Clueless in Paris, or, Angst in France

I have had the worst sore throat and headache this week. It’s awful being sick during the summer. You think, I can’t be sick! It’s summer, for cripe’s sake. I know who gave me this cold and I will strangle her the next time I see her. This is the second time she’s given me a cold this year!

So, I have a new hobby. I’ve decided to become an orchid collector. An orchidophile, that is. I have six orchids - I have managed to kill three in the past -- and I’m pretty sure I can keep these alive. Knock on wood. They’d better not die. The damned things are expensive! (Why do I have an ominous feeling that all this might turn into a disasterous experience? Never mind.) I went out and bought myself a nifty mister yesterday. No, not mister as in a “man,” I mean, as in a spray bottle. You pump it up and it sprays out a fine mist. Very handy. Now, I need to find a book on orchids.

I went to the twins’ ballet recital last week. I managed to get a seat in the second row, which was very nice, except you got all the weirdos and wandering parents plopping down next to you, as well as people coming down to snap forbidden pictures and videos of their precious offspring. I had a mother-in-law-type lady sitting at my left. During the performance she kept chatting loudly with her friend/daughter/daughter-in-law, and bumping me with her flabby elbow. The hyperactive teenaged girl to my right kept flipping her hair or something and poking me with her elbow as well. I came out of the auditorium with bruises on my arms.

I’ve been running around getting various documents for Chloé’s middle school and the Conservatoire National de Danse. You need an official stamp for this, an official stamp for that, a signature here, a signature there. It’s a huge pain in the you-know-what because you have to take the métro all over town and it’s hot and people are irritable and you’re mad because the school won’t mail you any of the documents just because they don’t feel like it.

The other night the Turks lost the soccer match to the Germans. I was secretly kind of glad it happened because whenever the Turkish team wins a match, the Turkish café across the street explodes into whooping, cheering, honking and shouts and song, which lasts late into the night. Sometimes I think there is going to be a riot, right there in my front yard. The next day a gloom hung over the café and I felt sorry for them. Oh, well. Maybe next year.


I have just finished the most wonderful book, Call Me By Your Name, by Andre Aciman. I highly recommend it.

That’s all the news that’s fit to print, that I can remember, that is. I’m going to take some vitamin C and have some more coffee for my throat (hot coffee, in my opinion, is better than tea with lemon and honey and cures many a misery).


Around the pillars of the palm-tree bower
The orchids cling, in rose and purple spheres;
Shield-broad the lily floats; the aloe flower
Foredates its hundred years.
- Bayard Taylor, Canopus

Happily, I survived Saturday’s Eleven-Hour Meal, where the average age of the guests was about seventy-five. Yes, I did mean an eleven hour, six-course meal. And that’s not uncommon for France! I don’t know where I put all that food. All I know is that the meal counted for breakfast, lunch, dinner and a whole day’s worth of heavy snacking. We were celebrating Uncle François and Aunt Ginette’s fiftieth wedding anniversary, near Lille, which is in the north of France, near the border with Belgium.

Before he retired, Uncle François was the village undertaker. He drove a hearse and had a casket catalog you could thumb through. I don't remember if he had caskets on display. It was a very prosperous métier as he had the monopoly on dead people in the village.

Much wine was consumed and we danced to groovy accordion music in between courses. We sang those funny French songs, linking arms and swaying back and forth and up and down (“de gauche à droite, en avant, derrière, et de haut en bas on s'amuse c'est la fête" I think it goes), and waved our paper napkins in the air. We formed a long line, hands on shoulders, and shuffled around the room several times. P., in typical sullen adolescent fashion, sat out in the car and phoned her friends and sent text messages such as: “If you don’t get me out of here I’m going to put a bullet through my head.” I did feel sorry for her, but not as sorry as I felt for myself as the chair was as hard as a brick.

That’s all the news that’s fit to print. Until next time ...

“I can speak French but I cannot understand it.” Mark Twain quotes

The land of romance

It’s very hot here. We went from shivering to sweltering in just a couple of days. But I’m not complaining, of course! I’ve been going back and forth with the watering can. Last summer I didn’t water at all. The nice weather has made newspaper headlines.

