If you have itunes you should check out one of the free songs that's up. It's When the Saints by Sara Groves. She's one of my favorite artists, and her new song is really good. She's a folk-Christian (maybe not folk, but that's what itunes calls her) singer. Anyway, this is one of those songs that you just sit and listen to on repeat and think about.
Lord I have a heavy burden of all I've seen and know
It's more than I can handle
But your word is burning like a fire shut up in my bones
and I can’t let it go
And when I'm weary and overwrought
with so many battles left unfought
I think of Paul and Silas in the prison yard
I hear their song of freedom rising to the stars
And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them
Lord it's all that I can't carry and cannot leave behind
it all can overwhelm me
but I think of all who've gone before them and lived the faithful life
their courage compels me
And when I'm weary and overwrought
with so many battles left unfought
I think of Paul and Silas in the prison yard
I hear their song of freedom rising to the stars
I see the shepherd Moses in the Pharaoh's court
I hear his call for freedom for the people of the Lord
And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them
I see the long quiet walk along the Underground Railroad
I see the slave awakening to the value of her soul
I see the young missionary at the angry spear
I see his family returning with no trace of fear
I see the long hard shadows of Calcutta nights
I see the sisters standing by the dying man's side
I see the young girl huddled on the brothel floor
I see the man with a passion come and kicking down that door
I see the man of sorrow and his long troubled road
I see the world on his shoulders and my easy load
And when the Saints go marching in
I want to be one of them
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Randomness
Good Old French Frustrations of the Week:
When I got back from England, it was about time to do laundry. The bad news is that there is one laundry mat in this town, and it’s about a mile and half away from our flat. That’s an easy enough walk on its own, but with laundry in tow it’s a little tougher. Add that to the simple fact that laundry mats in France charge an arm and a leg and you can see what choice I’m left with. It was time to fill up the tub with some hot water and soap and do some good old hand-washing. Ha! That’s fairly easy, right? You just fill up the tub, throw some clothes in, and they get clean… No. They don’t. It was a nightmare. My first mistake was waiting so long to do laundry in the first place. My second mistake was thinking I could still do it all in one swoop. My next mistake was thinking that the water couldn’t possibly be hot enough to need to separate lights and darks. Let’s just say that I had a tub full of purplish/black water after a few minutes and I frantically searched for my whites to save them from the evil dark dyes. Once I pulled out all the light clothes, my job should have been fairly straight forward. No. How do you get socks and stuff clean? I scrubbed them by hand with soap, but I guess my hands have nothing on the agitation cycle of a washing machine. They would not get clean. The shirts and stuff, fine, they weren’t even dirty really. But seriously, I think I needed one of those old scrub boards or something. It was a pain. My clothes also took about 2 days to dry because I hung them up on our rack outside, but it was friggin’ cold here and I think they froze more than they dried. I would have brought the rack inside, but I thought they’d be better off in the sun (for the few hours it showed its face around here). Let’s just say I’m taking some stuff to the laundry mat next time. I’m not going to even bother doing sheets myself; they’ll never dry. Lesson learned: I would *never* want to be a housewife before washers and dryers were invented. You spend half your days washing clothes (and I only had to do my own, not a whole family’s!). I guess that’s misleading though, because I wouldn’t want to be a housewife *now*. But you know what I mean.
Yesterday some men came in to get the computers out of my room. Yay! I asked if they were taking all of them and they said they were and that I should have my room back that night. So I skipped off to class and hoped they’d be finished when I returned. You can imagine my disappointment when Rachel told me that they only took ONE computer and never came back. And they locked the door again. Liars. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice having a bed in the living room. It’s more comfy when we hang out and watch movies. But, it’s cold here. They just switched on the heating in this building, and as you can probably guess the radiator in the living room does not work. Rachel’s room is cozy. The WC is toasty. But the living room is Antarctica. Well, that’s not true. My clock says it only gets down to about 57 degrees F. But that’s cold for being indoors. I sleep with two scratchy wool blankets and my Wisconsin sweats. It works, sort of, but if I move then I wake up because it’s freezing in here at night. Brrrr. And don’t even say I’m from Wisconsin so I shouldn’t mind the cold. Even Wisconsinites go home to warm cozy houses. I don’t mind it outside, it’s when it’s cold inside that I dont like it. At least Ive found the best way to warm up: hot chocolate. I use the French semi-ecreme milk (50%, they don’t do skim, and to be honest I think it’s better) and some cheap bars of dark chocolate. I throw the milk on a burner and bring the milk and chocolate to a boil. Soooo good. Oh and you have to add some sugar (well, a lot of sugar), but it’s wonderful. I average 2 cups a day to get warm. There’s no better way. It makes you think of Christmas.
Monday was pretty interesting. It was supposed to be my first day really teaching (it’s only taken 3 weeks). I didn’t have much prepared, to be honest. Well I went to my class with Liliane, and almost all of the kids were ones who went on the trip. It was great, because when I do the debates on Mondays I can make them talk because we’re already friends. They won’t be embarrassed to speak English with me there, because they’ve gotten used to me already. And I know their names! I also saw Bene and Camille in the hallway and they ran up to me and started gabbing away. I asked if they’d be interested in an English club of sorts and they said they’d definitely like something like that (otherwise I won’t see many of them anymore). So that was the good part. Then I had my BTS classes (20-something tech school kids- accounting, computers, etc), well I was supposed to have them. I went to B101 and no one was there. I waited awhile because the French are notoriously late, and still no one showed. Uh oh. I went up to B201 and B301 and checked the wings to see if I could find my class. Nothing. So I went to the staff room and hung out alone. When I caught the teacher I asked her where the room was supposed to be, and I guess I was in the right room she had just told the kids the wrong room (yay, not my fault). Oh and I had another class after that, but that teacher forgot to tell the kids that it started that day so no one showed. I guess I won’t see those kids until after vacation. Rachel swears that we’re actually here to bring some organization to these French teachers.
Highlights:
I’ve joined the swim team! Today I went to my first ‘trial’ practice, and it was wonderful. I’m not joking, it was glorious. By that I mean, I suck at swimming. I’m super out of shape, and my strokes are all wrong, but I don’t care. The first lap felt great, and after that my body ached. It hadn’t moved like that in a long time. The coach guy was really nice. I was there early so I had my own lane for warm up (about 900 meters, felt like the main set, esp the butterfly). He gave me stroke tips for fly/breast which he said slowly because he wasn’t sure if I’d understand. Little did he know that I knew exactly what he was trying to say because I could feel it myself when I swam. I was a coach too, after all. I need to stretch out my strokes and ‘profiter’ from my kicks with longer glides. Anyway, it felt amazing, and I even saw a student I had in class yesterday (one of the sophomores). She even recognized me, and seemed genuinely happy to see me there. I only stayed for an hour, because I wanted to start off slowly. I did about 2100 meters, which is a lot for not swimming in forever, but that only really amounted to a warm up and kick/swim set. The only down side was that about half way through more people came so I was with the 14-16 year olds who were just starting the work out from the beginning. I felt too old to be swimming with them, but the only ‘adults’ were the old ladies doing aqua aerobics. I guess there’s not many people my age around here (except my obnoxious BTS students). After practice, I felt wonderful, and tomorrow I go back again!
