the North

Joe & I stayed up late last night to watch "Jumanji", which was much more exhausting & unbelievable than I remembered. I realize that statement seems unnecessary, as the plot revolves around a jungle growing out of a board game. We slept in this morning, reading in bed & letting the dishes from our dinner last night wait a bit.

I realized, somewhere in between the sleeping in & the soup starting, that "Jumanji" is almost certainly behind my unbelievable hatred of monkeys. To shake these feelings & get myself back into a loving mood toward animals, I watched a few rabbit videos on YouTube. This one, in which a paraplegic bunny gets his wheels, made me cry. Twice.

My point is that we're on vacation, & I'm glad that I have Joe. He's taught me how to relax. Though I still make the enormous to-do lists for each day, and while I'm actually–wait for it–looking forward to AND enjoying my studies of statistics, I'm enjoying doing what I've been posting about so much: Enjoying the last bit of our time here, especially during Joe's spring vacation.

I've been thinking about Montpellier since we've gotten back. There was an odd feeling about the city, a jumbled discomfort that I felt even when walking through the celebrated Place de la Comédie. I felt out of sorts, out of my element, and oddly far from home. I realized while walking the streets there that Nancy has taken up residence in me as much as I have in it.

During these slow days, I know my love of Nancy will deepen–especially when I spend a week revisiting favorite spots & teaching my friend all about town. (Only about 4 days until she arrives!) I'm infinitely proud of Nancy & tried to find ways to express this in the south, which is the Florida of Europe–where they all want to vacation, retire & tan themselves to a deep leather. We know the south is wonderful. We know it's sunny & loads of fun & "young" when it's not full of retired folks.  But what do you know of the north?

Myself, I know that my passion for this place is tied to where the first 22 years of my life were spent, the Midwest of the United States. Four seasons. Small towns. Open spaces. Hard work. Industries that build towns, fail, start over, restructure. A deep sense of family history. One could say that I've found something too familiar in France; I've once again settled into a similar mindset or culture.

I say no, and I say it loudly. I say that this region of France, with its multinational history (Is it French? Is it German? Who's this Polish guy?), its history in the arts, its continued connection to farming (with specialty dishes almost always filled with eggs, bacon and cream)... it's where we all are. It's where people mean when they say, "Paris isn't France. Leave Paris to find the country." It's a region that, after years of industrial decline, will become desperate for a new big change, a way to revitalize itself.

I have to cut this short, but I'll be revisiting these themes in the next 12 days, on my own, with my husband & with my friend's fresh pair of American eyes.

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