The good weather started last weekend, when I took the high-speed train to my friend’s wedding in the Alps. Despite my worries, I did not end up in Rome after all. When we changed trains in Chambéry I was standing there looking lost when I met some other people who were also traveling to the wedding. We had enough time to go to a sidewalk café for a coffee between trains, then we rode the regional train together.

The wedding was lovely, the Savoyards wonderful hosts, the weather delicious, the bride stunning, the region gorgeous. To get to the hotel and the church from the train station in Albertville we had to drive up the mountainside on a meandering, near-vertical road with many hairpin turns. And I mean the kind of road where your hair stands on end and you gnaw your nails down to the quick. There were no barriers between you and the ravine. Luckily we had a good, safe driver: the father of the groom.

The ceremony itself was beautiful. It took place in a tiny church in a village called Arèches, which is about 25 kilometers from Albertville, where the 1992 Winter Olympics were held. After the ceremony came the celebration, the apéritif and the five-course meal. I managed to eat most everything, including a large piece of wedding cake, and I tasted the famous cheeses from the region, Beaufort and Tomme de Savoie. We ate, drank and were merry until the wee hours of the morning.

The only thing mishap was that I got stuck in a toilet stall. The light was so dim I could not find the darn handle to get out. I must have been in there for ten minutes. People probably thought I was reading the Encyclopedia Brittanica in there. I finally found the elusive handle, walked out with dignity, and that was that.

I suppose I should get back to watering the plants.

"Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity." -Albert Einstein

LJ, I have been neglecting you.

There's not much to report here, anyway. The weather has finally turned springlike, temps around 20 degrees, a cloudless blue sky, a soft breeze. Bliss.

I have been spending Saturday afternoons hanging out at Starbucks with ballet friends. The place is empty since all the nearby banks are closed. I love the small, hidden courtyard behind Starbucks, they’ve planted a small exotic garden, with palm trees, tree ferns, fatsia japonica and other exotic plants. I could spend my life there, I think.

A friend and I met for coffee yesterday at a café near Les Invalides. We sat outside in the sun and it was wonderful, the cafés had their bistro tables set up and the sidewalks were full of Parisians and tourists strolling past. It seemed like the whole city was outside enjoying the sun. We went for a walk to the nearby Association Valentin Haüy, where we looked at low-vision stuff, scales (now who wants to know how much they weigh?), watches, clocks, telephones, all kinds of neat gadgets.

Next weekend I’m going to a wedding in the Savoie, in the Alps. I can’t wait, though I’m a little worried -- okay, a lot worried -- about changing trains halfway there. I’m afraid to get on the wrong train and end up in Rome. I'll have about three hours on the high-speed TGV train to worry about it, though. Wish me luck!

No more to tell. So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.


"Starbucks says they are going to start putting religious quotes on cups. The very first one will say, 'Jesus! This cup is expensive!'"
Conan O'Brien

I’ve got this seed project going in my kitchen under the flurorescent light over the sink. I’m *trying* to grow: (note emphasis on *trying*) pomegranate -- the seeds have sprouted and the plantlings are healthy so far; bird of paradise (Strelitzia reginae) -- I have a large one that I grew from seed several years ago. The seeds take six months to sprout, and it can take up to ten years to flower; banana (musa ensete) and a coffee tree. Yep, if I don't kill it, in a few years I’ll be able to pick my own coffee beans!

All that’s missing is the avocado pit with toothpicks.

Yesterday I replanted my sago palm (which is not really a palm but a cycad) and set it outside, and purchased another larger specimen which I lugged home from the garden shop and potted up. Both plants are still tender so I kept them indoors last night because it got down to 2° C.

The bananas in the front yard are sprouting new leaves at a fantastic rate. My little banana in the backyard seems to have survived its first winter and come out unscathed. I’d wrapped it up pretty good. I took the protection off and felt the trunk and it was hard so I think I should be seeing new growth there soon. I poked around in the shrubbery and found my gunnera (giant rhubarb), which is also sprouting prickly new leaves. I moved all my baby palm trees (trachycarpus fortunei, windmill palms) out of the greenhouse. The tall trachys planted in the garden don’t need to be protected during the winter as long as the temperature stays above -15 C. I’m not sure what this is in Fahrenheit but it’s pretty cold.