And in case you were worried that I'd lose my Americanness after being surronding by so many frenchies and brits, dont be. I showed Rachel one episode of American Dreams because I have the 1st season here (the show is about a family in the 60s stuggling with pretty much everything that happened back then). She loved it and we've gone on to watch the first 3 disks in 3 days. She's becoming an American; I'm so proud. She said the characters have become like a part of her family, cause she finds herself rooting for them. I love it. Just when you thought I came over here to get some culture...
Oh and vacation is coming up, so I may be out of touch for the next week or so (though I can still get phonecalls! sunday... hint hint). I just started and I have a 10 day vacation. I love France. This weekend I’m going to Montpellier to see Elodie for a few days (and I’ll just miss the other Monty girls I think, which is sad). After that I’m training up to Paris and maybe spending a few days there with Irene who has yet to properly see the city. And after that maybe we’ll go to Caen for kicks. Who knows? The great part is I should get paid on the 28th (hopefully), which is kind of like a really generous 22nd birthday present from the French government. The timing is beautiful. If I don’t get paid, it'll be a bday downer cause I’ll be broke and may have to nix some of the travel plans… So here’s to hoping the paperwork went through…
When I got back from England, it was about time to do laundry. The bad news is that there is one laundry mat in this town, and it’s about a mile and half away from our flat. That’s an easy enough walk on its own, but with laundry in tow it’s a little tougher. Add that to the simple fact that laundry mats in France charge an arm and a leg and you can see what choice I’m left with. It was time to fill up the tub with some hot water and soap and do some good old hand-washing. Ha! That’s fairly easy, right? You just fill up the tub, throw some clothes in, and they get clean… No. They don’t. It was a nightmare. My first mistake was waiting so long to do laundry in the first place. My second mistake was thinking I could still do it all in one swoop. My next mistake was thinking that the water couldn’t possibly be hot enough to need to separate lights and darks. Let’s just say that I had a tub full of purplish/black water after a few minutes and I frantically searched for my whites to save them from the evil dark dyes. Once I pulled out all the light clothes, my job should have been fairly straight forward. No. How do you get socks and stuff clean? I scrubbed them by hand with soap, but I guess my hands have nothing on the agitation cycle of a washing machine. They would not get clean. The shirts and stuff, fine, they weren’t even dirty really. But seriously, I think I needed one of those old scrub boards or something. It was a pain. My clothes also took about 2 days to dry because I hung them up on our rack outside, but it was friggin’ cold here and I think they froze more than they dried. I would have brought the rack inside, but I thought they’d be better off in the sun (for the few hours it showed its face around here). Let’s just say I’m taking some stuff to the laundry mat next time. I’m not going to even bother doing sheets myself; they’ll never dry. Lesson learned: I would *never* want to be a housewife before washers and dryers were invented. You spend half your days washing clothes (and I only had to do my own, not a whole family’s!). I guess that’s misleading though, because I wouldn’t want to be a housewife *now*. But you know what I mean.
Yesterday some men came in to get the computers out of my room. Yay! I asked if they were taking all of them and they said they were and that I should have my room back that night. So I skipped off to class and hoped they’d be finished when I returned. You can imagine my disappointment when Rachel told me that they only took ONE computer and never came back. And they locked the door again. Liars. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice having a bed in the living room. It’s more comfy when we hang out and watch movies. But, it’s cold here. They just switched on the heating in this building, and as you can probably guess the radiator in the living room does not work. Rachel’s room is cozy. The WC is toasty. But the living room is Antarctica. Well, that’s not true. My clock says it only gets down to about 57 degrees F. But that’s cold for being indoors. I sleep with two scratchy wool blankets and my Wisconsin sweats. It works, sort of, but if I move then I wake up because it’s freezing in here at night. Brrrr. And don’t even say I’m from Wisconsin so I shouldn’t mind the cold. Even Wisconsinites go home to warm cozy houses. I don’t mind it outside, it’s when it’s cold inside that I dont like it. At least Ive found the best way to warm up: hot chocolate. I use the French semi-ecreme milk (50%, they don’t do skim, and to be honest I think it’s better) and some cheap bars of dark chocolate. I throw the milk on a burner and bring the milk and chocolate to a boil. Soooo good. Oh and you have to add some sugar (well, a lot of sugar), but it’s wonderful. I average 2 cups a day to get warm. There’s no better way. It makes you think of Christmas.
Monday was pretty interesting. It was supposed to be my first day really teaching (it’s only taken 3 weeks). I didn’t have much prepared, to be honest. Well I went to my class with Liliane, and almost all of the kids were ones who went on the trip. It was great, because when I do the debates on Mondays I can make them talk because we’re already friends. They won’t be embarrassed to speak English with me there, because they’ve gotten used to me already. And I know their names! I also saw Bene and Camille in the hallway and they ran up to me and started gabbing away. I asked if they’d be interested in an English club of sorts and they said they’d definitely like something like that (otherwise I won’t see many of them anymore). So that was the good part. Then I had my BTS classes (20-something tech school kids- accounting, computers, etc), well I was supposed to have them. I went to B101 and no one was there. I waited awhile because the French are notoriously late, and still no one showed. Uh oh. I went up to B201 and B301 and checked the wings to see if I could find my class. Nothing. So I went to the staff room and hung out alone. When I caught the teacher I asked her where the room was supposed to be, and I guess I was in the right room she had just told the kids the wrong room (yay, not my fault). Oh and I had another class after that, but that teacher forgot to tell the kids that it started that day so no one showed. I guess I won’t see those kids until after vacation. Rachel swears that we’re actually here to bring some organization to these French teachers.
Highlights:
I’ve joined the swim team! Today I went to my first ‘trial’ practice, and it was wonderful. I’m not joking, it was glorious. By that I mean, I suck at swimming. I’m super out of shape, and my strokes are all wrong, but I don’t care. The first lap felt great, and after that my body ached. It hadn’t moved like that in a long time. The coach guy was really nice. I was there early so I had my own lane for warm up (about 900 meters, felt like the main set, esp the butterfly). He gave me stroke tips for fly/breast which he said slowly because he wasn’t sure if I’d understand. Little did he know that I knew exactly what he was trying to say because I could feel it myself when I swam. I was a coach too, after all. I need to stretch out my strokes and ‘profiter’ from my kicks with longer glides. Anyway, it felt amazing, and I even saw a student I had in class yesterday (one of the sophomores). She even recognized me, and seemed genuinely happy to see me there. I only stayed for an hour, because I wanted to start off slowly. I did about 2100 meters, which is a lot for not swimming in forever, but that only really amounted to a warm up and kick/swim set. The only down side was that about half way through more people came so I was with the 14-16 year olds who were just starting the work out from the beginning. I felt too old to be swimming with them, but the only ‘adults’ were the old ladies doing aqua aerobics. I guess there’s not many people my age around here (except my obnoxious BTS students). After practice, I felt wonderful, and tomorrow I go back again!
And in case you were worried that I'd lose my Americanness after being surronding by so many frenchies and brits, dont be. I showed Rachel one episode of American Dreams because I have the 1st season here (the show is about a family in the 60s stuggling with pretty much everything that happened back then). She loved it and we've gone on to watch the first 3 disks in 3 days. She's becoming an American; I'm so proud. She said the characters have become like a part of her family, cause she finds herself rooting for them. I love it. Just when you thought I came over here to get some culture...
