While I was plugging away at my next post, I wiped the
sweat from my brow, looked down at my watch, and noticed that hey, one year!
One year since le petit garçon and I stepped onto French soil. And here we are
— twelve months, four apartments, dozens of croissants, one broken arm, and countless
coffees later. In celebration, I offer a concert of thirteen images, one for
each month plus one for good measure.
We’ve decided to stick around Toulouse for another year at
least, to continue the adventure. La Belle
France told me I can stay for ten more, but I’m like, OK, whoa,
let’s start with maybe four anyway, and then we’ll see.
The feeling of homelessness persists which is of course SO inconvenient
and uncomfortable. Still, that’s such a good thing, for me. To hang out in the
uneasy spaces. And so for the next cycle I pledge to continue to use this —
this blog, this life — to be more awake than asleep. To go easy on the
comparing, my default mode. To go deeper into this human-ness, particularly the
alone part, the part where no one’s watching, I’m not groomed, I look silly, I
am a schmuck, the beauty fades. Right when it goes from feeling all good and
loving and maybe even worthy of a picture to just me, flat on my face. What do
I do when I don’t know what to do? When an old wound rears its head? What could
it be for? That part, especially. Sticking around there.
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the cast of
characters
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reunited with Irish music again
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visitors,
visitors, we love visitors — particularly this one
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just your basic dentist's waiting room
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OK OK twist my arm I’ll
stay.
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This guy, alive, in such
good hands, surrounded by love. A true and unexpected highlight of the year. |
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Hans Op de Beeck transforms
the chapel at the Couvent des Jacobins
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in French class, the
essentials |
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essential friendships |
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For the annual Fête de
L’École marking the end of the school year, I helped hang the work of
4-year-olds inspired by Basquiat, Monet, van Gogh, Marc Chagall, and Jackson
Pollock… |
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not the best way to usher
in the summer holidays
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Exactly. Good enough.
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