I think I already mentioned that I threw out the balding ficus (I am coldhearted, I know) and replaced it with an alocasia(giant-leaved elephant’s ears), which draws many comments from visitors, among them, "Is this real or fake?"

Long live spring!



April hath put a spirit of youth in everything. ~William Shakespeare

It’s raining again! I wish somebody would squeeze the clouds and get rid of all that water once and for all. This non-stop dribbling is getting on my nerves.

I walked past the treeman’s house today. He wasn’t up in his tree. I wonder if he was just a random tree surgeon, or whatever they are called, hired for the day. I hope so. People should not insult their neighbors!

Family is coming to visit on Sunday so I’m busy cleaning up the house, but I feel like taking everything and throwing it in a closet. Once I put all the dirty dishes in the oven but I was found out. This morning I tore out some plants in the sunroom (two anemic ficus -- I loathe ficus trees) and replaced them with new ones (many euros spent). That’s what Japanese gardeners do, which is why their gardens look so wonderful. Everything has to look spiffy so they don’t think I’m a lousy housekeeper. Why do I care? I don’t know. They won’t disown me for an overflowing trash can ... or will they? Besides, I *am* a lousy housekeeper!

Time for another coffee, the fifth today. I know, I know, too much coffee isn’t good for you. Did I tell you I went to Starbuck’s? (Is there an apostrophe in Starbuck’s?) I had a cappuccino, it was thick and foamy. I said, “Don’t give me any of that watery American stuff."

Must away!

Family: A social unit where the father is concerned with parking space, the children with outer space, and the mother with closet space. ~Evan Esar

I went to get three pairs of trousers hemmed today (went crazy at H & M). I hate being small! Nothing fits me. Everything is too short. The fashion world is made for tall people and it drives me mad. It's discrimination, pure and simple.

In other news, one of the parakeets escaped. I was feeding them and he flew past my face and out of the cage. I didn’t really worry about him as they usually stay close to the cage when they escape, so I waited for the twins to get home so they could catch him for me. Alas, I didn’t know the kitchen door was wide open, and out he flew into the wild blue yonder. I feel terrible, he’s probably lonely and hungry, sitting up in a tree somewhere, or eaten by a cat, or worse.

I’m going to a friend’s wedding in Savoie in May. I’ll be taking the TGV, the high-speed train. It’s costing me a fortune since I waited too long to book my tickets and they only had room in first class. I have a discount card but it’s still costing me and arm and a leg. I shall travel like a queen and finish the month as a pauper.

Better go, my talkative neighbor is coming over and I need to find a good place to hide!

"The government is unresponsive to the needs of the little man. Under 5' 7", it is impossible to get your congressman on the phone. Woody Allen

I thought this was a pretty good article about a blind med student (even
though the reporter, like all reporters, implies he is
"amazing," "brave," "impressive," etc. ). I hope the day will come
when people will no longer say "wow" and "how amazing she must be!" when they see a blind doctor.

Carrie



Blind medical student earns M.D.

'Things are only impossible until they're done'

MADISON, Wis. - The young medical student was nervous as he slid the
soft, thin tube down into the patient's windpipe. It was a delicate
maneuver — and he knew he had to get it right.

Tim Cordes leaned over the patient as his professor and a team of
others closely monitored his every step. Carefully, he positioned the
tube, waiting for the special signal that oxygen was flowing.

The anesthesia machine was set to emit musical tones to confirm the
tube was in the trachea and carbon dioxide was present. Soon, Cordes
heard the sounds. He double-checked with a stethoscope. All was OK. He
had completed the intubation.

Several times over two weeks, Cordes performed this difficult task at
the University of Wisconsin Hospital and Clinics. His professor, Dr.
George Arndt, marveled at his student's skills.

"He was 100 percent," the doctor says. "He did it better than the
people who could see."