Oh and vacation is coming up, so I may be out of touch for the next week or so (though I can still get phonecalls! sunday... hint hint). I just started and I have a 10 day vacation. I love France. This weekend I’m going to Montpellier to see Elodie for a few days (and I’ll just miss the other Monty girls I think, which is sad). After that I’m training up to Paris and maybe spending a few days there with Irene who has yet to properly see the city. And after that maybe we’ll go to Caen for kicks. Who knows? The great part is I should get paid on the 28th (hopefully), which is kind of like a really generous 22nd birthday present from the French government. The timing is beautiful. If I don’t get paid, it'll be a bday downer cause I’ll be broke and may have to nix some of the travel plans… So here’s to hoping the paperwork went through…
Monday, October 22, 2007
Long Live the Queen
No, I don’t really care much for Lizzy II, but I couldn’t think of a better title for this post. Most of you probably weren’t aware, but I had the very good fortune of accompanying the exchange trip to Southern England this week. Yves couldn’t make it, and I was the last minute substitute. So pretty much I got a free trip to the mother country and all I had to do was count off some kids every now and then. Here’s how it went…
The Trip:
5h45 departure from school. Early as it was, I was as wide awake as the students. Traveling does that to me. Unfortunately the trip didn’t start off too great because several students forgot their identity cards / permission slips. This resulted in our leader Anne-Helene’s breakdown and rant at Sylvie (the well-meaning English teacher) in front of all the students. I didn’t understand what all she said, but I know it was bad because Sylvie was quiet the whole way to Caen and I could see tears rolling down her face. Anne (the non-English speaking history teacher) and I were beside ourselves. Luckily things picked up after that. I happened to be sitting in front of some very outgoing students who promptly introduced themselves to me. I tried my best to learn their names, and I was pretty pumped that they didn’t treat me like the uncool teacher. When we divided up into groups (one for each of the 4 teachers) the kids from the bus quickly scribbled down their names on a sheet and claimed me as their chaperon. Sweet, they like me. Good start. Their group name: les 7 mervielleux du monde which translates best to the “Magnificent 7.” That may be their name, but I called them (in my head) my little bohemian rhapsodies, because most of them were hippies. Precious.
(In the picture from the left: Charlotte, Camille, Francois, Simon, Gaëlle, Laura, and Benedicte)
We arrived sometime in the afternoon at Ringwood Language School (posh much?). I met my host teacher, Hish. Hish is a physics teacher, and he’s not actually English. He’s Egyptian, which is pretty cool. The downside was that the whole weekend was kind of awkward because I wasn’t sure what to talk to him about. He’s an older Egyptian guy who lives by himself (his son lives with his ex-wife). So the first 2 or 3 days was kind of weird, even though he was super nice, but after that it was good and we got on really well.
The School:
Ringwood Language School is a middle-high school. I think containing middle school aged kids all in one building is a really bad idea, esp for the 8th graders. It’s best to keep them with everyone else, because they’re going through the most awkward age of their lives. Luckily for these kids clothes wouldn’t be a teasing issue because they all wore the same silly uniform. Now don’t get me wrong, I see the point of the uniform. It levels out kids so they can’t be singled out for not wearing something expensive and trendy, but do they really need to wear blazers with the school crest and striped ties?? No they don’t. A tee-shirt or sweatshirt with the Ringwood logo would suffice. I’d even settle for a collar shirt / sweater combo. But a blazer? Really? They looked like mini-adults. Although, I will admit, they managed to look pretty scruffy in spite of their blazers and ties. And I thought a tie was an automatic cleaner-upper… In fact, in the school meeting I sat in on, the head complained that the teachers weren’t making sure the kids looked “smart” enough. Give ‘em a break. They’re kids. You’re luckily they don’t have mud stains all over thier uniforms.
The good part about the uniform thing is that they don’t have to wear one when they hit their last 2-3 years of school. So when they’re old enough to be some-what mature, they can unleash their individuality. These kids are called the ‘sixth form’ kids, whatever that means. I still can’t figure out the English system. Overall, the kids there were pretty pleasant, and they’re super polite. There was one day when I was in line at a sandwich shop behind a ton of students and when they realized I was there one kid said, “hey, you can go to the front of the line ‘cause we’re just students.” I hesitated to skip them all, but they made me. I guess their in-town lunch privileges come with some rules, so as to keep the townsfolk happy. It wasn’t the rule that I thought was nice, it was the fact that they actually told me about it when I obviously had no idea I could do that. I feel like American kids would’ve just let me wait. But, I could be wrong.
Culture Lessons:
First and foremost, driving in England is terrifying, and it’s not just the wrong side of the road bit. Some roads are not big enough for two cars, but somehow two cars still pass each other on them (at a fairly fast clip too). Hish said there are A roads and B roads. I was scared of the A roads (the bigger ones) until I saw some B roads in the New Forest. They were seriously big enough for ONE car. And Hish was not a cautious driver. I was a nervous wreck as we drove through the winding roads. Somehow we made it through okay, but you better believe I’ll take the roads into consideration if I ever want to live over here…
TV is bizarre over here. First of all, the BBC has a monopoly over the news, and they do the same dang story over and over and over again all week. I got real sick of hearing about the obesity crisis, the postal strike (yes England is turning into France), and the rugby tournament (in which, if you care, France lost to England in the semifinals much to the dismay of all my students, but England in turn lost this Saturday to South Africa). I also watched Hollyoaks, which could give the OC a run for its money. In one episode half the cast almost died of CO2 poisoning and some girl’s sister was accused of sleeping with her sister’s husband. It was great in a trashy-pointless kind of way. The other show I briefly watched was show called Doc Martin, which was terrible. It was about this doctor in Cornwall and these really weird town people. I didn’t care for it much. And sadly, I saw Randall and Hopkirk on one channel all week that Hish’s tv didn’t pick up (yeah KC, it was a let down)! Oh and for a few seconds I watched the kids show called Stupid. Terrible. I didn’t get it at all. It had a king and some midget guy. The British sense of humour baffles me sometimes.
Alex, Hish’s 6 year son, spent the weekend with us. He was a doll, and I think we’re friends now. He taught me all about Bionicals, these cartoon things that you have to build on your own and they become these robot-monster thing. Oh and he showed me Dr. Who toys (some supersonic screwdriver/pen?). Whoever that is. Apparently Dr. Who is the British Star Trek as far as a sci-fi following goes (says Hish). Not sure if I think the Dr. Who fans come close to Trekies. Oh and Alex is a pretty deep kid. We were talking about infinity, for some reason, and I told him that it’s so big the numbers never stop. He said, “But numbers have to stop. If everyone died, who would be around to count?” The old lady behind us thought that was precious.
Pubs. Three students in my group were doing their project on English pubs. Apparently pubs are not the same as bars, according to the owner of the Crown tap. Bars are ‘smarter’ than pubs and serve fancier drinks like wine. Also, beer in England is not like beer in America. English beer is ‘real beer’ and American beer is what they call ‘lager.’ Whatever buddy. I’m from Wisconsin. We have real beer, or something. Not that I really know, but supposedly we brew some decent stuff.
