salt lake parents.

Kent looking for a place to eat. Pam and I waiting for the verdict.

I can't remember, but I think the first time I met Kent and Pam, it was the fall of 2008 and we were at Jane's house--their house. I can't quite remember why. But I do remember that Pam ended up telling us stories in high school when Jane was low, and she gave me a couple of snickers candy bars for emergencies. I took these candy bars very seriously, and when Jane slept through classes whether on purpose or not, I would throw these chocolates at her, yelling, "Jane! Are you low?!" and some of the time she was, but sometimes she wasn't. Either way she said she wasn't low, so I just assumed she was low at all times unless she had just eaten. I was very angry to come back to the apartment one day and see that the plastic bag I had put the snickers in and labeled "for emergency use only" was gone. Along with the chocolate. Jane had gotten hungry.

Anyway. Jane's parents were in Paris this last week, where I took them to some of my favorite places.

surprise surprise...where did we end up, and what did we end up drinking. Kent doesn't even like hot chocolate that much, but he still drank some. And Pam and I finished off his portion.

h-core travelers.

We sat and talked about a lot a lot of different things, and we all got mad together at someone who I am irritated with, and we talked about relationships, and about that one time last winter when Pam promised Jane something if she did something, and then when I did that same something, that weekend I was at Pam and Kent's house and I was having a breakdown and I was feeling numb and Pam just talked and I listened while I sat at the kitchen bar and Jane and I exchanged lots of smiles while Pam cooked some onions that sizzled, and I watched them get clearer while I told her about another friend of mine who was struggling with other issues and she told me her experience with those issues. But the main point is that I could just forget, try to open my eyes wide enough to make a well for my tears to stay in, to try not to make my voice shake, I could just drink in all of the emotion, all of the experiences she had had, and nod my head, wanting to stay in that warm, red kitchen in Salt Lake where we were making pizza and never go back to my cold, white apartment where all I had to eat were eggs and cereal. And Kent would chime in from the table.

We did that again here in Paris, the topics jumping all over the place, but I talked as well, and we talked about Europe, and they both liked talking to people who were here, people who spoke English, why they were here, what they were doing, and we talked about Jane and ate, and ate some more, and Kent was calm, very calm as we shopped and as we ate, and polite and kind and easy. On friday when I was waiting for the RER, I got a phone call, and I heard Kent's voice saying "Bonjour!" to me, and I listened to his calm, friendly voice asking where I was, what I had done that day. I remembered when we went to the Orangerie and the Cluny Museum and he listened to my unoriginal ideas that came from sitting in those places for a long time, and when he waited for us while we shopped, or even waited in line to pay for something while we went across the street to another shop. We talked about where we would meet to go get lunch, and that Pam was currently shopping and then they would head to the Saint-Chapelle where I would meet them, and he told me he would pay for lunch. Such a sweet man.

Don't look at my face please.

I am skyping my mother, and she just said: "Emma, do you think anyone really cares about your blog?"

My mother. The one who birthed me. Who has given me my life and that is the last time I am ever mentioning her in my blog again.

to jumpstart the christmas season:

boring/annoying post unless you went to england in the spring avec moi.

even though i really feel like i have no reason to be wanting to do anything except what i'm doing right now,

i do miss doing this tonight:

and this:

I miss not being embarrassed by using my study abroad backpack.

but mostly, I miss being with these people:

even this guy:

and i miss my guitar. even though this is chris bennion's guitar:

it just seems almost unreal that we were all in england together. ugh i hate myself, because i was trying to overcome nostalgia in that trip to england. it follows me. maybe i follow it...and maybe i'm just letting it smooth out any annoyance i had, all of the boring, problematic parts in england, but really, i don't think i am that much.

ps if you came to england with me and are not pictured here, please be not offended. it has only to do with facebook. blame it on them.

i expect to see all of your faces in december. i guess the rest of your bodies as well.

marriage as it should be

good song that you could listen to while reading this if you want:

I was in the souvenir/gift shop of the Cluny Museum tonight looking over the postcards I've seen several times already, sliding my hand across glossy covers of books that whisper to me "you can't fit me in your suitcase." And I want to buy those books almost just to prove that yes, I will find a way to fit all of you, this whole store actually, into my suitcase and none of you can stop me. Actually, I was not feeling so hostile. I was just doing an assignment, happy to be back at one of my favorite museums in the city. I heard English everywhere. There were a lot of Americans in the museum today. I think it was "if you are an American, come to the Cluny Museum" day, but I don't know. I could be wrong. I kept hearing them and tried not to slip and fall into that deep puddle of warmth and comfort that is homesickness.