Tim Cordes is blind.

He has mastered much in his 28 years: Jujitsu. Biochemistry.
Water-skiing. Musical composition. Any one of these accomplishments
would be impressive. Together, they're dazzling. And now, there's more
luster for his gold-plated resume with a new title: Doctor.

Cordes has earned his M.D.

In a world where skeptics always seem to be saying, stop, this isn't
something a blind person should be doing, it was one more barrier
overcome. There are only a handful of blind doctors in this country.
But Cordes makes it clear he could not have joined this elite club
alone.

"I signed on with a bunch of real team players who decided that things
are only impossible until they're done," he says.

That's modesty speaking. Cordes finished medical school at the
University of Wisconsin-Madison in the top sixth of his class (he
received just one B), earning honors, accolades and admirers along the
way.

Tim Cordes walks with his German shepherd guide dog, Vance, and his
fiancee, Blue-leaf Hannah, on the campus of the University of
Wisconsin-Madison in March.
"He was confident, he was professional, he was respectful and he was a
great listener," says Sandy Roof, a nurse practitioner who worked with
Cordes as part of a training program in a small-town clinic.

Without sight, Cordes had to learn how to identify clusters of
spaghetti-thin nerves and vessels in cadavers, study X-rays, read EKGs
and patient charts, examine slides showing slices of the brain,
diagnose rashes — and more.

He used a variety of special tools, including raised line drawings, a
computer that simultaneously reads into his earpiece whatever he
types, a visual describer, a portable printer that allowed him to
write notes for patient charts, and a device called an Optacon that
has a small camera with vibrating pins that help his fingers feel
images.

"It was kind of whatever worked," Cordes says. "Sometimes you can
psych yourself out and anticipate problems that don't materialize. ...
You can sit there and plan for every contingency or you just go out
and do things. ... That was the best way."

That's been his philosophy much of his life. Cordes was just 5 months
old when he was diagnosed with Leber's disease. He wore glasses by age
2, and gradually lost his sight. At age 16, when his peers were
getting their car keys, he took his first steps with a guide dog.

Still, blindness didn't stop him.

He wrestled and earned a black belt in tae kwon do and jujitsu. An
academic whiz, he graduated as valedictorian at the University of
Notre Dame as a crowd of 10,000 gave him a standing ovation.

Though he spends 10 to 12 hours a day in the lab, Cordes also carried
the Olympic torch when it made its way through Wisconsin in 2002 (he
runs four miles twice a week) and has managed to give a few
motivational speeches and accept an award or two.

He's even found time to fall in love; he's engaged to a medical school student.
But Tim Cordes doesn't want to be cast as the noble hero of a Hallmark special.

"I just think that you deal with what you're dealt," he says. "I've
just been trying to do the best with what I've got. I don't think
that's any different than anybody else."

He also shuns suggestions his IQ leaves his peers in the dust.

"I just work hard and study," he says. "If you're not modest, you're
probably overestimating yourself."

Through the years, plenty of people have underestimated Cordes.

That was especially true when he applied for medical school and was
rejected by several universities, despite glowing references, two
years of antibiotics research and a 3.99 undergraduate average as a
biochemistry major.

Even when Wisconsin-Madison accepted him, Cordes says, he knew there
was "some healthy skepticism." But, he adds, "the people I worked with
were top notch and really gave me a chance."

The dean of the medical school, Dr. Philip Farrell, says the faculty
determined early on that Cordes would have "a successful experience.
Once you decide that, it's only a question of options and choices."

Farrell worried a bit how Cordes might fare in the hospital settings,
but says he needn't have.

"We've learned from him as much as he's learned from us ... one should
never assume that any student is going to have a barrier, an obstacle,
that they can't overcome," he says.

Sandy Roof, the nurse practitioner who worked with Cordes in a clinic
in the town of Waterloo, wondered about that.

"My first reaction was the same as others': How can he possibly see
and treat patients?" she says. "I was skeptical, but within a short
time I realized he was very capable, very sensitive."

She recalls watching him examine a patient with a rash, feel the area,
ask the appropriate questions — and come up with a correct diagnosis.

