Mathieu late: He got braces!! Some people really can’t pull off braces, but he can! </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Wanna know how much I miss having guys around like the ones from back home? I watched a soccer game. On TV. All the way through. With french commentary on British players. And I actually watched! Snuggled into the corner of a leather couch, I was even contemplating enduring a basketball game with Thomas when everyone else got home; so we watched some whacked out comedy called Samantha Oups instead. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Failing at following the crude humor didn’t last too long, and I had only been suffering briefly when the Chamouleaus asked if we wanted to go out for supper, so off we went (after Christophe and Mathieu had finished wrestling/boxing for the front seat, naturally). Entrée? Pesto and feta baked muscles. YUM. Main course? Italian sausage Gnocchi s in tomato paste (I’d say *om nom nom*, but everyone here eats really quickly, so it was more like *gulp*). Piece de resistance (ie. Desert): Creme brulée. T'was excellent, but I’m still convinced I’m going to track down the little restaurant in Paris where I had it first... Someday :) </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">These days are flying by. I missed blogging on the day I had been away from home for two months, and yesterday marked my two months in France. About 20 percent of my trip is over (much to my fathers glee as you can imagine). Where did that time go? I still don’t feel like I have my feet on the ground most days. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So let’s recap:</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Ride a motorcycle: Check. Go to the Opera: Check. Visit Italy and eat pizza (and ice cream, and pasta, and....): Check. Learn to do a cartwheel: Check. Walk the Promenade des Anglais: Check. Visit Mathieu in Marseille: Check. Buy black lace gloves: Check. Weekend at Adélie, Eva and Gretas: Check. Set into my schedule: work in progress. Finish Christmas shopping: also a work in progress. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Realize how much home means to me every morning that I wake up and don’t know where I am today: big check. Reality check that is. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">It’s exhausting to be so behind in almost everything I do over here. In ear training for example, I’m about ten years behind. It feels like everyday, I’m learning more things about the complicated systems that I’m only temporarily part of. The idea of laying roots that I’m going to tear back up in what in all fairness is very soon, seems self destructive. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">We’re on vacation right now. A very vague sketch so far has been: Friday after school shopping with Adélie, then to school (with bags) for spanish course, then to College Matisse to get luggage and sax, then being disappointed when my bus passed Auréliens going in opposite directions (This is going to the the first time I've been away from him for more than two days at a time since the day I met him) then to the Conservatory, then to Eva’s! There until sunday late afternoon, then to Mémère and Pépère s! Crammed practice, haircut, a great Ella Fitzgerald video, time to pick out three gifts and 6k in one day, 2 of which were in heels, and organizing a travel switch between Sunday and Wednesday evening. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Today is friday. I have to go now, we leave for the movies in a bit, and then Thomas and one of his buddies are getting an english lesson! </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So, again I have to go. But I know it’s halloween at home, and the leaves here aren’t going to turn, I have to put on a sweater when it’s under 15 degrees, and it seems that everyone points out the snow on mountain peaks an eternity away. I fantasize about home, but I wouldn’t come back. Not yet. Too much left to check off. <3</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">Love always,</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">xoxooxooxoxoxoxo</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;">*O*</span></span></span></span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8882588748255589952.post-37907036500111764662010-10-26T13:01:00.000-07:002010-10-26T13:01:35.983-07:00For Those Boycotting my 'fake-happy blog'<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Bussing through the most industrial sector of a Mediterranean paradise</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Trying the distinguish between palm fronds, and daydreaming of pine boughs</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Dulling the shock of a Ford by counting Cimiez, Renaults, Peugeots passing by</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Expanses of azure blue ocean, gazing out of grey eyes that match known waters</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Singing along with the radio, no one realizing you understand the lyrics</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Salmon apartments, terra-cotta tiles that won’t be disguised in a blanket after fall</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Weekend with alto player and opera singer in Nice, two ago with Italian ballerina</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Headed for Antibes, a stop-over before meeting a friends family in Marseille</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Kids ride over coveted grasses of parks at 5 PM in 19 degrees</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who spends their time thinking about Christmas gifts in October? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Pharmacie, Lingerie, Boulangerie wall an inconspicuous bus station</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Every other foot person smoking, two ladies complain in german</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Designer handbags, Olive trees, </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">planes flying home without me aboard</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">But I’ve passed the airport, long ago, passed the Hippodrome, passed my time at home</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Behind me the mountain village of my host family’s home, place Massena, my lycée</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">I’m here, on a bus, in Province, trapped within the parameters of my heart strings</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">An ocean is a long way to stretch, even when others yearn for closeness as well</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who loves their host brother for the boy he still is and the man he’ll be?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who vainly searches names of European cuisine who fade from tongue and memory? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who pays no mind to the advances of french musicians, future politicians, romances?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Who travels at ease at nightfall alone, but won’t sleep until they hear goodnight?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">What happened to all the faces and spaces that seem familiar?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">When will my head stop spinning, be calm at a resting pace? </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Where am I heading after I get to the end of this road?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Why will the crunch of snow below my feet fall on foreign ground this Christmas?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;">How did I get here? </span></div>*O*somewhereNicehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04325059898537058553noreply@blogger.com2