I had barely been in the shop for a second when I saw an American woman holding two books in her hand, and I caught the end of her conversation with her husband who was standing at the door. I recognized her pose, leaning across the book table, eyebrows raised and a hint of panic, trying not to inconvenience her husband who wanted to leave the store, but knowing that she would really really like having those books. She was a sweet-looking woman, with mid-length dark blond hair and a kind, middle-aged face and she wore comfortable walking shoes and a purse slung across her body and a little sweater to combat the constant but mild rain outside. "I just think it would be really interesting to read about" she said, looking to her husband.

He was taller than most french men with a collared shirt tucked into some belted levis. He wore some kind of tennis shoe and some glasses, and he was a middle-aged man with a short, american hair-cut and a face that I wouldn't really describe as attractive, but he wasn't unattractive. Maybe just like a dad, or a 25-years-of-marriage type of look. He was probably in his later-forties. But probably not late forties. He was edged near the door, waiting for whatever his wife needed to purchase before they were off again into the rainy streets of Paris. "Which ever you want dear," he said kindly, understandingly. But in a sympathizing understanding way, not an empathizing kind of understanding way. Because he doesn't buy those kinds of things, but he knows that she really likes to. She smiled, saying something about getting the bigger book, and she hopped over to the cash register where the woman behind the desk said, "bonjour!" boredly and took the book. The woman buying the book might have said bonjour back, but it would have been so quietly that I didn't hear. And I know all of this because I kept spying on them when I heard the husband say she could get which ever she wanted, and their entire married life spanned out before me as I filled in the details of where they were from, how long they've been planning this trip to Paris, and where else they would be going after this museum. They had just come from the Pantheon and they were making their way toward Notre Dame, where they would climb the tower together, and the map of Paris in the husband's head would fill out into reality as he looked at monuments and traffic and nodded his head with his hand to his chin, muttering to himself, and the wife would lean against the metal fence, breathing deeply while she looked at the Seine and the 19th century architecture and held her bag from the Cluny Museum in her cold, wet hand. And then when they would go to their hotel tonight, she would read about The Lady and the Unicorn tapestries after they planned their day for tomorrow, and when she closed her eyes she would think of the beautifully frozen 15th century woman in her beautiful dresses and shiny necklaces and silvery hair and they would weave in and out of her dreams while she deciphered the meaning. And so I kept watching them. And I watched the purchasing woman smile warmly but still a bit shyly at the woman working as she scanned the book and told her it was huit euro quatre-vingt quinze centimes, and the woman's eyes widened, asking the question with her eyes, and the working woman flipped the screen of the register around pointedly so she could see that the book was 8.95 euros. She handed the money to her, smiling again, and said "merci" before going back to her husband who was standing at the door in the most clear body language that said he was ready to go but he would wait, and they turned together and walked out of the bookshop, out of the museum, talking.

Chocolate, waffles, chocolate waffles, waffle chocolates, and flavored beer.

I didn't drink the beer. But I did buy it because I owed Ericka a couple of euros. The bottle looked like a soda bottle, so I didn't even feel rebellious at all. But it was raspberry flavored, which is why Ericka wanted to try it, because she doesn't really like beer. But she does want to be a wine connoisseur. How pretentious.

Bruges



The minute we got off the train, we walked into the station and saw a waffle stand, a fry stand, and three chocolate stores. We chocolate hopped everywhere. Finally in Brussels we found a store that had samples and two locations. We went there three times.

