Une Bon Jour

Today was a good day. I woke up and looked over at the clock on my nightstand. One o'clock? As I love sleeping til all hours of the afternoon, I figured this was very possible. Then I realized I had missed the boat on going to church with the family like I said I would. I forgot to set the alarm. Then a small child knocked on my door and asked me if I'd like to attend the English-speaking church with them. "Hmmm. What time are we going?" "I do-en't know." "Yeah, sure. I'll just get ready."

Turns out, it was ten in the morning--my clock was wrong. I attended church but didn't sing or take commune. I'm pretty sure that the people in attendance at this church had the best singing voices in all of France. I sat next to this cool old dude with an awesome low voice and a lady with a really nice high voice who actually knew how all the hymns went. The church was right near a castle that had sold its grounds for incredible houses to be built in their place. I think that's where the Real World house was. Probably not.

I won't get into how I feel about religion, but I'm proud that I'm at a place now where I'm comfortable going to a church service. I get some good thinking done, and of course the singing is just plain therapeutic. I share something with the family and meet a community of people. I'm pretty sure I also get some good karma points for going.

Then we had lunch, I did some reading on Vegetarianism, I played with children, and then I drove over to St. Nom for the annual um... yard sale. The main street in the center of town was completely blocked off from one end to the other with tables of people's old French stuff. St. Nom has a reputation of affluence (the town refuses to build low-income housing like they're supposed to), so people come from all over to buy and sell old stuff. There were traveling creperies and a merry-go-round. Books, shoes, purses, type-writers, records, cups, pens, furniture, trinkets, doo-dads, buttons, an old hand grenade, jewelery, hand-made journals, etc. etc. etc.

I don't think there could ever be any single better way to get an idea of the inside lives of French people than to walk around this fair for a few hours. I spent a euro total on five French books (was told by my French father that I "should have bargained!") from this young couple who likely just got out of university, wanting to get rid of the memory of Kant, and luckily spoke wonderful English. I now wish I had asked them to be my friends.

But anyway, I came back and had tea, did some more playing, worked on some French-learnin, had black olive, artichoke, tuna, and red pepper pizza for dinner, read the children their night-time stories, finally got in a much-needed conversation with Krista, and headed upstairs for bed. I think I'll read my tarot cards, try to read a story called "pour tous les soirs" (for every night), and go to bed. I am so excited--my French classes start tomorrow morning! Bon-nuit!!