Tonight I had extra energy, so I… made Amish Friendship Bread : three batches of it, in different shapes and flavors. Two and a half pounds of flour later, I am wondering who is going to eat all this bread. I guess I’m going to be making a lot of friends.
First radio show happened today. I’m glad to have scheduled hang-out time with Rosalie.
Despite some pretty ridiculous scheduling mishaps, things seem to be falling back into place. Just get me to this weekend!
September 19, 2006
puckery
September 14, 2006
fanfaronade
Let’s play a game called Follow the Package. If Kat mails a box from Toulouse to Maryland, where does it go?
The answer is : nobody knows!
It leaves the post office and flies out of France two days later.
Then it leads a mystery life of jetsetting and doing everything it always wished it could do, but couldn’t when it was accountable for things and had a place to call home.
Two months later, it is seen coming off of a plane in Paris. Where does it go after that? Who is taking care of it?
The answer is : nobody knows!
I’ve used up one phone card and two and a half hours calling every level of the postal network in France and the States. I called French Customs. I called the Loose In Mail warehouse, somewhere in Georgia. I haven’t found my box, but I’ve learned something interesting.
People whose job consists only in answering the phone love to say, ”Moi, je ne peux pas vous aider.” Not only are they certain that they can do nothing for me, but they are unwilling to try to think of things I could try.
On the other hand, people in post offices and lost-in-mail warehouses look around, dig for numbers, twiddle with computers, leave notes for mail carriers and ask their bosses about the problem. They’re resourceful. They want to help. They laugh instead of becoming defensive.
I’m not a bad girl! I just trusted the postal service to carry my stuff for me! I can’t really blame the answerers of phones for their sour dispositions, though – I wouldn’t want to have such a boring, unsatisfying job, disconnected from people and all sense of utility, either.
September 7, 2006
plenary
There’s an old person (lady? man? hard to tell underneath the windbreaker, shades, helmet, and reflective vest) who wobbily rides a bike around town. I’ve seen her (gotta pick a pronoun, anyway) noodling around, her saddle bags full of gadgets with which to defend herself, light on in broad daylight. Where’s she going? What’s she up to? As far as I can tell, all she does is trace wibbly rectangles around downtown.
I’ve started work at the Back Door Café. It’s a good place, where the food’s fresh and the people are down to earth. My favorite part of the job is learning to recognize regulars. Whenever one comes in, a whisper ripples from the front of the house to the kitchen. Every regular has a story and their character is known. The Ballerinas run the ballet conservatory in town. If you see them coming, you have to run and flip the radio to a classical station, or else they’ll complain throughout the meal about the awful music. A lumbering lady who wears couchy floral print dresses supplies the restaurant’s eggs. Dr. M. has his office down the street and comes in often. The lunch shift is this showcase of friendly familiarity that rolls by - no stress, no pressure. Just the job for me.
fizzle
Untethered as I feel here on campus, I am beginning to see where my roots will settle this year. The little tendrils are unfurling. All I need is the confidence to make everything happen!
Let’s be honest. All of the things that make life on a liberal arts campus different from that in a French city aren’t disagreeable. Whereas I felt anonymous in Toulouse, at school I can influence the community. People here want to know me, and they expect me to contribute. That feels good.
That’s not to say that reintegration is a breeze. I feel overwhelmed by the density of energetic people on tight schedules who swarm these few blocks. College is this microcosm that sets goals in order to keep itself busy – it makes itself important. Everyone here is busy : with work, clubs, papers, meetings… I marvel at the way our ideas take flight : people conceive of an institution, they create it, and the next thing you know it’s the institution that has missions and purposes and people are at its service.