I will be on a plane in 12 hours:

(pretty song, correct emotion.)













i don't know how to get this video of it off...but here it is again.

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.

Dear children of my future self,

These are the pillow cases that you will be taking a nap on when I come into the living room and you will look so cute, but I have to tell you to stop drooling on my pillowcases, and that these pillows are not for sleeping and I will explain to you as I go to your bedroom to get your pillow, that I bought these 10-15 years ago while I was in France. 10-15 years ago will mean nothing to you, and you won't understand why I would have pillows that are not for sleeping, and why it's such a big deal that there is a small drool spot on the pillow, because it will dry. Then later, I will come into the living room and tell you to stop hitting your sister/brother with the pillows, and that they are not for hitting either. A while later, perhaps you will be at school, or maybe you will be watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (I am not making this up) and you will recognize one of these tapestries (Gryffindor common room decorations are the red tapestries.) and tell all of your friends insistently that you have those tapestries at home! Then your teacher will look really confused, and when your friends come over to play, you'll show them where the Harry Potter decorators got the design. And then we will go to France and to the Cluny Museum and see La Dame à la Licorne Tapestry, and to Bayeux to see the Bayeux Tapestry, and I will show you the little store that I went to to buy those pillows I made such a big fuss about.

Perhaps by then, I will need a few replacements.

Dear Future Husband,

I hope you don't mind that I bought these dish towels for our future home. Don't worry, all six of them only costed 5 euros. I think they will look great hanging on the cute hooks that I will buy soon to match. Also, I almost bought a round table cloth with a Provence pattern on it, but I realized that I should probably not get married with a big fat zero in my bank account. On the other hand, maybe now is the time to really invest in our future home, right? I hope you like french decor!

P.S. If you ever think something I buy seems a little, you know, dramatic, or you come across an album full of a blond girl taking pictures:

Cami is my roommate, takes really good pictures, hate her, and helps me pick things out for our future home. And eats beautiful, good food... Yesterday, she almost bought a silky gold suit thing with a saggy crotch.


P.P.S. These are the children who I took about thirty pictures of at Luxembourg Palace today, because I hardly ever see children. That is the mother who I am sure got totally weirded out. Aren't they adorable though?

P.P.P.S. Megan, my mom and I were SO on with the whole Paris theme at your wedding=yellow dahlias. Look what I found in front of Luxembourg Palace: