Foolishness . . .

So operating on the principle that college is the time in one's life to do foolish but fun things, I actually did join the other students in trying to watch the Duke game. Which would have aired from 3 to 5 our time. Yet again, we managed to air Woody but no visual, but at 3 we found a link that said that we could watch the game at 6 our time. So being the foolish college students that we are, we decided to try and watch it then. Which of course didn't work either. After vaguely drifting in and out of sleep the whole night, I woke up at 10 on my professor's living room floor all alone very bewildered about the location of the other students. With class in four hours. I was delighted because we analyzed "Chocolat", one of my all-time favorite movies that I know like the back of my hand and very frustrated with myself for neglecting to take notes. If you want to know more about one of the best movies ever made, let me know when I get back to the states and we can have a "Chocolat" fest partaking of film, food, and facts (hurrah for alliteration!) together.
That was all a very sleepy fun and foolish Thursday . . . Friday was equally foolish but less fun . . . After getting lots of sleep (the battery level on my alarm clock permits my "reveiller" to show the time but not to sound an alarm) my friend Sarah and I went out shopping on the last day of the winter sales. And I fell in love with an international store and bought a beautiful shirt and skirt. And when we went to my apartment to deposit our purchases and get a drink of water, I discovered that my apartment key had detached from my key chain sometime during our brief excursion. We searched the road, we purged the one store we had visited, even looking under the stairs with a flashlight. Nothing. My family of three was down to one key between all of us and to make another would take 60 Euro and three weeks. For some reason (maybe upset Circadian rhythms, maybe my anger at the darn keychain for not functioning, maybe mental difficulty with the readings this week about anorexia - especially with the connection with the church, maybe my cheapness, maybe my hating-to-disappoint-people), I was unable to take the loss in stride and let things be. I got a stomach ache and couldn't eat although I was terribly hungry and my head started pounding. When I finally got back to the apartment, I was as close as I've been this whole trip to tears (the only other time since landing that my eyes have watered - and I am terribly ashamed to admit this - has been watching Grey's Anatomy when George's father died). Finally I managed to shake myself and remembered the Bible passages that I studied in such depth this summer (Peter faltering while walking on water when he stopped letting go and letting God, Abraham letting go and letting God when he was asked to sacrifice his son) and put things in perspective. And you know what? At that point (when I finally reached some peace of mind) for no reason at all I put my hand in an outside pocket of my purse that I never use because things would just fall out if I did. And of course the key was there. Until I am informed by a message in the sky or on the wall that this was not a miracle and act of God, I will maintain that God took the key off of the keychain and put it in the unused pocket of ridiculousness to teach me in an effectively harmless way that I need to learn to take things in stride. I am aware that this is the toxic God-of-the-Gaps theology, but it is also the only way that I can make sense of that afternoon and not consider it wasted. All of my worrying had worn me out and I crashed pretty early that night.
Saturday we went to Beaune (about twenty minutes away), which in contrast to a weather-wise lovely Friday, was rainy and cold. We visited one of the first hospitals for the poor the (Hotel Dieu) which was lovely - my favorite part was the van der Weyden triptych - and basically tramped around the town in the rain. (I got some lovely photos which I will share with you as soon as my family comes - next week! - bearing the cord that will enable me to take my photos from my camera to my computer). We also visited a beautiful church - one of my favorite things that we found was a sign that said something to the effect of "The Diocese Committee on the Arts has ruled that it is forbidden to put fake flowers at the shrine of the Virgin Mary" - it made me think of my great-grandmother and how our family is very careful to put real rather than fake flowers at her grave every year. The two intellectuals in our party visited the wine museum while the rest of us visited not one but three of the local bakeries to sample their wares (insert guilty smile). We were very good about sharing and we even were virtuous enough to save some chocolate nougat for later consumption. I also finally found the souvenir that I've been searching for over the bast month: a vegetarian cookbook in French! It is a beautiful and practical souvenir that I hope to use for quite a while . . . We had a gourmet lunch in Beaune and that evening I made a simple supper for us of lentils and couscous before going out to try another bar. As my friend Sarah said, only in France would you go outside to get a breath of fresh air rather than to smoke! (Although this is changing next year when smoking in restaurants is officially outlawed - I'm sorry that I'm missing the hoopla!) While some people in our group struck up conversation with actual French people and enjoyed themselves, I continue to be underimpressed about the potential for bars to provide me amusement.
