so, just really quickly,

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why do over half of you think i should get married already?! that was supposed to be the joke option where only like one person votes for it and then it's awkward and i feel reassured after feeling sad because of the fact that half of everyone i know is getting married.

but, since it is apparently happening quite soon, can i please wear these shoes?

mother?

Lunch today:

last time for something like that. how sad.

i wish i could figure out a way to bring one back for you, mother.

So, the writing's dumb, but this is my final photography assignment, and I like these pictures.

I think that when you visit Paris, or any other city for a short time, it changes you, if even just a little bit. The longer you are in Paris, you start to notice how the people who live here, and the people passing through, change the city, leave their imprints on the walls and the streets and the trees and the dirt, painting the city with stories and lives, passion, change, and melancholy as well. There is a vibrant amount of emotion I think that courses through Paris because of those who live here.
Parks especially have a special power here I think, where the actions and thoughts of children are limited only by the piercing eyes of their parents, where mothers and fathers take great care in the safety and amusement of their children, where friends can sit and talk over their troubles no matter their age, and always, people seem to love who they are with, because no one is really forced to go to parks. It is somewhere to go when you have no work or errands, where Paris has less pretenses, and where a lot of good things happen.

This is my wallet.

My real wallet died a few nights ago. Jess brought it back from Spain when I was a sophomore in high school. I am now a JUNIOR in COLLEGE. It was a cute wallet. I stopped using it after SIX people in my group got their wallets stolen. And when the stitching was falling apart, and pieces of leather just started coming off. I think its bath at Sty Head may have expedited that poor, pink leather wallet's death. After its funeral, I just started putting everything in the pockets of my purse. And then that purse's zipper died which made me paranoid, so anyway, I am down to this. Digging out cash from a plastic bag. It's pretty awesome when I go to buy something and the plastic corners stick out of my purse. Everyone should get a wallet like this.

Back to England Tomorrow!

Packing right now, and these will be the only things in my blue study abroad backpack tomorrow when I head to England:

one short-sleeved shirt
one long-sleeved shirt
one cotton dress
black tights
sleep shorts
t-shirt to sleep in
two pairs of underwear
one sport's bra
one journal
two pens
one novel
passport
ipod
debit card
one small bottle shampoo
deodorant
one toothbrush
one camera

and that is IT. marshall would be proud. maybe. but seriously. it's a lot less than it looks, if you think about it.

i am wearing:

wool socks
chacos
black skinny jeans
brown shirt
zip-up hoody
leather jacket
scarf

when I was at Wordsworth's house, Dove Cottage, last Spring in Grasmere in the Lake District of England, our tourguide showed us the tiny briefcase Wordsworth would take when he was traveling for sometimes weeks all over Europe. Apparently he basically only brought a change of shirt and writing paper. I thought about doing that, but I don't think Corrine's family would really appreciate that. Or mother may disapprove. With reason.

Back to England I say! With a new pair of Chacos strapped to my feet, the same smart wool socks, and a study abroad backpack comfortably on my shoulders!

okay okay okay okay okay

sorry mother
I know you were just making a joke that I took to heart just because it takes a bit of time to write out these little posts and it takes a bit more to upload photos and and arrange them just so. So actually it is a bit of a time investment and that's why I was a little bit ticked. It reminded me of that one time after I got my ACT results and was ONE POINT away from having a full scholarship, and I only got a half scholarship, and you said, "you just lost yourself nineteen hundred dollars" because you thought it was hilarious! And I did not. And I thought writing that on the bottom of my post was hilarious. And you did not. So mother, I am sorry. Very sorry, and maybe the reason I get so upset about these things is because they are usually true. Yep, I did lose myself $1900, and yes, my blog really is not that important. So I am sorry for writing that because I love you so much and I know you were making a joke!

And I promise to write about you every post for this whole month of December even though my blog doesn't really matter. Which I know. And knew even before you told me :)

Starting today.

My mom (and dad) brought me here when I think I was six...? Maybe five, or maybe seven.

We spent a couple of days in the Loire Valley in our wood-paneled chrysler van, going from chateau to chateau. I even remember climbing out of the car to go to Chambord and telling my dad, "I don't like these kind of days when we drive in the car for a just a little bit and then get out and then have to get in and out again." I remember my dad looking at me so confusedly, like "you don't?" and all I could think was that it was obvious that I would rather either stay in the car most of the day and sleep/watch the landscape, or walk around most of the day. It was a hard transition to do that all day without getting exhausted. But give me a break. I was only six! And as soon as I got inside the chateau, I'm pretty sure I loved it. But this chateau, Chenonceau, was my favorite, and has been since.

I went to it on Saturday by myself. It took about eight hours of travel time total, but it was really fun, and I like riding trains, and I was trying to say goodbye to them. I wrote in my journal and read my book and listened to my ipod and I really loved it. I got to the chateau and it was rainy and cloudy. I went to the maze first, and I could see over the hedges this time. There was no reason I would hit a dead-end this time, and the obstacles happened to be trying to get around enormous puddles rather than trying to find my way to the middle. I remember it was actually difficult last time. Or maybe that was a different maze that we did that was actually hard, but my mom was nice and let me choose which way we would go, or would let one of my sisters choose while I followed, my long straight hair bouncing up and down while I probably chased after them giggling hysterically the way little kids do in that navy blue sweatshirt I had gotten in Switzerland. What ever happened to the sweatshirt, mother?

I do remember that after a while I was hungry and I was ready to go, so I came up to my mom and said something annoying like, "mommy can we PLEEEEASE gooo...." and mother was just looking at the chateau. I think Cami wasn't happy about something. I can't remember what. So Mother was waiting until Father was done talking to Cami. The sun was setting over the chateau and I looked at her looking at the chateau, and I could tell that she thought it was really really beautiful. So I looked at it too, looked at the beautiful arches over the water, and it's reflection, and I remembered to myself that this was the most beautiful chateau I had ever seen, with the yellow light on the wall of the chateau and the orange sky reflected in the water.

It was about fifteen years later when I came again. (Isn't that weird that I can say "fifteen years later" and it's legitimate? Old.) I couldn't spend very much time in the gardens, but I had given myself about five hours to be here, which was kind of a long time. And the entrance fee was eight euros. I ended up sitting in the hallway over the bridge and writing in my journal for a long time because it was so rainy.

I looked at the windows in the hallway and remembered how last time I was here I was not tall enough to look out and see out of the window without jumping, or I may have made that up as I sometimes do with my memory without realizing it.

And my mom came and picked me up when she saw me jumping and said things like, "look! there's the river, and you can see the gardens over there, and there's the island in the middle of the river," pointing out each of those things with her eyes at my eye level. And then our whole family, all seven of us walked down that black and white tiled hallway, or maybe we were running again, like I saw all of those little kids doing on saturday, or maybe we were hopping from black square to black square, but we were probably making the museum people nervous like we usually did, all five of us who were age eleven or younger, but we liked being in chateaux, because I think all of us could feel like princesses, looking out the windows imperiously and sauntering down the stones stairs with our arms outstretched like ballerinas.

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.