Yup. That's right. I am no longer unemployed in France. Woo-hoo! Well, it's kind of a real job.
Tomorrow I will start babysitting Ella, SoCo's friend's 8-year-old daughter. I've only met her once so I guess tomorrow will be the day that we get to know each other and talk girl stuff.
Her mother and I discussed my employment during a get-together at her house. It went like this (In French, of course):
note: Blah = Insert perplexing French words
She: "El's Nanny blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."
Me: "MmHmm."
She: "I...blah, blah, blah...Nanny....blah, blah."
Me: "Aaaah." *nodding my head.
She: "It's only Wednesday from noon 'till about 6 p.m....blah, blah, blah.
Me: "Yes."
She: "And you pick her up...blah, blah, blah, blah...on Monday's and Thursday's at 4:45 p.m. until about 7:00 p.m."
Me: "Okay. Me walk to school? Far, school?"
She: "No. So, it's about 12 hours a week. Blah, blah, blah, blah. okay, you? Blah, blah, blah, blah. It...blah, blah..please you?"
Me: "Yes. Yes. Yes. Of course. With pleasure."
She: "Blah, blah, blah, blah. If you really don't want to, it's okay to say no."
Me: "No, I want to do it."
She: "Blah, blah, blah...6 euros an hour...blah, blah...and blah. Is that okay?"
Me: "Yea. That's fine." *thinking to self: What have I gotten myself into?
A gentle handshake between employee and employer is shared. I smile at everyone while sipping my wine and trying to decipher the blah's in the conversation.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Broken Glasses and Shattered Bottles
Coincidence or are the cosmic woo-woos sending me a sign through bloody fingers and excessive cleaning?
After breaking four of eight wine glasses while washing dishes, knocking over the yummy homemade jam a la Family Tizzy, and shattering an almost empty bottle of balsamic vinaigrette all over the "I-need-a-good-mopping" spanking white tiles in the kitchen, all in less than three weeks, I thanked the lack of grace bestowed upon me by God.
But, just three hours after breaking the vinaigrette bottle, I managed to set a new daily record. I hopped into the bathroom to apply a wallop of toothpaste to the volcanic pimple ready to explode on my chin. Reaching over the sink for the mini tube of Crest toothpaste I smuggled over from the U.S, my hand brushed the coke glass filled with 5 or 6 toothbrushes and the very minty brand of French toothpaste, and to my freaking horror, I watched as the glass and all its germ filled contents tumbled into the bathroom sink.
Not again, I thought to myself. What the hell is going on here? I'm a firm believer of signs, you know, like when you have watched at least five Playtex compact commercials in less than an hour and then discover stray pads and tampons in that purse you haven't used for ages. Signs! Period a coming -- hmm, or flowing? So, as I am very superstitious and I believe in all that crap about signs and patterns in our everyday life, I scurried over to my laptop and attempted to make some sense of all this broken glass. Grace a l'internet and Google, I found an article titled "Finding new meaning in broken glass" on a Jewish website. This man, Eric, wrote a lovely article about the weird glass breaking occurrences days before his wedding.
First, out of a dozen-and-a-half of glasses wrapped in a box shipped from some store, one completely shattered; second, while having dinner with his future wife, his mother managed to knock over a water glass; and three, after the wedding, the glass frames a friend shipped completely shattered en route. According to this Jewish man, shattered glass is a good omen sign:
Breaking anything, let alone glass, normally isn't a sign of good luck. But we Jews make an exception. The climactic moment in any Jewish wedding is the part when the groom stomps his foot to smash a glass, right before the ceremonial first kiss as husband and wife. Some say that the custom symbolizes the irreversibility of the union. You cannot, after all, put shattered glass back together.
Others believe that even in times of great joy, we should remember that much of the world remains broken, and that we should dedicate ourselves to mending it. Still, I can't help but associate broken glass with the defining story of Jewish mysticism. In the beginning, God contracted all of the Divine light in the universe and contained it in a glass vessel to make room for Creation. But that light could not be contained and remain separate from the rest of the existence, and so it expanded and shattered the glass, sending holy sparks in every direction.
Today those sparks remain hidden, trapped in shards of glass, waiting to be freed by our acts of love and kindness. --eric antebi
http://www.jewishsf.com/content/2-0-/module/displaystory/story_id/29620/edition_id/558/format/html/displaystory.html
So, I guess I'm getting married soon. Do you hear the wedding bells? Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.
Or maybe I should not have placed the vinaigrette bottle on a shelf that was way to small for it?
You decide.
Keep and eye out for those signs!
After breaking four of eight wine glasses while washing dishes, knocking over the yummy homemade jam a la Family Tizzy, and shattering an almost empty bottle of balsamic vinaigrette all over the "I-need-a-good-mopping" spanking white tiles in the kitchen, all in less than three weeks, I thanked the lack of grace bestowed upon me by God.
But, just three hours after breaking the vinaigrette bottle, I managed to set a new daily record. I hopped into the bathroom to apply a wallop of toothpaste to the volcanic pimple ready to explode on my chin. Reaching over the sink for the mini tube of Crest toothpaste I smuggled over from the U.S, my hand brushed the coke glass filled with 5 or 6 toothbrushes and the very minty brand of French toothpaste, and to my freaking horror, I watched as the glass and all its germ filled contents tumbled into the bathroom sink.