And now for the food. I actually didn’t have that much authentic cuisine, cause Hish is Egyptian and doesn’t know how to cook (which I can’t blame him for, since I can’t either). I did have fish and chips, which were lovely but nothing special. New things I tried include plaice (flatfish), scampi (delicious), blackcurrant juice (do we have that in the US, because I’ve never heard of it but it tasted familiar), and a Cornish pasty. The pasty (pronounced with a long ahhh sound, fyi) was better than I anticipated. It was originally made in Cornwell for the miners because it’s an easily portable meal (an enclosed pastry-like thing with meat and veggies). The funny part is I faintly remember learning something about them in my online folklore class last semester, but for those who remember how that went you can probably guess just how much I did remember. Oh and I didn't have any tea.
The Sites:
Bournesmouth:
I went to this southern port with Hish over the weekend. It was a cute beach town with the whole pier-amusement ensemble of stuff to do. Unfortunately English weather was true to form that day, and the skies remained cloudy and gray so it was hard to imagine how bright the town must be during the summer.
New Forest:
This is a picture of Hish and the donkey roaming the streets of Burley, a town in New Forest. New Forest was supposedly made for some king who was bored with his usual hunting grounds, or some such nonsense, and so they planted him a 90 mile forest. It’s actually really pretty, and there are wild-previously-domesticated animals everywhere (donkeys, ponies, horses, cows, pigs, etc).
If you live in New Forest then you have the right to let you animals graze anywhere, and even though the animals are ‘yours’ they kind of just roam free amongst the towns and forest. Everything in New Forest was ‘quaint’ and rather how I would imagine Elizabeth Bennett’s setting in Pride and Prejudice. But that’s just a thought. Check out this cabin, it cost close to a million pounds. Ridiculous. I guess this is a posh area, despite it’s country façade. All the property is crazy expensive.
Salisbury:
During the week we took day trips, and one of our destinations was Salisbury. Pictured here is the lovely cathedral that is home to one of the four surving Magna Cartas (yeah there was more than one, who knew?). It is rather pretty,
but I suppose cathedrals tend to be. I get all quite and pensive when I’m in them, and I’m not sure if it’s because part of me feels like I should be or if it’s because they really do render a sense of awe. I’m undecided. Either way, it really is cool to see such a beautiful structure dedicated to God. When I was wondering around inside I ran into Simon, one of my 7, and I asked him what he thought. He shrugged his shoulders and said (in French of course), “It’s pretty, but you know, it’s not a big deal (or it’s not that great).” Of course I asked him for an explanation and he told me, “Well I guess if you’re a believer it’s important, because, you know, it means a lot more. But if you don’t, then it’s just pretty, and that’s it.” Imagine my surprise. Deep kid. I told him I think he’s probably right. Simon, by the way, is one of the best English speakers in the group because his dad is English (though Simon claims his dad doesn’t speak much English at home), but for the first half of the trip he refused to speak English with me. The others did, fumble as they may. But by the half way mark I think he decided I was friend and not foe, because I asked him a question in English and he responded in it. I was like, wow Simon, you spoke in English, and he nonchalantly replied, “Well you asked the question in English.” We’re friends now though, and even though the other teachers told me he’s a slacker and refuses to do work, I never had a problem with him. I think it’s because I respected him, so he respected me. Some of the teachers here should try that approach (I remember my mom telling me that before I left and it really does work). The same with the other kids in my group and the random others that I met, we’re friends but they still respect my authority as a teacher (surprisingly). On the trip home, actually, the ‘bad boys,’ as I affectionately call them, started singing loudly and it was close to midnight. The other teachers started looking pissed, so I turned around and yelled “Arrete!” and they started laughing and kept going. So I got up and went back there and said, “Hey, can you guys stop or sing softly because the other teachers have headaches and people are trying to sleep.” They tried to argue with me, and joke around, but when I turned around to go back to the front they immediately stopped and quieted down. It was amazing. Ha! I can do this. When I got back up to the front the other teachers looked at me like I was the kid-whisperer or something.
Back to the Magna Carta. Who doesn’t know what that is? No one, I hope. We Americans should have all learned about it way back when and should know that it was an important step towards human rights and limiting the power of government. But NONE of the French kids had even heard about it. Some came up to me and were like, “So what is this thing??” What? You’ve never heard of it? Are you joking? So I patiently explained how it was the first time the people limited the power of the king and claimed a variety of rights that were untouchable by the sovereign. I also explained how it was a big step in the direction of the Glorious Revolution in England, the American and French Revolutions, the Declaration of Human Rights, etc. “Oh,” they said. Oh. I did my best. I told them that it was a big deal for American school children. But, maybe I was wrong, maybe only I care. Maybe most Americans don’t even know what it is. How sad would that be? Well whatever, I saw it, and it was awesome. So there.
Stonehenge:
When we went to Stonehenge the weather was wonderfully gloomy,
as one would hope for when seeing a pile of ancient rocks. Don’t get me wrong, it was cool to see it, but it really was just a bunch of rocks. They are really old, I guess, but no one knows what they were really for. Some people said the devil was taking rocks to Ireland and dropped them here, others say they were people turned to stone for dancing, but those are just legends. I don’t think it was worth the 6 pound entrance fee (that I didn’t have to pay, yay for being a teacher). I did take like 60 pictures though; I just couldn’t help it!
Bath:
This was a beautiful city, famous for the ancient Roman baths as shown here. The Romans were a cleanly bunch, unlike the uncivilized Britons… So we wandered around the baths, had a money fiasco with Anne-Helene, and spent some time exploring.
This is where Jane Austen lived for a bit of her life, which is pretty cool. Jane’s pretty sweet. I even got a picture next to the plastic statue of her outside of the Jane Austen centre (which I won’t put here because, well, it’s slightly embarrassing). In fact, there was a dude with a top hat and all next to Jane and I wanted him in the picture but he asked if I planned on coming in and I said probably not so he walked away! In the circus, a circular apartment design thing, I saw the old house of David Livingstone, which was neat. And the street sweeper tried to convince me that Nicolas Cage lives there, and I don’t think I believe him. But it was hard to tell, oh well. Oh, and my group was lovely because they got me a gift. They bought me a hippy bracelet, and they all got one too, and we took a picture of all of our bracelets together. Such sweet kids.
And home :
By Friday I was ready to go home. In fact, the weird part was that I identified Avranches as home. I wanted to go back to my bed and my flat, but Avranches has only been my home for 2 weeks. It’s strange how quickly you adapt. So yeah, Avranches is home now. Check out this picture from the ferry. I got to watch the sunset over the English channel. It was pretty amazing. Now I’m back and it’s time to work for a week and then I have a week and a half vacation for Toussaint! French life is wonderful, let me tell you.
The Trip:
5h45 departure from school. Early as it was, I was as wide awake as the students. Traveling does that to me. Unfortunately the trip didn’t start off too great because several students forgot their identity cards / permission slips. This resulted in our leader Anne-Helene’s breakdown and rant at Sylvie (the well-meaning English teacher) in front of all the students. I didn’t understand what all she said, but I know it was bad because Sylvie was quiet the whole way to Caen and I could see tears rolling down her face. Anne (the non-English speaking history teacher) and I were beside ourselves. Luckily things picked up after that. I happened to be sitting in front of some very outgoing students who promptly introduced themselves to me. I tried my best to learn their names, and I was pretty pumped that they didn’t treat me like the uncool teacher. When we divided up into groups (one for each of the 4 teachers) the kids from the bus quickly scribbled down their names on a sheet and claimed me as their chaperon. Sweet, they like me. Good start. Their group name: les 7 mervielleux du monde which translates best to the “Magnificent 7.” That may be their name, but I called them (in my head) my little bohemian rhapsodies, because most of them were hippies. Precious.