"He didn't try and sell himself," Roof adds. "He just did what needed
to be done."

'What's the dog for?'
Cordes says he thinks people accepted him because most of his training
was in a teaching hospital, where he blended in with other medical
students. One patient apparently didn't even realize the young man
treating him was blind.

Cordes grins as he recalls examining a 7-year-old while making the
hospital rounds with Vance, his German shepherd guide dog. The next
day, he saw the boy's father, who said, "I think you did a great job.
(But) when my son got out, he asked me, 'What's the dog for?'"

With his sandy hair and choirboy's face, Cordes became a familiar
sight with Vance at the university hospital. The two were so good at
navigating the maze of hallways that interns would sometimes ask
Cordes for the quickest route to a particular destination.

Some professors say Cordes compensates for his lack of sight with his
other senses — especially his incredible sense of touch. "He can pick
up things with his hands you and I wouldn't pick up — like
vibrations," says Arndt, the anesthesiology professor.

Cordes says some of his most valuable lessons came from doctors who
believed in showing rather than telling.

"You can describe what it feels like to put your hand on the aorta and
feel someone's blood flowing through it," he says, his face lighting
up, "but until you feel it, you really don't get a sense of what
that's like."

Dr. Yolanda Becker, assistant professor of surgery who performs
transplants, noticed that Cordes had a talent for finding veins. "I
tell the students, 'You have to feel them ... you just can't look.'
For Tim, that was not an option."

Becker soon became one more member of Tim Cordes' fan club.

"He was a breath of fresh air," she says. "He appreciated the fact
people took time with him to feel the pulse, feel the grafts, feel
where the kidneys are. ... He asked very good questions."

Cordes' training included observing surgery, helping treat psychiatric
patients at a veterans hospital and traveling beyond the hospital
walls to the rural corners of Wisconsin.

For six weeks, he experienced the front lines of medicine with Dr. Ben
Schmidt, accompanying him from house calls to the hospital, tending to
everything from heart trouble to chicken scratches.

Cars, camping and canoeing
They took time, too, to indulge Cordes' passion for cars. Cordes, who
reads Road & Track and Car and Driver magazines faithfully, is a
Porsche fan. Knowing that, an internist in Schmidt's clinic brought
her husband's metallic gray Turbo 911 to work one day. Schmidt took
the wheel, roaring down the road with Cordes in the passenger seat —
his keen hearing detecting the sounds of the valves opening up.

Cordes also enjoys camping and canoeing with his fiancee, Blue-leaf
Hannah (her exotic first name comes from a character in "Centennial,"
a James Michener novel). They met when both interviewed for medical
school.

"I was just mostly curious how he was going to do it," she says. "I
must have asked him a million questions."

"I figured she was just sizing up the competition," he teases.

She was impressed. "He was smart and pretty modest," she says.

"Handsome, too," he adds.

"Yes, handsome," she laughs.

They began dating and will marry this fall. It's a match made for
Mensa. Hannah is now in medical school. She already has a Ph.D. in
pharmacology — her dissertation was on a human protein implicated in
heart disease called thrombospondin.

"Too long for a Scrabble game," Cordes jokes.

The two have talked about starting a research lab together someday.

Looking back on medical school, Cordes says he savored the chance to
help deliver babies and observe surgery — things he's probably not
going to do again. "I just made it a point to treasure them while I
had them," he says.

He once thought he'd become a researcher but is now considering
psychiatry and internal medicine. "The surprise for me was how much I
liked dealing with the human side," he says. "It took a little work to
get over. I'm kind of a shy guy."

Cordes plans to attend graduation ceremonies in May.

For now, he's humble about his latest milestone.

"I might be the front man in the show but there were lot of people
involved," he says. "Everybody was giving a good effort for me and I
wanted to do right by them."

(c) 2006 The Associated Press.

Incredible.