Not again, I thought to myself. What the hell is going on here? I'm a firm believer of signs, you know, like when you have watched at least five Playtex compact commercials in less than an hour and then discover stray pads and tampons in that purse you haven't used for ages. Signs! Period a coming -- hmm, or flowing? So, as I am very superstitious and I believe in all that crap about signs and patterns in our everyday life, I scurried over to my laptop and attempted to make some sense of all this broken glass. Grace a l'internet and Google, I found an article titled "Finding new meaning in broken glass" on a Jewish website. This man, Eric, wrote a lovely article about the weird glass breaking occurrences days before his wedding.
First, out of a dozen-and-a-half of glasses wrapped in a box shipped from some store, one completely shattered; second, while having dinner with his future wife, his mother managed to knock over a water glass; and three, after the wedding, the glass frames a friend shipped completely shattered en route. According to this Jewish man, shattered glass is a good omen sign:
Breaking anything, let alone glass, normally isn't a sign of good luck. But we Jews make an exception. The climactic moment in any Jewish wedding is the part when the groom stomps his foot to smash a glass, right before the ceremonial first kiss as husband and wife. Some say that the custom symbolizes the irreversibility of the union. You cannot, after all, put shattered glass back together.
Others believe that even in times of great joy, we should remember that much of the world remains broken, and that we should dedicate ourselves to mending it. Still, I can't help but associate broken glass with the defining story of Jewish mysticism. In the beginning, God contracted all of the Divine light in the universe and contained it in a glass vessel to make room for Creation. But that light could not be contained and remain separate from the rest of the existence, and so it expanded and shattered the glass, sending holy sparks in every direction.
Today those sparks remain hidden, trapped in shards of glass, waiting to be freed by our acts of love and kindness. --eric antebi
http://www.jewishsf.com/content/2-0-/module/displaystory/story_id/29620/edition_id/558/format/html/displaystory.html
So, I guess I'm getting married soon. Do you hear the wedding bells? Ding-Dong. Ding-Dong.
Or maybe I should not have placed the vinaigrette bottle on a shelf that was way to small for it?
You decide.
Keep and eye out for those signs!
Where's my quiche?
After an exhausting hour stroll through the market filled with mad shoppers inspecting fruits and vegetables, sniffing moldy cheese and admiring the modern products on display on the streets of Lyon, I was fed up and needed to go home and eat. I love outdoor markets, but after just getting up with makapiapia still in my eyes, I couldn't deal with the people standing right in the middle of the market way chatting about god knows what while groups of shoppers were trying to make their way through the tiny streets of France. Seriously, it's really simple, the marketplace conduct: Walk at normal speed, not one step every minute and if you see something that you like, move to the side so that you can allow others to walk! Oh, and especially don't, I mean never, ever eat a kebab while power walking, not paying attention to the people in front of you and almost drop lamb, onions and sauce down the front of my shirt. Grr!!
So, after the fun stroll through the market and my nagging about hunger pains and a fervent need for a warm, tasty quiche, SoCo and I headed back to his apartment. We found a quaint boulangerie near his apartment and I ordered a yummy quiche a la jambon. Yes! I had my quiche and I was ready to get back to the apartment to sit on the couch, eat my quiche and do absolutely nothing. Oh, but no, no, no...with about 7 bags of fruits and veggies in our hands, SoCo decided that we had to walk 4 blocks to his car to pick up his soccer ball and badminton rackets because we were going to picnic with friends at Parc Tete d'Or in 2 hours. As SoCo gathered the sports equipment, I snuggled with all the produce on a nearby bench. Finally, we can get back. We gather everything up and walked down the hill toward the apartment.
After four flights of stairs, I was ecstatic to be back in the apartment. I placed the bags on the table, searched for my quiche...searched for my quiche...searched again. Oh, hell no! "Where is my quiche?"
Epilogue: I grudgingly conceded to eat leftover kebab pizza while mourning the loss of my dear quiche after, of course, throwing a fit, pouting and refusing to go to the picnic. Poor SoCo, it was a baffling day for him to watch my mood swings. But, the quiche story became main topic at the picnic as I sat there pretending to understand every word that they uttered in French. Smile, nod and laugh when they laugh...he, he, ha, ha!
So, after the fun stroll through the market and my nagging about hunger pains and a fervent need for a warm, tasty quiche, SoCo and I headed back to his apartment. We found a quaint boulangerie near his apartment and I ordered a yummy quiche a la jambon. Yes! I had my quiche and I was ready to get back to the apartment to sit on the couch, eat my quiche and do absolutely nothing. Oh, but no, no, no...with about 7 bags of fruits and veggies in our hands, SoCo decided that we had to walk 4 blocks to his car to pick up his soccer ball and badminton rackets because we were going to picnic with friends at Parc Tete d'Or in 2 hours. As SoCo gathered the sports equipment, I snuggled with all the produce on a nearby bench. Finally, we can get back. We gather everything up and walked down the hill toward the apartment.
After four flights of stairs, I was ecstatic to be back in the apartment. I placed the bags on the table, searched for my quiche...searched for my quiche...searched again. Oh, hell no! "Where is my quiche?"
Epilogue: I grudgingly conceded to eat leftover kebab pizza while mourning the loss of my dear quiche after, of course, throwing a fit, pouting and refusing to go to the picnic. Poor SoCo, it was a baffling day for him to watch my mood swings. But, the quiche story became main topic at the picnic as I sat there pretending to understand every word that they uttered in French. Smile, nod and laugh when they laugh...he, he, ha, ha!
Documenting my life in France
I've been in Lyon, France for almost 2 months now with absolutely nothing to do during the day while my boyfriend is at work, so I figured that I could occupy myself the rest of the time that I am here by documenting all the fun and sometimes annoying things that I have experienced.
This should be fun! A plus!
This should be fun! A plus!
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