I convinced Ericka that we needed to try every version of the mocha-flavored Leonidas. Of course she liked the dark chocolate. And of course I liked the white chocolate, because that is what I have been eating for the past like seven years.

we struggled so much to take good pictures:

Ericka ice skated in the market square in Bruges. I took pictures of her. We both enjoyed our respective activities. Plus there was about a fourth of an inch layer of water above the ice. So if a slip happened...well, I didn't even bring different pants to wear the next day. SO.

look it: socks.

Pretty Church in Bruges. Their relic: a vial of Christ's blood that you can touch for a small donation. We weren't there when they were having a viewing though. Unfortunately.

Ericka taking her Senior Pics:



So excited to eat my Belgian waffle. For the third time.



I was so tired in Bruges it was embarrassing. When we were both so tired that we stopped talking and started walking really slowly, we went to a bar that was established in 1515 and played Boggle.

Bruges

Brussels

Pretty gazebo in the park in Brussels:

I told you. An aMAZing trip. But actually, yeah. It was pretty good. :)

A few pictures from Belgium...

iphoto was being dumb, so these are all so small.

aMAZing TRIP!!! if you haven't been to these places your life is NOT complete!!!!!!!!

if you didn't catch any irony, read this.

view of brussels

on the bell tower in Bruges.

yep. i am the boy in this pic. great.

i am officially in love with lisa.

If you have talked with me in the past 48 hours, you would know that me having a travel crisis is the understatement of my "abroad" life. Lisa was my savior.

Lisa was here since Tuesday as part of her London study abroad program. I have not spoken to Lisa with my own voice since April during finals week last Winter semester where we both hadn't been to England yet, and she was jealous of me because I was going within a matter of days, and I was jealous of her because I knew I would be jealous of her later, when my program was over. We were on the same freshman floor. I like Lisa because I knew that even though we really didn't "hang out" freshman year, and I think I saw her maybe three times last year, I knew it would be fun to hang out with her in Paris, that there would not be a gap in the conversation, and that it was quite probable that we would have a splendid time. Because I like her.

When I found out at the Musée D'Orsay that she loves Monet, I took her here: Except for before that, we had to revamp at Angelina with some hot chocolate.



We had each of the waterlily rooms to ourselves for about a whole two minutes. It was wonderful. After walking near the Seine, and a trip into Shakespeare and Co., we went up to the top of Notre Dame, which I haven't done yet, which was beautiful, because the sky was clear and the sun was beautiful and orange, and Lisa has a thing for sunsets. Along with hair and fabric in paintings, shadows, not liking things that other people like just to be contrary, and not making things awkward because they don't need to be.


Lisa working her magic. And my wonderful framing skills. Look at Lisa's ear in the top left corner. It's my favorite part.

view:



And our conversation jumped between our friends, study abroads, my study abroad to England and how it is similar/different from hers, Rachel Ashby, going on missions, the fact that everyone we know is getting married, Rachel Ashby, England, literature, being nerds, hot chocolate, how I am kind of scared of Monet's waterlilies because you can't actually understand them from up close, and that you understand them better when you are closer to the panel you are not looking at, Rachely Ashby, and no horizons in the waterlilies paintings, and England, and London, and Paris, and the tube and the metro, and beautiful gardens, and gaudy English decor and beautiful, whimsical french decor, and attractive people in Paris, Rachely Ashby, and saying "lovely," and how Paris is emotional and passionate, and how London is intellectual and loves memory, about giving directions in a British accents, my incompetence in speaking French, good crepe prices, the city versus the country, study abroad group dynamics, about being friends with lots of different people, and how Lisa admitted that even though everyone loves Paris and therefore she was playing hard to get, Paris won. Which made me so very happy. Lisa, I think I kind of felt like that too before I came on study abroad here. I was fully ready to never let myself love Paris because somehow that might take away from how much I love England. And now all I can say is what every person says, and you say "thank you for being so vague": they're different. And I love both of them.

don't you feel as though these could almost be parts of a temple? I think church should definitely consider building in the gothic style.

I thought I was so funny taking these:

Lisa, I am so happy that I got to see you today and spend the day with you. You made me feel so much better. And I really needed that.