From U-tube Chinese ballet. If you can't see very well, it's a video of a ballerina dancing on top of a guy's head.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOqxSaW05p4

I was walking along the sidewalk today, minding my own business, when I found myself stepping on a pile of branches. Suddenly this man started yelling at me from above. He was perched in a tree, sawing off branches, and actually shouting at me for stepping on them. “Why don’t you pay attention? What do you want, madame, a branch to fall on your head?” At first I didn’t think he was talking to me, but he kept going on and on about the stupidity of people and the world. I couldn’t think of a stinging comeback so I didn’t say anything, just went around the branches and continued on my way, and that’s when I realized there was a sawhorse in the middle of the sidewalk. Tant pis. I was proud of myself for not bursting into tears for getting shouted at. That is something new for me.

Saturday night I went out to dinner to celebrate a friend’s upcoming wedding, a sort of bachelorette dinner, you might say. There were about ten of us; the other girls had spent the day touring a town outside of Paris. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to join them. Anyway, it was an African/Brazilian/Cuban restaurant, great ambiance. (The Zanzibar in the 11th, if anyone is interested.) There was live music, a man singing with an odd instrument in I have no idea what language. I had a Cuban meal. The main dish tasted a lot like chili, maybe it was.

I can't think of anything else of interest to write about. I'd better go get some gardening done before it snows!

"Wish I had time for just one more bowl of chili." - Alleged dying words of Kit Carson (1809-1868) Frontiersman and Mountain Man

Yawn! Well, tonight is certainly a productive night. I fell asleep at around seven o’clock and woke up after eight -- too late to go to rehearsal! Oh, well. At least I won’t run into that garce I mentioned in my last post! So, now I am half asleep and trying to type something halfway coherent, without much success.

Went to ballet early today, sat down and watched an interesting private ballet class takikng place in the studio across from ours, only to be told that the instructor was Claude Bessy, the former ballerina of the Paris Opera Ballet and former director of the School of the Paris Opera Ballet. She was coaching or giving a lesson or auditioning a young girl. I couldn’t see the girl, darn it all, but I could make out Mlle Bessy who was not sitting far from me. At one point she demonstrated some steps from a Sleeping Beauty variation and you could tell that she had once been a great dancer. I wonder how old she is, now? Anyway, I felt somehow lucky and privileged to be sitting there at that moment.

It is bloody cold around here, too cold to do any gardening. I’ve covered up my tree ferns again. Has anybody up there ever heard of SPRING? I feel like screaming at the sky. “Warm up!” I’ve gone seed crazy again, my kitchen counter is covered with little pots of exotic plant seeds, birds of paradise, pomegranite, bananas, frangipani ... not to mention all my gardening paraphernalia. The pomegranite is already peeking out but the birds of paradise take six months to germinate. I have a few that I’ve grown from seeds and they’re beautiful, but it will be many years before they flower.

I think I shall have a glass of cranberry juice -- yes, they have cranberry juice here, now! -- and do something to wake myself up.

Thousands of candles can be lit from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.”
(Hindu Prince Gautama Siddharta, the founder of Buddhism, 563-483 B.C.)

To the bitch at the front desk at the CSL Sport Complex: Be glad I can't recognize you because if I did I'd slap your teeth out of your face.

"There is no sin except stupidity.” Oscar Wilde

Today I signed up for classmates.com and spent the afternoon reminiscing like an old lady about elementary, high school and college classmates -- I laughed aloud at some of the names I haven’t heard in such a long time. I wonder what happened to all these people? There isn’t a profile like on Facebook, or maybe you have to pay for one. I filled out a questionnaire about my interests and for some reason it only comes up that I am interested in "fish" and "working out." Jeez. I wonder if anybody will see my name and remember me. Anyway, it was an amusing way to pass the day. I wonder how much spam I'll get from that place.

Tonight is rehearsal and I really, really, really don’t feel like going. The rehearsal room is smelly and dirty and gloomy and cold, and way too dim for me. I can’t even follow the person standing right in front of me, and I end up missing everything and looking like a fool. It'll get better when I've learned all the choreography and won't have to rely on others.

Well, I’d better get my lazy butt out of this chair and get myself ready.


True friends stab you in the front.” Oscar Wilde

Got up at four-fifteen; wrote and read my email. Yawn! Had four cups of coffee.