(In the picture from the left: Charlotte, Camille, Francois, Simon, Gaëlle, Laura, and Benedicte)
We arrived sometime in the afternoon at Ringwood Language School (posh much?). I met my host teacher, Hish. Hish is a physics teacher, and he’s not actually English. He’s Egyptian, which is pretty cool. The downside was that the whole weekend was kind of awkward because I wasn’t sure what to talk to him about. He’s an older Egyptian guy who lives by himself (his son lives with his ex-wife). So the first 2 or 3 days was kind of weird, even though he was super nice, but after that it was good and we got on really well.
The School:
Ringwood Language School is a middle-high school. I think containing middle school aged kids all in one building is a really bad idea, esp for the 8th graders. It’s best to keep them with everyone else, because they’re going through the most awkward age of their lives. Luckily for these kids clothes wouldn’t be a teasing issue because they all wore the same silly uniform. Now don’t get me wrong, I see the point of the uniform. It levels out kids so they can’t be singled out for not wearing something expensive and trendy, but do they really need to wear blazers with the school crest and striped ties?? No they don’t. A tee-shirt or sweatshirt with the Ringwood logo would suffice. I’d even settle for a collar shirt / sweater combo. But a blazer? Really? They looked like mini-adults. Although, I will admit, they managed to look pretty scruffy in spite of their blazers and ties. And I thought a tie was an automatic cleaner-upper… In fact, in the school meeting I sat in on, the head complained that the teachers weren’t making sure the kids looked “smart” enough. Give ‘em a break. They’re kids. You’re luckily they don’t have mud stains all over thier uniforms.
The good part about the uniform thing is that they don’t have to wear one when they hit their last 2-3 years of school. So when they’re old enough to be some-what mature, they can unleash their individuality. These kids are called the ‘sixth form’ kids, whatever that means. I still can’t figure out the English system. Overall, the kids there were pretty pleasant, and they’re super polite. There was one day when I was in line at a sandwich shop behind a ton of students and when they realized I was there one kid said, “hey, you can go to the front of the line ‘cause we’re just students.” I hesitated to skip them all, but they made me. I guess their in-town lunch privileges come with some rules, so as to keep the townsfolk happy. It wasn’t the rule that I thought was nice, it was the fact that they actually told me about it when I obviously had no idea I could do that. I feel like American kids would’ve just let me wait. But, I could be wrong.
Culture Lessons:
First and foremost, driving in England is terrifying, and it’s not just the wrong side of the road bit. Some roads are not big enough for two cars, but somehow two cars still pass each other on them (at a fairly fast clip too). Hish said there are A roads and B roads. I was scared of the A roads (the bigger ones) until I saw some B roads in the New Forest. They were seriously big enough for ONE car. And Hish was not a cautious driver. I was a nervous wreck as we drove through the winding roads. Somehow we made it through okay, but you better believe I’ll take the roads into consideration if I ever want to live over here…
TV is bizarre over here. First of all, the BBC has a monopoly over the news, and they do the same dang story over and over and over again all week. I got real sick of hearing about the obesity crisis, the postal strike (yes England is turning into France), and the rugby tournament (in which, if you care, France lost to England in the semifinals much to the dismay of all my students, but England in turn lost this Saturday to South Africa). I also watched Hollyoaks, which could give the OC a run for its money. In one episode half the cast almost died of CO2 poisoning and some girl’s sister was accused of sleeping with her sister’s husband. It was great in a trashy-pointless kind of way. The other show I briefly watched was show called Doc Martin, which was terrible. It was about this doctor in Cornwall and these really weird town people. I didn’t care for it much. And sadly, I saw Randall and Hopkirk on one channel all week that Hish’s tv didn’t pick up (yeah KC, it was a let down)! Oh and for a few seconds I watched the kids show called Stupid. Terrible. I didn’t get it at all. It had a king and some midget guy. The British sense of humour baffles me sometimes.
Alex, Hish’s 6 year son, spent the weekend with us. He was a doll, and I think we’re friends now. He taught me all about Bionicals, these cartoon things that you have to build on your own and they become these robot-monster thing. Oh and he showed me Dr. Who toys (some supersonic screwdriver/pen?). Whoever that is. Apparently Dr. Who is the British Star Trek as far as a sci-fi following goes (says Hish). Not sure if I think the Dr. Who fans come close to Trekies. Oh and Alex is a pretty deep kid. We were talking about infinity, for some reason, and I told him that it’s so big the numbers never stop. He said, “But numbers have to stop. If everyone died, who would be around to count?” The old lady behind us thought that was precious.
Pubs. Three students in my group were doing their project on English pubs. Apparently pubs are not the same as bars, according to the owner of the Crown tap. Bars are ‘smarter’ than pubs and serve fancier drinks like wine. Also, beer in England is not like beer in America. English beer is ‘real beer’ and American beer is what they call ‘lager.’ Whatever buddy. I’m from Wisconsin. We have real beer, or something. Not that I really know, but supposedly we brew some decent stuff.
And now for the food. I actually didn’t have that much authentic cuisine, cause Hish is Egyptian and doesn’t know how to cook (which I can’t blame him for, since I can’t either). I did have fish and chips, which were lovely but nothing special. New things I tried include plaice (flatfish), scampi (delicious), blackcurrant juice (do we have that in the US, because I’ve never heard of it but it tasted familiar), and a Cornish pasty. The pasty (pronounced with a long ahhh sound, fyi) was better than I anticipated. It was originally made in Cornwell for the miners because it’s an easily portable meal (an enclosed pastry-like thing with meat and veggies). The funny part is I faintly remember learning something about them in my online folklore class last semester, but for those who remember how that went you can probably guess just how much I did remember. Oh and I didn't have any tea.
The Sites:
Bournesmouth:
I went to this southern port with Hish over the weekend. It was a cute beach town with the whole pier-amusement ensemble of stuff to do. Unfortunately English weather was true to form that day, and the skies remained cloudy and gray so it was hard to imagine how bright the town must be during the summer.
New Forest:
This is a picture of Hish and the donkey roaming the streets of Burley, a town in New Forest. New Forest was supposedly made for some king who was bored with his usual hunting grounds, or some such nonsense, and so they planted him a 90 mile forest. It’s actually really pretty, and there are wild-previously-domesticated animals everywhere (donkeys, ponies, horses, cows, pigs, etc).
