the busy heart

Got home Sunday at eight or so, having bickered all day. We're so not bicker-ers. We were tired and ready for non-vacation time. I had to teach Monday afternoon. I thought my syllabus for the class was on my laptop. It wasn't. I thought it was perhaps on another laptop, which was in the shop. It wasn't. I learned this an hour before class started. Whoops. Maybe the syllabus never existed. Maybe I'm out of my mind. Maybe all the gelato turned my brain to mucus. Ew. Anyway, then I had jury duty. They didn't pick me, glory be. Then I had to write the syllabus that perhaps never existed. All this to say, Paris? I was in Paris? How very odd. This is a different world, a different life, and I haven't even unpacked yet. My pretty pink shoes are still wrapped in a scarf, tucked in my backpack. It's been too rainy here to wear them anyway. But I do remember. Our very last night we rode the train into the city and wandered around, bickering, trying...

A very rainy day in Paris. We were damp and cold. A bad day to wear sandals, which I bravely donned after looking at weather.com, which said it was going to be sunny as could be today. Imagine my horror when I emerged from the metro to a downpour. I no longer trust those guys for international weather. Still, that didn't keep us from ... Sacre Couer. Or even from climbing the 300 steps to the dome so we could see this: And this: See? Damp, but pleased (at least I am--Sam was concentrating on taking the picture.) on top of the dome. And it may have been perfect weather to see l'Orangerie's Monets. They're in these bright, gorgeous, oval-shaped rooms. This should give you a sense. I took this one at the tail-end of Sam doing a dance. He prefers dancing to smiling in pictures. Sam risked his life to stand in the rain, in the middle of the Champs Elysees, and take this picture. I was taking one from much further away, and he grabbed my camera and insisted on getti...

We went to mass at Notre Dame today. On our way there, coming out of the metro station, there was a big line of cars, tons of police, very excited people lining the street. Obama, of course. We arrived just in time to see him drive by. People in France loooovvvveee Obama. Love him. They find out you're American and they want to discuss. And while I don't loathe him, and I confess I did vote for him, I'm increasingly disturbed by the hero-worship I see with this guy. Anyway, I must say that to be so close to the president, and by accident, was sort of cool for about ten seconds. Sam was mostly just worried we'd be late for mass. Mass was lovely. Different than LDS services, but lovely. I liked the movement, the interaction, the call and answer, the music, the incense, the gorgeous, gorgeous setting (see below). Sam was moved, felt connected to it. And I like to see him feel connected to it. Afterwards, and after a brilliant lunch in a vegetarian place near...

Pre-ballet, we went to dinner at a place that decorated with pots and silverware. Think of my fork bracelet. Is this not the perfect place for a Deja? Check out the light fixture above our table. Those are spoons. Right when you walk in, there's a big tower of copper pots that twists like a DNA helix up to the ceiling. It was just gorgeous. I'd like to do that in my kitchen some day. But don't copper pots cost a couple hundred bucks a piece? Here is the ballet building. Man oh man was it pretty. It was even prettier on the inside. I don't think I've ever been somewhere so opulent. And the ceiling. Loved the ceiling. It was Chagall, and I love me the Chagall. And us, before we went in. Aren't we pretty, too? This reminds me of a picture we took before going to the Mobile, Mississippi ballet just after we started "hanging out." I'd post it as contrast, but the chubbiness I've acquired would make me weep, and I really want to ke...

I did take pictures but they just seemed boring because no one was in them. My mother taught me that pictures without people in them are boring. So here are some boring pictures. But first, a picture with a cat in it. This is Sprout's nightly ritual. She's scarce for most of the day and then, when it's time for bed, she comes and flirts with Sam and purrs like a racecar. She loves him. Who can blame her? He's the one who rescued her and her kittens from the rain. I caught their lovefest on my camera before we left town. Okay, I'm not kidding about the skinny people eating pastries. It's really quite incredible. They're everywhere. I should get a picture. Maybe tomorrow ... You know what else I should have taken a picture of? This in-cred-i-ble chocolate crepe with chocolate sauce and chocolate powder and whipped cream and happiness on the side. I'm SURE it was vegan. (You try pretending to be vegan when you can't talk and you walk six ...

Hello from France. I'm sitting on the couch of our little holiday apartment (and I mean little as in cute AND very small.). The windows are open and I can hear cars and motorcycles, dogs barking, people speaking French. I'm waiting for Sam to arrive. His plane should have landed, so it won't be long now. I will be glad to have someone to talk to, someone to kiss on the steps of little churches, someone to speak French on my behalf. I've done okay communicating; it's just exhausting and sort of scary. I've walked A LOT since I got here. Today I walked for four hours. I could have taken the metro but I wanted to see things and now the city makes some sense. I got lost a few times, but what does lost matter when you're in Paris? I remembered that travel--particularly when you're alone and in a country where you don't speak the language--boils you down to your essential elements. I am feet, eyes, and stomach. I walk, see stuff, and eat when I...