24 brand new hours

It will come as no surprise to those who know me well that I can be rather hard on myself. I tend to feel that I should already know how to do something, even if it's the first time. Sometimes I fuck up in some major (to me) way, but mostly I beat myself up over small things. Not enough of this, too much of that.

But the thing that keeps it all in perspective for me at the end of the day is knowing that tomorrow I begin again, with 24 brand new hours. There is so much freedom in the realization that the choices I made today don't have to be the choices I make tomorrow.

I should mention that this idea is not my own, but was introduced to me by the Vietnamese monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, and I wrote about it two years ago in this post.

A lot has been happening here since the last time I posted, and much of it deserves posts of their own. I'll give you some highlights and a teaser that there's some great stuff coming this summer. Can't quite blog about it yet, but soon!

It's been a year now since I started teaching after school art in my home. It's been an amazing experience. I regularly post photos of the beautiful (truly) work these kids do. Please take a moment and visit the photo gallery.

Last fall I found myself bored one afternoon (I don't handle boredom well), so I started looking online for volunteer opportunities. Within about a week I found myself as Site Coordinator for Sabin Elementary's SMART program. SMART is an amazing literacy program in many schools throughout Oregon and I work with about 30 children and 30 adult volunteers twice a week. Guess what? I'm not bored anymore!

I've started studying French again, with a vengeance. This is actually what prompted today's post about 24 brand new hours. I've been studying French off and on since I was 15 years old, and I haven't improved much. But I recently had a paradigm shift, which has changed everything. First of all, I realized that either I was in this for the long haul, or there was just no point in trying. I kept thinking that I could cram in a bunch of French for a few months and then be good at it. Or worse, that I should already be good at it. Now I finally realize that it's a lifelong undertaking. Realizing that has changed the way I'm approaching learning and, as a result, I've had lots of breakthroughs in the past few weeks. (Maybe I'll post some resources at some point. There's a lot of great ones out there).

I have a new favorite song. Ok, not a revelation, but it's replaced the song that was my favorite for about the past 15 years. I just love the way their voices sound together.

There's more to come.

Lost in Translation

So we're having dinner with the neighbors, who have varying amounts of english. We're discussing what traditional Christmas dinners might consist of, both in the States and in France, and I mention goose. However, I use the wrong word and say instead "canard", or "duck" So we're trying to explain goose, and Anne (the wife, whose english is the best in the house, and certainly better than my french) is trying to translate goose. What she comes up with is "wife of the duck". Love it.

Lest you think this sounds romantic

So today we finally went to the big supermarché (think Freddy’s if you’re from the Pacific Northwest). After almost 2 weeks of pretty rustic home cooking (lots of eggs, potatoes, cabbage, cheese, bread) finding this place definitely resulted in some binge shopping. I loaded up the stroller with such random things as Nutella, capers, frozen pizza, premade crepes with caramel and salt (oh come on, like you wouldn’t!), a decadent chocolate cake mix, fish sticks (can’t take the 3 out of a 3-yr-old), and ingredients for vin chaud. I think I speak for us all when I say it’s so nice to have options.

And that right there, I think, gets to the heart of a lot of the differences between living in the states and living elsewhere. We have so, so many options at home that it’s often hard to make a choice. Here the options are far fewer in general (cheese notwithstanding). Take laundry for example. Those who know me know that I am no laundry wimp. We chose to use cloth diapers with Anna and, through trial and error, to wash them ourselves. Moreover, I frequently don’t dry my own clothing, hanging it instead on the lovely Ikea racks we have in our laundry room, where it’s a balmy 68 degrees.

Here in Rouen (and in much of Europe I gather) we have a tiny washing machine, but no dryer. To run a single load of laundry takes 2.5 hours to complete, and then everything needs to be hung up on a line outside. I’m sure this is delightful in the summertime, but in December it’s hideous. By the time I’ve hung everything (maybe 10-12 minutes) I can barely feel my fingers and need to go rub myself all over the wall radiators in order to properly thaw. The laundry then hangs on the line for 2 days where it gets almost dry. We gather it all up and spread it all over the house, focusing mainly on the aforementioned wall radiators (which have become my best friends). One more day like this and our clothing is dry, crunchy, and ready to be worn.

Of course, there’s a flip side to everything. As I write this (at roughly 2 p.m.), I am drinking a glass of vin chaud, which I just made while the chocolate cake was baking. This is not how I usually do things. First of all, drinking wine before 5 p.m. is usually either due to a celebration (a special brunch, for example) or because if I don’t I will surely hurt someone soon (more desperation than relaxation). Here it’s just the way things are done. Walking home from the grocery store today we passed a restaurant window and I happened to look inside. Every person, at every table, had 4 wine glasses in front of them. At lunch time. Surely this is the way things are supposed to be.

And a completely random note: French people, especially French people in Paris, seem to think I’m French. They ask me for directions, talk to me in French (as opposed to David, whom they always address in English), etc. I take this as a high compliment. I can’t even attribute it to my fancy new red lipstick Tasia made me buy for Paris, since I wasn’t wearing it at the time (sorry Tas!).