one week . . .

ambialet n'est pas montmartre mais tant pis

la plus grande verite qu'on puisse apprendre un jour est qu'il suffit d'aimer et de l'etre en retour.

ma famille me manque

ils m'ont envoye plus de photos. this hike was not 3hrs long, but was punctuated by welcomed breaks to taste blackberries and fresh mint.

nothing is perfect but it has to be someday

i sat through mass today with a whirlwind of thoughts circling my brain. pere jammes’ words were flying over my head so i decided to occupy my time by going through the prayers i had forgotten. i started in english and tried translating in french. it wasn't long before i realized i had forgotten them in english as well. needless to say, my mind started to wander . .

i remembered having a discussion about different versions of the act of contrition. mine, of course, was different and therefore wrong. so as pere jammes continued with what i'm sure was a lovely homily, i was trying to figure out who gets to decide what is right and what is wrong. the world would be such a perfect place if people could just accept the differences of others. instead we're so eager to reject diverse people and their ideas. for some reason, it's easier to say 'your act of contrition is so wrong!! o m g!! where did you learn that??' than to say 'oh i haven't heard that version before. that's very interesting. thank you for introducing me to something new'. it will be a long time until that catches on and i know i’ll be waiting a forever for any real change. nothing is perfect but it has to be someday so i’ll keep dreaming.

J'aime bien la glace

C'est vrai. C'est tout.

You're the wanker, if anyone is

After two fun-filled weeks, my family's vacation is over and they've headed home. I am very grateful for their company. Without them, I would have been completely lost here and all alone. They were a tremendous help in developing my french, and I'd like to think I was the same for their English. We did all sorts of things together: cooking, kayaking, hiking, swimming, running, watching movies, playing games, shopping, and touring Albi. It was very sad for me to see them go, and I hope the feeling was mutual. My family left in the morning of the same day a concert was held in the church. As they were packing up the car, I was helping the British couple set up for the event. And once my family had left for good, Peter and Margaret swept me under their wings. The performers were a group of six - two violinists, two violists, and two cellists - and I thought they were absolutely phenomenal. The show really motivated me to find a viola and make up for some lost time. I won't. Afterwards, I had dinner at Peter and Margaret's with a few other Britts - one of whom is a violist with the London Symphony Orchestra and who was not impressed with the evening's perfomance. They are all really great company. I'm glad we've been able to put that whole revolution thing behind us and get along so well. After many glasses of wine, I mentioned to Angela just how much I enjoy listening to them talk with their accents. She replied with a laugh, 'No darling, it's you with the accent'. Hilarious. The next evening, we all had dinner together again at Angela and Ben's house. It was another fun evening spent with fun people. Dick, the violist, drove me home and I vaguely remember mentioning to him how the last few days have really shown me all that I'm missing out on by not being British. He laughed and I went on to list things like lamb with mint jelly, tea, the pound!! The next evening, I had dinner again with Peter and Margaret and then we headed to the Cafe de la Presqu'ile for another concert of Irish folksongs. The main guy was an Irish laddy who sang and switched between the violin, mandolin, and harmonica. He was accompanied by a German on guitar. It was our usual crowd - Peter and Margaret, Ben and Angela, Dick, and myself - and then I met three more British families! We dominated the entire of stage right. Last year, one of my new British mates was brought on stage to assist the show by playing a plastic banana. She was sitting next to me. I knew that as soon as the singer made note of that to the crowd, that I'd be next. My table recommended one of the Britts I had just met to help and then I was chosen along with some French man. She was on the banana, I was on apple, and he was on spoons, and we all had our solos during 'When the Saints Go Marching In'. I found that breakdowns on apples don't go so well and unfortunately there is photo-documentation. Anyways. It was a really fun night. Margaret stole a poster for me and we got it autographed. I'll be with them again tomorrow and for the rest of the weekend as is it the grand fete d'Ambialet. Now it's not just fun and game with the Britts. It really is hard work holding on to 'my accent'!

si seulement . . .

One evening as Benedicte and I were doing the dishes from dinner, she made what I would call a profound point. She said that you cannot choose where you live and the people who live there as well. Of course she was only talking about a recent relocation from Paris to a suburban area about two hours away from there. I took her point and processed it on a larger scale. I would love to be able to stay here forever but I would have to leave behind my family and closest friends. Once I'm stateside again, I'll be with those people but pining for another return. So here I stand at the fork in the road. Which path will I take?? Let's be honest, I always come back.