Walking down the hill from Champ des Oiseaux after work tonight, I was heavy metal channeling the tuppance-a-bag* lady from Mary Poppins**. On one shoulder, I had a navy blue leather bag with my normal shit in it: phone, id, bus pass, euros (aka coinage), Orwell’s Books vs. Cigarettes, cough drops, notebook, fountain pen, hella house keys, a baguette, chocolate, headphones, yadda yadda. On the other shoulder, a red and white gym bag with Jesus books from the girls’ catechism, a flute, some sheet music, and a swim bag. I was mobbin’ deep, from the Beverly Hills of Rouen to the gutters of Rue du Gros Horlage.
Just after I passed under the big ol’ clock, a little cross-eyed feller emerged from the shadows with a guitar and a red flag tied around his neck. There were a few drunkards from Delirium Cafe huddled behind him smoking cigarettes. I was listening to some bossanova, but I popped a headphone out to have a listen at what the little man was playing us. What was it you might ask? Creed. That’s right folks, Creed tunes on a Wednesday night in the rainy streets of France. I put my bossanova back on and went home.
But before I got home, I passed the cathedral. The cathedral is unavoidable. That gothic monstrosity is right across the street from my flat. Lighthouses are to a stormed up sea-farer as Notre Dame Cathedral is to an au pair in Rouen. It’s my compass, my nightlight, my knight in gargoyle armor. If I get lost, the iron cathedral tip (just the tip… heh…) is always visible from anywhere in the city. Even from the skylight of my apartment.
So, today was chill n’ stuff. Wednesdays are my busiest day of the week, but intermittently balanced by French luxuries. The hard part is working 9-13 hours straight. Taking the three girls back and forth all over the city by foot, bus and metro. Dropping them at school, grabbing the dance duffel bag from home, picking the girls up early because half-day every Wednesday, bussing home for lunch, taking one kid to ballet, carrying a cello***, running to flute and cello lessons on the left bank, then home for a snack***, back to the old town city centre for catechism, kicking it in the plaza after their class to tired the kids out while they play with their homies, then back home for dinner, bath, homework, games, bed.
Sounds exhausting, yeah? It is a lot, no doubt about that. At first it was completely overwhelming. As of today, it’s finally easy. The whirlwind is slower when I keep myself in the present and savor the sweet little things.
Some sweet little things I savored today:
The decorative ceiling shit I noticed while laying on the couch listening to Dora the Explorer in French (Dora l’Exploratrice).
Homemade crepes for lunch with the girls. Hot plate in the middle of the huge dining room table. Table set with an ivy-print linen tablecloth. All white dishes. Egg, ham & emmental cheese crepes first. Salad with mustard and red wine vinegar. Cheese/yogurt course. Sweet crepes for dessert. Dark chocolate. God ya!
The statue I stared at while waiting for the girls to get out of catechism.
The girls playing a game in my notebook while we waited for the bus. Anything they do together is aesthetically too adorable. They’re three small blonde French girls. Picture them huddled around this little Henri Cartier-Bresson notebook*****, giggling over a polkadot game I just taught them.
The kids’ dad playing saxophone downstairs while he waited for the oven to preheat for our dinner.
The last thing I look at before I walk up five flights of stairs to my bed:
*Somebody make a rap song with Mary Poppins “Feed the Birds”// that’s a million dollar idea // gratis // you’re welcome.
**I AM MARY POPPINS
***Carrying a cello is starting to grow on me. I like pretending I play an instrument. Some Dutch nomads asked me to join a hippy jam fest while I was toting the cello solo last Wednesday. It’s like playing a character. Hi my name is Julia, I went to Juliard, I play cello, come at me bro.
****In France, the kids pretty much exclusively “snack” on bread and chocolate.
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