If you live in New Forest then you have the right to let you animals graze anywhere, and even though the animals are ‘yours’ they kind of just roam free amongst the towns and forest. Everything in New Forest was ‘quaint’ and rather how I would imagine Elizabeth Bennett’s setting in Pride and Prejudice. But that’s just a thought. Check out this cabin, it cost close to a million pounds. Ridiculous. I guess this is a posh area, despite it’s country façade. All the property is crazy expensive.Salisbury:
During the week we took day trips, and one of our destinations was Salisbury. Pictured here is the lovely cathedral that is home to one of the four surving Magna Cartas (yeah there was more than one, who knew?). It is rather pretty,
but I suppose cathedrals tend to be. I get all quite and pensive when I’m in them, and I’m not sure if it’s because part of me feels like I should be or if it’s because they really do render a sense of awe. I’m undecided. Either way, it really is cool to see such a beautiful structure dedicated to God. When I was wondering around inside I ran into Simon, one of my 7, and I asked him what he thought. He shrugged his shoulders and said (in French of course), “It’s pretty, but you know, it’s not a big deal (or it’s not that great).” Of course I asked him for an explanation and he told me, “Well I guess if you’re a believer it’s important, because, you know, it means a lot more. But if you don’t, then it’s just pretty, and that’s it.” Imagine my surprise. Deep kid. I told him I think he’s probably right. Simon, by the way, is one of the best English speakers in the group because his dad is English (though Simon claims his dad doesn’t speak much English at home), but for the first half of the trip he refused to speak English with me. The others did, fumble as they may. But by the half way mark I think he decided I was friend and not foe, because I asked him a question in English and he responded in it. I was like, wow Simon, you spoke in English, and he nonchalantly replied, “Well you asked the question in English.” We’re friends now though, and even though the other teachers told me he’s a slacker and refuses to do work, I never had a problem with him. I think it’s because I respected him, so he respected me. Some of the teachers here should try that approach (I remember my mom telling me that before I left and it really does work). The same with the other kids in my group and the random others that I met, we’re friends but they still respect my authority as a teacher (surprisingly). On the trip home, actually, the ‘bad boys,’ as I affectionately call them, started singing loudly and it was close to midnight. The other teachers started looking pissed, so I turned around and yelled “Arrete!” and they started laughing and kept going. So I got up and went back there and said, “Hey, can you guys stop or sing softly because the other teachers have headaches and people are trying to sleep.” They tried to argue with me, and joke around, but when I turned around to go back to the front they immediately stopped and quieted down. It was amazing. Ha! I can do this. When I got back up to the front the other teachers looked at me like I was the kid-whisperer or something.Back to the Magna Carta. Who doesn’t know what that is? No one, I hope. We Americans should have all learned about it way back when and should know that it was an important step towards human rights and limiting the power of government. But NONE of the French kids had even heard about it. Some came up to me and were like, “So what is this thing??” What? You’ve never heard of it? Are you joking? So I patiently explained how it was the first time the people limited the power of the king and claimed a variety of rights that were untouchable by the sovereign. I also explained how it was a big step in the direction of the Glorious Revolution in England, the American and French Revolutions, the Declaration of Human Rights, etc. “Oh,” they said. Oh. I did my best. I told them that it was a big deal for American school children. But, maybe I was wrong, maybe only I care. Maybe most Americans don’t even know what it is. How sad would that be? Well whatever, I saw it, and it was awesome. So there.
Stonehenge:
When we went to Stonehenge the weather was wonderfully gloomy,
as one would hope for when seeing a pile of ancient rocks. Don’t get me wrong, it was cool to see it, but it really was just a bunch of rocks. They are really old, I guess, but no one knows what they were really for. Some people said the devil was taking rocks to Ireland and dropped them here, others say they were people turned to stone for dancing, but those are just legends. I don’t think it was worth the 6 pound entrance fee (that I didn’t have to pay, yay for being a teacher). I did take like 60 pictures though; I just couldn’t help it!Bath:
This was a beautiful city, famous for the ancient Roman baths as shown here. The Romans were a cleanly bunch, unlike the uncivilized Britons… So we wandered around the baths, had a money fiasco with Anne-Helene, and spent some time exploring.
This is where Jane Austen lived for a bit of her life, which is pretty cool. Jane’s pretty sweet. I even got a picture next to the plastic statue of her outside of the Jane Austen centre (which I won’t put here because, well, it’s slightly embarrassing). In fact, there was a dude with a top hat and all next to Jane and I wanted him in the picture but he asked if I planned on coming in and I said probably not so he walked away! In the circus, a circular apartment design thing, I saw the old house of David Livingstone, which was neat. And the street sweeper tried to convince me that Nicolas Cage lives there, and I don’t think I believe him. But it was hard to tell, oh well. Oh, and my group was lovely because they got me a gift. They bought me a hippy bracelet, and they all got one too, and we took a picture of all of our bracelets together. Such sweet kids.And home :
By Friday I was ready to go home. In fact, the weird part was that I identified Avranches as home. I wanted to go back to my bed and my flat, but Avranches has only been my home for 2 weeks. It’s strange how quickly you adapt. So yeah, Avranches is home now. Check out this picture from the ferry. I got to watch the sunset over the English channel. It was pretty amazing. Now I’m back and it’s time to work for a week and then I have a week and a half vacation for Toussaint! French life is wonderful, let me tell you.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Britspeak
On the right side of this blog I'm keeping a running list of all the new words I'm learning from Rachel. Watch for updates. Cheers!
Paris!
Paris is the most French city in the world, of that I have no doubt. It may be infested with tourists, but the city has remarkably retained its Frenchness without faltering. Irene and I spent Monday in Paris for a medical examination to make sure we can stay in France (don’t ask), and so we had the pleasure of spending a few hours in this amazing place. This time I felt like I encountered Paris on its own terms for the first time. My Chilean amiga and I spent the whole day conversing in French (our only common language), though it was a poor French at that. Somehow that felt right, the way we ought to be talking in Paris. There’s something incongruous about speaking English there. It sets you apart, in a bad way. It keeps you from truly experiencing Paris. 
There’s something about the ethos of this city that demands proper respect be paid to the language that created it. When you walk through the courtyard of the Louvre and through the Tuleries, stop for drink at a café, or examine the inner beauty of the Notre Dame cathedral, you feel something entirely different when you speak French. You feel like you’re a part of the city. Today was also the day of blessings. I can thankfully report that the doctor found me in good health, and I have the x-ray with me to prove it. I also had the privilege of witnessing Irene’s first visit to the city she’s dreamed about since she was a little girl, but never thought she’d ever see. Words cannot describe the sight of her coming up from the metro and seeing the courtyard of the Louvre for the first time. Tears flowed from her eyes, and I knew this was a moment neither of us would forget. God was hard at work today.
I almost feel like I’ve stolen other people’s blessings. There must be some mistake. Surly I’ve enjoyed too much. I feel an overwhelming obligation to give some of them back, to pass my blessings along to other people who really need them. Maybe that’s what God intended the whole time. In fact, I’m sure that’s what he intended. Well today was the beginning. Irene could stop thanking me for showing her around the city (as though it was a burden for me!). I guess that’s the beauty. When you share a blessing, it grows even bigger then it was before. God is good. Good day.
Church
Well I went to Church this morning, and it was better than I expected. I navigated the cobblestone roads as prescribed by the tourism office. In fact, it was God who took me to the church because NONE of the roads were labeled. Fortunately, I was able to make out that it was somewhat near St. Gervais, which is fairly easy to spot from just about anywhere in the city. I just kept walking, and picked streets to follow at random. And then, when I knew I was close, I spotted on my left what appeared to be a store-front office. The sign said something to the degree of “Centre evangelique des protestants” or whatever. I didn’t think that was it, but then I saw a bunch of chairs lined up and a crowd of people inside. Tentatively, I stepped in side. Smiles swept across several faces, and I was warmly greeted by the small congregation. There were maybe 15 people in the small room, tops. The pastor came up and greeted me personally, as did many of the other churchgoers, so friendly! They were pleased to see a new face, I think. But still, I was a little malalaise as the newbie in small group of people.
