reassurance

Last night, for the first time all summer, I had trouble falling asleep. I spent the earlier evening hours working on what I call my "House Book." This oeuvre contains room-by-room instructions about my house for Nathalie. I'm trying to remember to include every little detail, like how the bathroom door sticks, and how if you're using the hairdryer in the bathroom at the same time the bedroom light is on, and the a/c kicks on, you'll probably blow a fuse. My mind was racing with all of the things still left to do this weekend, and I'm beginning to feel a bit anxious about the whole adventure.

This morning, I got up bright and early to mow the lawn. I considered hiring my sixteen-year old neighbor Nick to do it, but I thought it might be a good distraction for me - something not related to thinning out my coat or shoe collection in preparation for my move across the Atlantic. After mowing, I decided that it was time to clean out the garage. I know, this should have been done before the garage sale, but I simply didn't have time. In just a few hours, I filled up one big blue garbage can, and my recycling is overflowing into three additional containers. I must say, it looks pretty good. Nathalie should be able to fit a compact car in there with no trouble.

There are advantages to being a pack rat and then going on a cleaning frenzy. This week, I have come across bags of brochures from previous trips to France, ticket stubs to numerous historical sites, and the scraps of paper where I scratched down new vocabulary words. From the summer of 2002, when Kathy & Damien were preparing their new apartment, I learned words like souder (to weld) and le carrelage (floor tiles), and discovered that the French like to use a textured wallpaper (le papier peint) on their concrete walls that they can then paint. That summer I also experienced Kiloutou, where one can rent equipment for home improvements. When pronounced, Kiloutou sounds just like "qui loue tout," which means "one who rents everything." Clever!

In addition, I've stumbled across several (incomplete) travel journals where I started out with good intentions, recording daily activities for an average of 2.5 days. My only explanation is that I got so wrapped up in the trips that I didn't have time to journal. All of these souvenirs have been nice reminders of how much I enjoy France and how much more there is for me to discover. I also glanced at anecdotes about people I met while traveling, and that reminded me of the friendliness I've encountered in France. During one of my first trips to Paris over 15 years ago, my friend Sarah and I were consulting our map before getting on the métro. Not knowing we spoke French, a gendarme asked us in broken English where we were going. When he didn't know the stop, he asked at the guichet. Or the time I entered a shop in Versailles a few minutes behind some of my students, and the shopkeeper complimented me on their good behavior and effort to speak French. Most recently, I was struck by the apologetic tone of a bathroom attendant at le Château d'Amboise, when all of the stalls were occupied. I laughed and said there was no need to apologize; it was the shortest line I'd seen anywhere in France. She then continued our conversation by asking if I'd seen the new "Marie Antoinette" movie. I hadn't, but she gave me a critique worthy of printing.

Like I said, there are advantages to being a pack rat. Those long-forgotten remnants of trips past are just the reassurance I need as I find myself anxiously wondering, "What have I gotten myself into?!"