this is my love of language

Oh, Paris, city of...

Lights
Traffic
That special smell of urine mixed with fresh bread with salty armpits and gorgeous cheese
Hot sun and cool wind
Grey tin roofs
Staring
Eyes demanding a "pardon" if one bumps into another person
Welcoming smiles from the local boulangerie and cave
Dog poop in the grates around trees
Short chimneys lined like ceramic pots waiting for gods
Flies who know to dart into an apartment and can find their way out immediately
Daredevil pigeons that blow the hair out of your face
Groups of chanting, drunk tourists
A new "traditional" restaurant on the corner (replacing the old Italian one)
A burned, empty building where I had my last panini (little bugs crawled on my shoes there)


I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I am frantically trying to re-build my nest. The apartment looked the same when I got in and the first thing I did was unlock the shutters, push them open and let the air in. It rained just after I bought dinner. The subletters left a bit of food and odds and ends. I made my bed and fixed the futon. I took a shower and adjusted things (soap dish over here, shower head like so). I remembered this place. Now, I'm trying to unpack the boxes I left and the things I brought back from Geneve. In between, buying groceries and amenities. In between, running off this afternoon to school to meet with my colleague to talk about the conference, see some friends there. I am Scandinavian American, and we like to keep busy. .. I guess ..

Meanwhile, I'm walking the long way to the supermarche to absorb the city again. It's brilliant. It's brilliant to see the tourists (less now than the past couple of months though) with eyes wide open and giggles as they walk from Pigalle to the Moulin Rouge - all the sex stores surprise them. UK frat boy types posing with arms spread wide in front of the 3-story Sex World store. Older couples giggling with cameras around their necks. And, on the benches, along the promenade, sit all the regulars - some with beers, some waiting for their man, some with sandwiches. I love this neighborhood.

It's easy to jump back in, although it takes me my own sweet time to do it. I miss having the awesome flatmate I had. I miss the lake and the old town and my dear bicycle. I miss petite chat Lion. I made some good friends there and I miss them.

Easing in....

Leaving on a jet plane

Well, rather, on a fast train.

Bought my ticket to Paris on Monday. Leaving on 9/11. Seems appropriate since I left the USA for Paris on the same date - after all, tickets are cheaper then. It's my reinvention of a bad day into something good, some change.

Cinque Terre was great. It wasn't the pilgrimage I thought it would be, but it brought me closer to my good friend. It was a lot drier this time around so we weren't slipping on rocks the whole hike. The pasta was excellent, the seafood fresh, the sun boiling, the exercise cathartic.

Since I got back to Geneve, have been working on photos, working on the conference I'm planning for the students of my school and 4 other schools that will happen in November. (How oh how did I rope myself into this one?) Also, caught all the DNC and RNC action online. Interesting differences. I'm scared, I'm hopeful, I have no idea what's going on. It feels strange not to be participating in another one of the most important historic events of my country. Strange, but relieving. I don't envy my past co-workers who are working so hard for this election. I'm slightly disillusioned, but yet inspired still by Obama. I can't imagine what the campaign trail does to a person, but I hope everyone is taking their vitamins. (Especially after the news clips of Hilary talking about eating pizza all the time.)

.....
9/11/08

It's always strange to see an empty room without the hope and excitement of filling it. I can't wait to arrive in Paris, although I'm not looking forward to the miles of up/down stairs with my backpack and suitcase. They need to invent elevators. Seriously, I still wonder what physically-challenged people do to get around. And, then, I'll have the long climb of 101 stairs to my apartment. I'll go up, unload the backpack, go down, separate out the suitcase and go up with both. Then, I will pass out. No, then, I will make the bed, check the apartment, get food, get wine, and slowly unpack to fill an empty room with future.

Last night, the flatmate and I had a wonderful meal, drank really great wine, and read tarot cards again. It's quite interesting this pagan ritual. Interpretation can play a major part, but I never, not once, picked up the "fool" card. In fact, it seemed as if my fingers were blessed to pick out only cards with strength, communication, warmth, internal power, and victory. I'm excited about this next year of school, and I can't wait to see what happens afterwards.

Well, see you all back in Paris! Oui, oui, Paris.

Ciao, Geneve!

Now, that's good organizer talk

“I realize that I am not the likeliest candidate for this office. I don’t fit the typical pedigree, and I haven’t spent my career in the halls of Washington. But I stand before you tonight because all across America something is stirring. What the naysayers don’t understand is that this election has never been about me. It’s about you.”

- Barack Obama, August 28, 2008

Maybe some McCain supporters are racist

I pondered it before.

But now I'm starting to think that they really are.




Chris Matthews Battles Full-On PUMA Inanity







"PUMAs -- women who love Hillary Clinton whilst simultaneously hating the policies for which Clinton has fought." c/o Huffington