Liesl's Magnificat

Yesterday was luscious. We had almost written the whole weekend off, what with Saturday's rain and slop and wet. Saturday was a non-day. A day to clean the kitchen, a day to finish up that project that's been sticking its tongue out at you from the floor of the hall. A day that we simply endured together, sleeping and eating and sleeping some more. A day for drinking raspberry tea. Not a bad day, just a prosaic day.

But, oh, Sunday, sweet Sunday, the autumn day of my dreams. The rain brought in warmer air, for one precious Indian summery day. The sun woke us up, nudging us into the day earlier than usual, so that we could taste and savor the sweetness of the bluest sky and hear the crispness of the leaves.

We wandered through Central Park, the only proper destination for such a day. We shared the gray-beige rocks of Turtle Pond with other couples and watched the men row their ladies in green rowboats. Impromptu kisses beneath the goldening leaves may or may not have been shared. We talked of cabbages and kings, of wedding plans and future things. Shared one slice of pizza between the two of us, a sip of coffee, and a free chocolate. Played in the leaves and the stuffed animals. Walked and talked and walked and talked down the sidewalks of the city.

Sublime and pure, the sun warmed our hearts and the leaves opened our souls to each other. It was, in short, the consummate fall afternoon, the prototype of autumn, the mold from which all fall days should be cast.

And the best part of the day was sharing it with you.

Rain

So, this has been a day. I arrived at my office building to find that the elevator was out, and I'd have to walk up the eight flights of stairs to get to work - again. The stairs were wet, with water dripping down my neck as I climbed. It actually got worse as I got farther up.

If only that were the worst of it.

When I finally got to my floor, it was raining. Inside the building. Yes, raining. Like, dangit, I forgot my umbrella. Like, I want to stay in bed and watch a movie. Like, good day for ducks. Inside the building.

It appears there was a false fire alarm on the 10th floor, or a pipe leak, or something, that didn't get checked over the weekend. It's 3:30 right now, and they tell me water is still running on the 9th and 10th floors. My specific office isn't affected, fortunately.

The director's office was a soggy mess. His computer no longer works. His chairs squished when you sat down on them. When you lifted up a corner of a ceiling tile to see where the water was coming from, a fountain gushed out the other corner. We emptied out his office entirely, moving 60 years and a PhD's worth of books. We strategically placed recycle bins to catch the drops. We rescued his diplomas and family pictures and knicknacks. We set up fans to dry his important documents into crinkly, crispy pages. We set up a temporary office for him in another room. We called the crew to bring carpet fans. We thought we were done.

And then...we opened the storage closets next to his office. The ones that hold ten years' worth of paper archives, in cardboard boxes. Which were now wet archives, in wet cardboard boxes. I took a puddle of dirty cardboard water to the face when emptying those shelves.

So now we have archives, Christmas decorations, electronics, chair cushions and all kinds of documents strewn around every possible surface, drying. Fortunately they tell me the floors are made of concrete, so there's no risk of those collapsing. The ceilings, that's another story. I'm keeping my ears peeled for the crash.

Talk about a flashback to Odo-Ban!

The Frozen North

It occurred to me that Canada might be feeling a little left out of this presidential election.

"Hey, we're next to Alaska, too!"

Ypres

Browsing NYTimes.com this morning, I found this gem of a sentence:

Heretofore, my chief anxiety about traveling to France had always been that, at some point during my trip, I would be called upon to pronounce the name of the town Ypres.

You can read the rest of the article here. Let's just say that from the very first sentence, the article grabs you. (Caveat: You have to speak boarding school French to fully understand the article; the author resorts to peppering phrases en français throughout the text, to give it more of a je ne sais quoi.)

Rethinking The Desire To Live In Northern France

You know it's going to be a long day when you arrive at work and have to squeegee yourself off. Rain rain go away, at least for the twenty minutes while I walk from home to subway and subway to work. Seriously, I am wet to the upper thigh.

But yet, I still can't bring myself to buy the silly rubber boots all the girls here wear. While certainly more functional than Crocs, they're equally funny-looking. Bets are on for how long I'll hold out.

The Countdown

Well, it's coming down to the wire, folks. Two days until my birthday. Two days until the last year of a 2 as the first digit. I gave up long ago on pretending that I was still carefree, but still...thirty's in sight, just lurking down the bend, waiting to jump on me and smother me with its finality.

And so now it's time for the list. I've attempted this once before but didn't get very far. At the time, I thought I had all the time in the world to think of more things. Go look at that list. I'll wait. Do dee doo de doo.

Wow, I've accomplished, partially accomplished, or will accomplish the first four items! But for realsies, it's my turn to make my own list. No fair listing things I've already done.

1. Put up as many of my CSA fruit and vegetables as possible for the winter.


2. Succeed in making borscht this time.


3. Make as many of my own work clothes as I can.


4. Stay gracious and try not to snap at my mom when she forces her wedding ideas on me.


5. Take a photography class, or work on my photography skills.


6. Find another dance class I like, and attend regularly.


7. Go to a country I haven't been to and where I don't speak the language.


8. Talk to strangers.


9. Put 6k into my retirement fund. Hey, I never said the things had to be interesting!


10. Attend a European soccer game.


11. Really blow a student's mind with my insightful and probing questions on intercultural awareness, leading them to requestion all they ever thought they knew about the world (aka, do my job).


12. Figure out what to do about the "I want a registry!" "But we don't have any space for stuff." "But I WANT one!" dilemma.


13. Spend a weekend with Frenchy and a borrowed under-one, just to see if we can hack it.


14. Think up a really watertight excuse for when we can't hack it.


15. Read Jude the Obscure.


16. Have more than one professional massage.


17. Take advantage of the free gallery talks at the Met.


18. Learn to stop on rollerblades.


19. Visit some New York wineries.


20. Invite the couple that lives below us up for dinner or coffee.

How to make me melt into a tiny little puddle

The other night we got word that a deacon who happens to be a cousin of a friend agreed to marry us in France, pending an in-person meeting beforehand. This was good news; besides the fact that we've found an officiant, we also only have to go through one day of pre-wedding counseling rather than the six months that American priests make you do. Welcome to France, where they're desperate for Catholics.

Nevertheless, Frenchy looked alarmed. "Pre-wedding counseling? What are they going to ask?"

I explained that usually the priest asks you if you've given consideration to many of the issues that may potentially cause friction: children, finances, difference in beliefs, and in our case, what country we're going to live in. He looked somewhat relieved.

"I thought that he was going to ask what I did to deserve a girl like you. Because really, somebody's got to notice, sooner or later."