Just when I thought I should just get up and get out (feeling so awkward and out of place), the little girl in the row back started chatting to me. She said something about knowing a little English (she was maybe 5 years old). She said, “I love you!” and her mom whispered in her ear the rest of the phrase “because you love Christ” though the little girl was too busy giggling to manage the rest. How can I explain the emotions that swept through my heart at that moment? I can’t. It was wonderful. I am loved. Had I forgotten? Perhaps, but she certainly hadn’t. During the worship songs (which were mainly translations of worship songs popular in the 70s- early 90s, some of which I were familiar with, I felt teary eyed. But like the good stoic I am, I held back. These people reminded me that God is in France too, lest I forget. I am forgetting an awful lot these days. Well, anyhow, it was a successful Sunday, and I hope to grow more à l’aise with the congregation in the next few weeks.
Just when I thought I should just get up and get out (feeling so awkward and out of place), the little girl in the row back started chatting to me. She said something about knowing a little English (she was maybe 5 years old). She said, “I love you!” and her mom whispered in her ear the rest of the phrase “because you love Christ” though the little girl was too busy giggling to manage the rest. How can I explain the emotions that swept through my heart at that moment? I can’t. It was wonderful. I am loved. Had I forgotten? Perhaps, but she certainly hadn’t. During the worship songs (which were mainly translations of worship songs popular in the 70s- early 90s, some of which I were familiar with, I felt teary eyed. But like the good stoic I am, I held back. These people reminded me that God is in France too, lest I forget. I am forgetting an awful lot these days. Well, anyhow, it was a successful Sunday, and I hope to grow more à l’aise with the congregation in the next few weeks.
First Week Roundup
Well my first week is through, and I’ve come out of it alive. Better than alive, actually, fantastic. I remember back in the spring when I was debating whether or not to come. I thought, Lord, if you want me to go, you better make it pretty clear. After all, I could have just kept on doing what I know, school. But when I got my acceptance letter, I knew. It’s like God just whooshed right on into my heart and said, “Go.” If you’ve heard that before, you’ll know what I’m talking about. But as much as I loved my last trip to France, I knew this would be different. God said go, and my heart said “Uh, I dunno, maybe.” It was strange, because I knew that I had to go, that I would go, yet part of me doubted. Even during the summer, for all I talked tough about it, I was really uncertain about how this year would turn out. I really believed that God wanted me here, but I didn’t know if I wanted me here. I mean France is great, but a year, and teaching? It was all so random. I didn’t have a place to live. I hadn’t saved up enough money. I knew nothing about my job. Who does that? But for all my uncertainties, God has come through like a champ (as though He wouldn’t!).
Seriously though, let me just list for you all of the blessings of this week alone (and these are only the ones I picked up on!):
Seriously though, let me just list for you all of the blessings of this week alone (and these are only the ones I picked up on!):
- A safe journey, with all of my luggage, finding the train station and everything all right, and God didn’t let me get off on the wrong train stop when I almost did…
- A place to live for close to no money a month!
- Friendly teachers picking me up from the train station and taking us home for dinner
A wonderful flatmate, who I can’t thank God enough for (we learn a ton from each other, and having her here makes life so much happier, not mention she’s just brilliant) - Two other lovely assistants to hang out with, one of whom forces us to speak French because she doesn’t speak English
- Friendly people everywhere stopping their cars for us to cross, smiling all the time, being patient with our French, and generally in a good mood contrary to the stereotype
- A beautiful city!
- Classes where I get to teach what I love (philosophy)
- A school that is taking care of all the hard paper work for me (for my bank, payment, carte de sejour, etc) when most schools make you do it yourself
- Good food and wine
- Good heath, and a clear x-ray
- A safe and fun trip to Paris
- Did I mention friends and already having some?
Well, you get the idea. This is definitely where I’m supposed to be. God did a proper job picking it out, I’ll tell you that much. The question is, what else does He have in store for me this year?? There’s always something, isn’t there? I can’t wait!
PS. I swear I’m not just sitting at my computer writing these silly posts all day long. It’s just that so much has happened this week, and I wanted to keep track of it all. Things will simmer down soon and I won’t have as much to report back. Or at least, I think I won’t…
Première Soirée
Marie-Francoise, one of the English professors, had us all over for dinner at her place in the country. We were greeted by her boyfriend (husband, PACsed friend?) and his daughter. They gave us aperitifs, though I didn’t drink the licorice-flavored Pastis, and these mini crepes with pink fish spread on them (they were surprisingly delicious). We ate and drank and talked for hours. It was wonderful. For dinner she served lamb, straight from her neighbor’s herd, which was amazingly good. Then they brought out salad and cheese, and they laughed at our fear of the cheese. I tried them, even though French cheese often scares me, and again, I was pleasantly surprised! I also never thought that the wine you drank with it made all that big a difference, because it tastes all the same to me, but it really does. Whatever stuff they picked for it really complemented the different cheeses. I’ll have to have her write down what they all were. At this point we were stuffed, and still having a jolly time chatting about all of our wonderful cultural differences, and then they brought out desert. It was a delicious frozen chocolate ice cream cake thing. It’s funny because you may think you’re full but when you see cake you’re stomach somehow makes room for it… At this point it was pretty late, and we really thought the night was over, but as it turns out we still had to have our post-dinner tea. I tried to pass on it, since I generally hate tea, but Marie-F coaxed me into taking some. It was fantastic. I’m not kidding. Whatever Indian spiced goodness it was, I liked it. I was worried that it had caffeine in it, but they assured me it had none because it was meant for helping you digest after dinner. Well, that’s brilliant. Perhaps I do like tea after all! All of them were so friendly, and I think we’re going to go back soon. Marie-F wants us all to switch off cooking so that Irene can make us a Chilean meal, the Brits can make us fish and chips or something (jk), and I can make something that’s typically American. Well, I can’t cook, and you all know that. So unless they want fried eggs and toast, I’m afraid they’re out of look on my end! Can you think of anything I can make for them with French ingredients?? If you can, leave me a message. I told them I might try my hand at something Italian like my mom makes. Marie-F said that would count, but I told her I’d have to practice first and then we’d see!
Gaia Club
When I met the philosophy teacher, he looked exactly the way any proper philosophy teacher ought to look. His gray hair was disheveled, but not obnoxiously so. His gray beard was groomed even less carefully, but was still neat in its own way. Along with his haphazardly chosen sweater-khaki ensemble, he managed to appear sufficiently indifferent to his appearance to be a proper philosopher but executed in an almost purposeful manor. Purposeful in that he meant to show the world that appearance is illusionary anyway, so is would be silly for someone to dedicate much time to it. Okay, maybe I’m reading into it (after all, he didn’t look that much different from Yves, but Yves had no hair so it’s hard to tell). The gym teacher, whom I also met, shared the philosophy teacher’s disinclination for tidiness, but in a way that exuded both his love of sport (track pants) and inner sensitivity (glasses on a necklace so they don’t get lost). Together they emanated a sort of warmth and thoughtfulness that would have been unachievable had they donned the sleeker French fashion that men here are want to adapt. You could tell straight away that they were the sort of people who took life seriously enough when it mattered (in this case, protecting the environment) but not seriously enough to let it damage their good humour.
