Monday, June 11, 2012
Going fishing.
June 10, Carneys Point.
The day at Mary Ellen's with the kids, the gods and going fishing for the first time for Dylan and Nicolas, just across the street to a small pond but they love it all the same, it's hot suddenly but we're spending a perfect summer afternoon.
The day at Mary Ellen's with the kids, the gods and going fishing for the first time for Dylan and Nicolas, just across the street to a small pond but they love it all the same, it's hot suddenly but we're spending a perfect summer afternoon.
Insane.
June 8, New Freedom.
I'm off to Chester, Pennsylvania, to take two national teacher content knowledge exams, the last in a series of hoops I've had to jump through in rapid sequence since we flew back from France almost two weeks ago and had the surprise to see Fridman there to help us drive the motor all the way to Providence from the back woods of West Virginia to interview for the chance to secure a position as a Rhode Island Teaching Fellow, a selective, highly competitive federally-affiliated program to recruit professional to teach in high-need urban schools around the nation, jumping back into the car the second the interview event was over to drive right back to meet the circus in Hancock, the whole two weeks an insane non-stop race filled with everything from roadside hurdles to two-day cramming of a phone directory-size book, two weeks jumping in and out of the circus I've barely rejoined after five months time abroad and away from my life, my home.
I'm spending the night at my friend Mary Ellen's on Wilmington, a short drive to Chester, an eternity form the circus again.
It's good to be home, if only I were there long enough to see it.
I'm off to Chester, Pennsylvania, to take two national teacher content knowledge exams, the last in a series of hoops I've had to jump through in rapid sequence since we flew back from France almost two weeks ago and had the surprise to see Fridman there to help us drive the motor all the way to Providence from the back woods of West Virginia to interview for the chance to secure a position as a Rhode Island Teaching Fellow, a selective, highly competitive federally-affiliated program to recruit professional to teach in high-need urban schools around the nation, jumping back into the car the second the interview event was over to drive right back to meet the circus in Hancock, the whole two weeks an insane non-stop race filled with everything from roadside hurdles to two-day cramming of a phone directory-size book, two weeks jumping in and out of the circus I've barely rejoined after five months time abroad and away from my life, my home.
I'm spending the night at my friend Mary Ellen's on Wilmington, a short drive to Chester, an eternity form the circus again.
It's good to be home, if only I were there long enough to see it.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
May 17, Saint-Ismier.
Today is a holiday in France (another one of those Christianity-based holiday religiously honored as a day off in the most non-religious country in the world) and we drove to the Vercors mountains and to the town of Villard-de-Lans, where I spent most my childhood summers. It was the last stop for my brother Patrick, who died there another summer almost twenty years ago.
We hiked a short trail, had lunch at the café we always went to, walked the streets we always walked and where I remember a perfect childhood bliss, and everything looked exactly the same, the same shops, the same atmosphere, and not even a new building around to spoil the scenery, breathtaking, the town looks as pastoral and postcard-perfect as it did thirty years ago, and it was resplendent in the spring light.
Today is a holiday in France (another one of those Christianity-based holiday religiously honored as a day off in the most non-religious country in the world) and we drove to the Vercors mountains and to the town of Villard-de-Lans, where I spent most my childhood summers. It was the last stop for my brother Patrick, who died there another summer almost twenty years ago.
We hiked a short trail, had lunch at the café we always went to, walked the streets we always walked and where I remember a perfect childhood bliss, and everything looked exactly the same, the same shops, the same atmosphere, and not even a new building around to spoil the scenery, breathtaking, the town looks as pastoral and postcard-perfect as it did thirty years ago, and it was resplendent in the spring light.
Tuesday, May 08, 2012
It's Hollande.
May 6, Saint-Ismier.
Joy then, in spite of all the years gone by, in spite of time, and doubts.
Memories of so long ago, 1981 and the arrival of Mitterand, a breath of fresh air, and I was improbably young then, and we moved to Paris shortly after, out of the miasma of decrepit sun-seekers to the electric youth of Paris, in time with what felt like the much-needed renewal of the country, so long in the hands of the right, so stagnant and old, a breath of fresh air with the first Socialist president, thirty years later and in spite of all the disillusions and the distance, in spite of such a different world and such a different life, joy still, and pride in this country that is not quite my own anymore now, pride for electing a new Socialist president and choosing a new hope.
And I can almost taste that vibrancy again, the youth, the electric hope, on the eve of going back to the U.S. and starting life anew on my own.
Joy then, in spite of all the years gone by, in spite of time, and doubts.
Memories of so long ago, 1981 and the arrival of Mitterand, a breath of fresh air, and I was improbably young then, and we moved to Paris shortly after, out of the miasma of decrepit sun-seekers to the electric youth of Paris, in time with what felt like the much-needed renewal of the country, so long in the hands of the right, so stagnant and old, a breath of fresh air with the first Socialist president, thirty years later and in spite of all the disillusions and the distance, in spite of such a different world and such a different life, joy still, and pride in this country that is not quite my own anymore now, pride for electing a new Socialist president and choosing a new hope.
And I can almost taste that vibrancy again, the youth, the electric hope, on the eve of going back to the U.S. and starting life anew on my own.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
There'll always be Paris.
April 19, Paris.
Paris holiday, with kids and Mom, five days filled to the brim with wonders, the Eiffel Tower, a so-French puppet called Guignol, the science discoveries at Parc de la Villette, crossing the city by boat, five days almost marred by the cold and rain but not quite.
Paris holiday, with kids and Mom, five days filled to the brim with wonders, the Eiffel Tower, a so-French puppet called Guignol, the science discoveries at Parc de la Villette, crossing the city by boat, five days almost marred by the cold and rain but not quite.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Things left in the park (Easter stroll.)
April 9, Saint-Ismier.
Nicolas turned five and we had a party with Jules and Augustin et les autres, since Gaspard couldn't make it.
Easter came and went and we had an egg hunt in the house, the first in an actual house, maybe the reason gilded memories of my childhood came rushing back. I didn't grow up in a circus, but maybe I wished I did. The long Easter week end came and went and we headed for a park and threw stones in a pond.
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