Had a couple of glasses of Yop (liquid yogurt) for breakfast. Yop is one of the few things I'd miss if I went back to the U.S.

Took the train to Paris and back for ballet class, which was most enjoyable. Stood next to a guy in the métro whose cell phone conversation had been abruptly cut-off. He must have said “Allo? Allo? Allo?” very loudly, twenty times, right in my ear. Then he exhaled and said, with a very American accent, “Shit.” I nearly laughed aloud.

Went to the pharmacie for four hundred euros’ worth of medicine and several l’Occitane birthday presents for my sister-in-law.

Now I am sitting in the comfy chair listening to the Sims on the Wii. And wondering why isn't there any good music like there was on the original Sims game.

“Procrastination avoids boredom; one never has the feeling that there is nothing important to do” anon.

So, I bought myself a new pair of shoes this week. Unfortunately, the buckle on the right shoe comes undone and the damned thing keeps falling off, which is dangerous and extremely embarrassing. I can’t believe it. Talk about bad luck. I can’t return them, for one thing, this is France, and I’ve already worn the shoes to Paris and back (I mean, on the train, not walking), but the main reason is that it’s difficult for me to get to the shoe store, which is in another town. I’ll try to repair the buckle, somehow.

It didn’t rain today so after dance class I went outside and planted the ferns I’ve been meaning to plant for a week. I have been known to buy plants and forget them in a corner of the backyard until I discover them, months later, unfortunately, stiff, dead and dry. I have a fernery in my yard, a peaceful place, wooded and shady, a good place to sit during the hot days of summer. I have two tree ferns (my babies) but I keep them in the sun room. But, enough about ferns.

What am I having for dinner, you may be asking yourself? Here is a quick recipe that even men can easily make!

**Aubergines gratinées**

(For one person)

Wash eggplant thoroughly and cut off stem. Leave skin on (lots of vitamins). Cut in half. Cover each half with a slice of ham, a few spoonfuls of spaghetti sauce (home-made or canned), then sprinkle with grated cheese. Cook for about an hour, or until bubbly and sizzling. Eggplant should be smushy. Be careful, it’s hot!

"How can people say they don't eat eggplant when God loves the color and the French love the name? I don't understand."
Jeff Smith (The Frugal Gourmet)

The telephone has been out of order since Friday, and I don’t miss the constant ringing one bit. It’s odd because the Internet still works but there’s no dial tone when I pick up the phone. I suppose I should call the phone company and ask them to see what is the matter, but I keep putting it off due to laziness. At least my cell phone still works.

It sort of snowed today, a heavy mixture of rain and snow, nothing to get worked up about. It’s the first time it has actually snowed this winter. One of my banana trees is sprouting a leaf from under its winter duvet.

Today's cooking lesson, or, my dinner plans

Escalopes à la Normande

Chicken or turkey breasts, or veal escalopes
Butter or margarine (30 g)
Flour
½ cup white wine
3 tbsp. sour cream

Sauté escalopes in melted butter in skillet, 3 or 4 minutes on each side. Add wine, cover and let simmer for 10 minutes. Remove escalopes and set aside (keep warm). Leave gravy in skillet. Add one or two tbsp water and the flour to the gravy, let boil for one minute. Add sour cream and let boil one minute. Pour gravy over escalopes and serve with slices of apple cooked in butter.

I'd rather sit down and write a letter than call someone up. I hate the telephone. ~Henry Miller

I was idly surfing the Internet this afternoon when I stumbled upon a site dedicated to my former ballet teacher, Mr. Adama. Well, I didn't really stumble. I googled him because I was wondering if he might still be alive (he is) -- he has to be about seventy now and just officially retired. Reading about him brought back memories of full-time dancing and of all my friends in the dance world who went on to dance with various companies across the U.S. Over the years I have always tried not to think about that time of my life because it was too painful, but I guess since it’s been so long I can finally look back on my dancing years without getting too emotional. It’s like a whole different me.