The gym teacher and philosophy teacher have also, it seems, taken me under their wing to join the “Gaia” club. I didn’t know what it was, but the gym teacher wanted me to come to their tete-a-tete in the library because he knows that I’m doing (not really voluntarily) environmental stuff for Marie-Francoise’s class. So I went, and somehow I got roped into coming every Friday to their planning session for how to introduce the kids to environmental activism. Those who know me know that this isn’t exactly my passion, but whatever. It looks like I’m going to be going ‘green’ after all. Madison couldn’t change me but somehow the gym teacher has managed to get me involved... It’s a good way to practice my French, so I’ll take it. And besides, it’s time I started caring about the earth and stuff, after all, I am a philosopher. Oh and the philosophy teacher told me I could come see any of his classes whenever I want, which I just may do… Though it seems like the French style philosophy isn’t really my favorite (it’s more like a ‘history of’ philosophy where they study the classics and whatnot). In fact, Marie-F has me doing not only environmental ethics with one class, but in her other class she wants me to teach them what she calls “American style” philosophy. I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t “American style” really, but rather just the stuff I like to study –which is different. But she wants me to teach the kids political philosophy like Rawls (who she heard about once and wants me to explain to them and her) and contemporary moral issues. How I wish I had brought my course packet from that class. What on earth am I going to do? The French seem to think that if you get a degree in something, like philosophy, then you are an expert or something. Ha! Like I’m qualified to teach it… in and not in their maternal language. Who knows how that’s going to work out. Watch, I’ll love it. Let’s hope so…
The gym teacher and philosophy teacher have also, it seems, taken me under their wing to join the “Gaia” club. I didn’t know what it was, but the gym teacher wanted me to come to their tete-a-tete in the library because he knows that I’m doing (not really voluntarily) environmental stuff for Marie-Francoise’s class. So I went, and somehow I got roped into coming every Friday to their planning session for how to introduce the kids to environmental activism. Those who know me know that this isn’t exactly my passion, but whatever. It looks like I’m going to be going ‘green’ after all. Madison couldn’t change me but somehow the gym teacher has managed to get me involved... It’s a good way to practice my French, so I’ll take it. And besides, it’s time I started caring about the earth and stuff, after all, I am a philosopher. Oh and the philosophy teacher told me I could come see any of his classes whenever I want, which I just may do… Though it seems like the French style philosophy isn’t really my favorite (it’s more like a ‘history of’ philosophy where they study the classics and whatnot). In fact, Marie-F has me doing not only environmental ethics with one class, but in her other class she wants me to teach them what she calls “American style” philosophy. I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t “American style” really, but rather just the stuff I like to study –which is different. But she wants me to teach the kids political philosophy like Rawls (who she heard about once and wants me to explain to them and her) and contemporary moral issues. How I wish I had brought my course packet from that class. What on earth am I going to do? The French seem to think that if you get a degree in something, like philosophy, then you are an expert or something. Ha! Like I’m qualified to teach it… in and not in their maternal language. Who knows how that’s going to work out. Watch, I’ll love it. Let’s hope so…
Nothing's Perfect
You may not believe me when I tell you this, but the other night I discovered that my bed was broken. The first few nights I had noticed that it tilted considerably to the right, but I thought nothing of it. I thought that perhaps the wooden boards had parted and left an unsupported part on the right side. However, when I crawled underneath to inspect it further, I found that the person who built it forgot to nail in the support beam on the right side where all of the planks rest. It had a few nails toward the head and foot, but the middle parts were bending down towards the floor. Great. I certainly couldn’t sleep on it, because I knew if I did I would fall to the floor in the middle of the night. So I threw the mattress on the floor, in the living room, and remade my bed. I hollered to Rachel to come see what happened and she scurried in. When I explained what happened to her, her face filled with outrage and she exclaimed, “Bloody ‘ell!” No other expression could have done justice to our feelings at that moment. She promptly apologized for her language, but I just started laughing. I couldn’t very well stay mad about it after that. I mean, to be honest, the floor was almost more comfortable then the bed…
The next day I went to the multi-purpose woman downstairs and explained what happened. She was horrified that I slept on the floor (though I don’t know why, it’s not like I didn’t have a mattress, and it wasn’t really that big a deal), and she quickly found someone to go have a look at it with her. She said she’d make sure it got fixed that very day, which I think may be a French record. So I took her and this other lady upstairs to have a look at the broken bed, and stupid me and left the door to my ‘room’ open. Remember that room I’m not supposed to have because it’s filled with computers?? Well they had given me the key for it, so I had opened it and thrown my luggage in there so it wouldn’t be all over the living room. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to have the key and I certainly wasn’t supposed to have put my things in there. The ladies saw the room was open and they freaked out. They started going off in French about how it’s not supposed to be unlocked and I wasn’t supposed to have the key and all sorts of stuff. Crap. Now I’ve done it. They told me I had to take my stuff out, lock it, and return the key. I asked where I should put all my stuff, and they pointed out the closet (which had an old bicycle in it and other random junk) and then a wardrobe (ha that’s british for you) which had a rolled up carpet and some other stuff in it. Well, it looks like I’ll be needing some cleaning supplies if I’m going to unpack, ever. For now my suitcases are crammed in a corner of the living room, and it looks like they’re vomiting clothes out onto the floor. Rachel, bless her heart, isn’t bothered by all my stuff. I think she’s more upset for me than I am, because at this point I’ve just stopped caring. And really, the living room’s not so bad, but I really just want to be settled and it’s hard to do when I know in a month I’ll be removing/arranging everything into another room. Oh well.
The next day I went to the multi-purpose woman downstairs and explained what happened. She was horrified that I slept on the floor (though I don’t know why, it’s not like I didn’t have a mattress, and it wasn’t really that big a deal), and she quickly found someone to go have a look at it with her. She said she’d make sure it got fixed that very day, which I think may be a French record. So I took her and this other lady upstairs to have a look at the broken bed, and stupid me and left the door to my ‘room’ open. Remember that room I’m not supposed to have because it’s filled with computers?? Well they had given me the key for it, so I had opened it and thrown my luggage in there so it wouldn’t be all over the living room. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to have the key and I certainly wasn’t supposed to have put my things in there. The ladies saw the room was open and they freaked out. They started going off in French about how it’s not supposed to be unlocked and I wasn’t supposed to have the key and all sorts of stuff. Crap. Now I’ve done it. They told me I had to take my stuff out, lock it, and return the key. I asked where I should put all my stuff, and they pointed out the closet (which had an old bicycle in it and other random junk) and then a wardrobe (ha that’s british for you) which had a rolled up carpet and some other stuff in it. Well, it looks like I’ll be needing some cleaning supplies if I’m going to unpack, ever. For now my suitcases are crammed in a corner of the living room, and it looks like they’re vomiting clothes out onto the floor. Rachel, bless her heart, isn’t bothered by all my stuff. I think she’s more upset for me than I am, because at this point I’ve just stopped caring. And really, the living room’s not so bad, but I really just want to be settled and it’s hard to do when I know in a month I’ll be removing/arranging everything into another room. Oh well.
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