Today was another lazy day due to the low battery of my alarm clock and my assumption that the clock on my cell phone functioned (I had set my alarm correctly for the right time but since the time on my clock was set exactly 12 hours off, it failed to wake me up when I wanted it to) - I woke up too late for church and so I went for a run. Except my pants (which magically expand during exercise) kept on falling down :(. So I had to hold them up with one hand and hold on to my keys (which I am now very diligent about protecting) with my other. I'm sure that all of the French people who saw me were amused. Looking forward to using shorts tomorrow morning (and I will wake up on time now that I know that my clock is right!). This afternoon I went to the Dijon art museum (reputed to be one of the best art museums in France outside of the Louvre) with a couple of the other students. I was really impressed - so much so that I was unable to purchase postcards afterwards because they paled enormously after seeing the real things. Even the sculpture, which I don't like or understand normally, wowed me. Maybe I'll be able to visit and actually purchase things from the giftshop later after I distance myself from my actual viewing of the pieces. So when you come to visit me (and I say "when" and not "if" for a reason), this will definitely be one the places we go together. I even liked it better than the Louvre because it was less touristy. I tried to go to Carrefour (French equivalent of Walmart) afterwards to pick up new batteries for my alarm clock and watch (which also decided to give out on me this weekend) but, because this is France, it was closed for Sunday! And so here I am now. With a couple of short meditations below:
City Planning (among other things):
Much as the French would like to deny it, suburbs do exist and so do evil superstores that kill small businesses like Carrefour. That said, Dijon and the surrounding area is more compact and thus walkable, everything is linked by bus so a car is a nice luxury but not a necessity, and the small businesses aren't dead yet (and they don't have to die either if one or two would just remain open on Sundays). American influence permeates throughout and it continues to take me by surprise - ads on the TV for Sims Deux, oldies on the radio, or Grey's Anatomy that the son in my family somehow managed to tape and store on his computer (I really need to figure out how to do that!). Nevertheless, it is very clear that I am in France. Late and long dinners and little details like a beautiful old wall or some very stereotypical French person remind me of that. Studying and living abroad really opens a person up to the best that the different cultures has to offer so that you can pick and choose the things you like. For example, a love for French public transportation and stinky cheeses will stick with me while so will the American attitudes towards . . .
Smoking: Its tolerable but not enjoyable. The French people know that it is terrible for their health (every box of cigarettes is labeled simply: "Fumer tue" or "Smoking Kills") but they do it anyways. I'm getting used to the smell but sometimes it hits me in the eyes and I am reminded yet again about one of my least favorite things about French culture. I am currently trying to forget everything I've ever heard about secondhand smoke. My host family is pretty considerate in that they don't smoke in my room (whose door I keep shut all the time to provide a somewhat safe haven), but they do smoke like chimneys everywhere else and all of the time. Which brings me to another topic:
Living in someone else's home:
My host family is very kind and considerate and I am terribly lucky. They don't mind if I come in late or sleep in and they help me with my French and teach about the culture to a depth that would otherwise be impossible and provide another level of support if I have a random question (for example, "where can I go to get change?"). When she had a birthday dinner for her friend, she made sure that I was included throughout the whole meal - the song and the candles and the cake and everything. But it is just difficult to live in someone else's home generally. For example, the toilet is right next to the mother's room. If I have to use it in the middle of the night or early in the morning, I risk waking her up. The home is supposed to provide all breakfasts and four dinners per week . . . so is it okay to have a Clementine that my host mom purchased in between meals? Is it okay if my room is messy, or am I being disrespectful if if I forget to make the bed? Is it okay if I use her kitchen tools to cook? Is it okay if I use a touch of her salt for this recipe since I left the salt that I bought at the downstairs apartment my professor is renting? All of the answers so far have been yes . . . I had been very good about asking questions for quite a while to the point of being pestersome and my host mom had been very generous and permissive on all occasions, including letting my internet-deprived friends visit to check email before school accounts were set up. But one day three of my friends brought lunch over and we sat down at the table before researching some travel options. The first opportunity she had, she informed me that this (the sitting down at the table part, I think) was unacceptable and that I had invaded her family space (I wasn't in trouble because she hadn't told me beforehand, but it will not happen again). Now I think that I know my limits in that respect (other people can sleep here since we have such a central downtown location, but nobody else can ever eat in the apartment even if they bring their own food and only one to two people can visit in common rooms for one or two hours at a time) but it is still a difficult thing to balance. She is being hospitable in letting me stay here, but I also am paying. I'm a member of the household, but not really. This is my homebase, but not exactly my home. I am very happy and lucky and blessed in my situation, but it isn't my space in the same way that Raleigh or Chapel Hill is my home because this is also someone else's home.
Love to all,
Rachel