Funny to think that all the people I danced with are probably retired now, teaching, coaching, maybe have second careers that have nothing at all to do with ballet. One of my friends went on to become an E.R. physician. Two are running large ballet schools, one is a choreographer, the rest, I guess I'll never know. For years I didn't want anything to do with ballet, so I've no idea what happened to them. And then there's me, still struggling along, still taking ballet class, or trying to, I should say. Because if you've ever danced you know that you can never, truly, give it up.

Mr. Adama is a great man and I was lucky to have studied with him.

“First comes the sweat. Then comes the beauty - if you're very lucky and have said your prayers.” George Balanchine

I had my yearly blood test done this week. French doctors sure ask for a lot of blood tests! I wonder why? Maybe they think that blood is a window to the soul. I don’t know, I hate getting swabbed and stabbed. The good news is, I am not on my deathbed (yet) and will probably live unless I get hit by a car or something. Knock on wood. I don’t have enough potassium, whatever that means. I guess I need to eat more bananas.

I had dinner with a friend last night. We went to an Italian restaurant across from the Hôtel de Ville. We hadn’t seen each other since last fall, so we had a lot of catching up to do. We had lasagna and I drank three glasses of wine -(one was a kir), which is a lot for me since I have cut down on my wine consumption. I really have to get out more often, I think.

I received my income tax packet yesterday. Just what I was waiting for. I have until June to fill it in. But I need to go to the Consulat for help filling it in, so I need to do that before April 15th.

That’s all the news. As you can tell, I just wrote for the sake of writing.

Income tax returns are the most imaginative fiction being written today. ~Herman Wouk

The weather was perfect this weekend, but what did I do? Well, I spent my Sunday doing laundry, loads and loads and eternal loads. I did a load of jeans, I had no idea I had so many pairs of jeans! Half of them probably don’t even fit. Saturday was spent at the ballet studio, as usual, then we went shoe-shopping for a pair of shoes that I can wear without falling on my arse. The search was unsuccessful. I don’t know if they are in style in the U.S., but high-heeled wedgies are in style here, wedgies and strappy sandals with impossibly pointy toes and spike heels. Pointy shoes are all right, I guess. I have a pair and they're comfortable. Plenty of room for your big toe. Strappy sandals with spike heels are dangerous and definitely out. I love to wear heels, but if they are too high I’ll be tumblin’ head over heels down the stairs in the métro. Why don't I just wear sneakers, you ask? Well, I don't know. I guess because nobody else does. When in Rome, or Paris, rather ...

I started to read a new book this weekend and rejected it after about a half an hour. I hate this so-called chick lit! Sometimes you wonder how these books get published. It was a “New York Times Bestseller.” Blech! The book was so bad it made *my* novel look good, and that’s not saying much.

I guess I’ll stop this blabberin' and go have a cup of coffee and some Pringles.

“Even bad books are books and therefore sacred.” (Gunter Grass)

This weekend so far has been another typical weekend, just like the previous one, and the one that will follow it. Ballet class all day Saturday, sitting with the parents of the kids who were accepted into the POB opera school, making me feel terrible, and jealous as a turd, as usual. I think we have pretty much decided on the CNSM in Paris. It's supposed to be a good school. During my own dance class I nearly passed out, I guess I should have eaten something before I went to class. I made a lot of mistakes because of course I can’t see the instructor when he demonstrates the steps when I am not right up next to him, and I have to rely on my hearing and sometimes on the person in front of me. Today the person in front of me kept making mistakes and it was all I could do to keep from following her. All in all, it depressed me.

B. was not there, which upset me very much.

I think I have something wrong with my throat but I am a hypochondriac so I don’t know if I’m imagining this or not. It’s like I can’t swallow, like I have something stuck in there all the time. If I take 6 mg of Lexomil, however, it seems to go away, which tells me it might be psychological. Can stress cause your throat to constrict? I hope it isn’t cancer.

I tried to sign up for a ballet forum tonight but of course there is no way around the stupid CAPTCHA, no link for people who can't read it ... nobody to write to ... nobody to help me ... I gave up. People just don't THINK, do they?

That’s all that’s fit to print. Pretty depressing, eh? I promise next time I write I'll write something positive.

Have a lovely weekend!