What a fun date to write!

Random thoughts…

It’s countdown time for me. Three weeks to go, here. And Paris — and maybe all of France — is “on pause” this week. Schools are closed, as are a lot of businesses. Retailers and Restauranteurs, no — they’re busier than ever, if yesterday was any indication.

I bought a few summery dresses yesterday because it’s so warm here now and jeans are just too heavy in a city with no a/c. My apartment is warm, but not awful. The fan that I discovered in the closet is quite modern, and does a remarkable job in cooling things down. My three windows are all double-door size, and allow some breezes when open. No screens here anywhere, hence all the iconic wrought iron railings you see all over the city at every single window.

Dresses are la norme, ici en été, usually with some form of sneaker, which I love. They’re lightweight and cool. J’ai acheté des robes, et aussi des pantalons en coton. I’m more than set for the remainder of my time here.

My bestie (since age 5) from the U.S. is coming, and I can’t wait!!! We’ll be doing the touristy things together, and I’ll share with her what I know and what I’ve learned.

I can’t wait to visit all the museums again in the next 3 weeks, and some new ones that have been on “my list.” I’m planning to absorb as much ART as I can, but not on weekends. I don’t have to, so I won’t. Avoiding crowds, still masking on public transportation and in museums, even though it’s not required. A lot of people here are still masking indoors and on public transit, and plenty are not, since the recent rule change. No fights, though. Live and let live.

Live and let live. Remember that James Bond movie (and the song by Paul McCarney and Wings) from the 70’s — “Live and Let Die”? Maybe too many people took that to heart, I don’t know. It feels that way sometimes these days. I do remember my grandmother, who raised me and whom I called “Nan” or “Nanny,” being horrified by those lyrics. I well remember her saying, “Live and let die? What happened to Live and let live…?”

She was an eclectic mix of old-fashioned and modern. She worked full-time all her life, when most women did not. Fiercely independent. We went to church every Sunday — but she kept an arm’s length. She was always interested in the new, but maintained old-fashioned sensibilities, too. She was quite particular about where she bought fruit, for example, and bought it only in season. She didn’t always trust what was put in our drinking water and would think nothing of picking up the phone to call the Philadelphia Waterworks, asking them if they changed something because she thought it tasted different. She hated plastic, so we had a milkman deliver our milks/juices for longer than most. I vividly remember the tin box on our top step where milk bottles would magically appear. I loved riding the city busses, trolleys, and trains with her and I knew exactly how do it because of her. She hated cheap — especially chocolate. Before our ride home on the train/or bus, we would often buy a small box of chocolates from the department store in Center City. I still remember those small white boxes and crinkly paper, and how we’d both smile and raise our eyebrows looking at each other as we sampled them.

It’s Sunday here. Yesterday, I made myself an American breakfast that Nan would have been proud of. Today, I had half of a gigantic Pain au Raison with my coffee, like the French. I have no homework, and nowhere to be, but I will practice my French today — and may even re-write the notes from my last classes, because I’m that nerd.

My prof, Beatrice (Oral/Speaking class) took a moment during break on Friday, our last day, to share with me her frustration with some of the young students in class who just showed ZERO interest or enthusiasm. I agreed with her and said I was slightly embarrassed because they were American. She didn’t hold that against them at all, and shook that off, but she really had to work to pull them into the exercises. She said she was exhausted and had never experienced this before. Honestly, I admit I’ve never seen such blatant disinterest from young adults. They just wore I’M BORED unabashedly on their sleeves and faces and even in their voices. She told me she saw that they’d written, “This is so boring” on their paper. She saw that! OMG, I felt awful. She was such a good teacher! Not boring, always smiling or laughing, engaging everyone individually. I made sure she knew how I felt about her.

I was always first to raise my hand and participate in the skits and whatnot with genuine interest and enthusiasm. I was sometimes paired with these college-aged students, and worked to engage them in our group. One time, an older student from Australia and I did the entire written exercise ourselves — and one of these students said, “Wow you guys are really carrying us.” Lol! Beyond! It was true; we did ALL the work and were having fun doing it. Unbeknownst to us, this work was about to turn into a competitive game against the other half of the class. Our team won that event! These younger students actually got into the spirit of it — using our notes — because I kept passing my notebook down the line as we took turns. The prof and I felt they had no idea of the opportunity they’d been given and were squandering. I do wonder if they’ll return at my age and see things differently.

Last night I met one of my new friends from Grammar Class (she’s from Italy) for a glass of champagne. She really needed a friend. A listener. Some things are universal. I was glad to be there for her. She’s in a foreign country, like me. It was nice that she trusted me to share her problems with. I’ll make sure to check in on her before I leave.

À tout à l’heure!