When considered on an international level, “college” is one of the most idiotic words ever. At least in its meaning. In France, it’s grades 6-9. In England, it’s high school. In the US, it’s interchangeable with university. This tends to get very confusing for a group of varied Anglophones in France.
Praying manti (mantises?) blend in with assorted hair accessories lying on one’s dresser. Apparently. Considering that I didn’t notice it was there even after grabbing a hair tie to pull my hair back to shower. And it was as big as my hand. Kinda cute, actually. Also, on a related note, I have a basket that I have dubbed the “big bug basket” for taking any bugs bigger than one digit of my pinkie outside.
FedEx thinks my town doesn’t exist, so they gave a package for me from the States to a local courier to deliver. This courier couldn’t find my house, so he called me. After giving directions twice (because he still got lost the first time), he finally showed up at my house, package in hand. Highly amusing.
Calligraphy is gorgeous, especially when it’s woven into a painting. Now I want to learn how to write like that, but I’m afraid that my severe lack of artistic skills will be a bit of an obstacle.
The hardest part of this job will be discipline. Not because I don’t want to discipline the kids — I’m totally okay with doling out punishments to the ones that deserve it — but instead because I’m not entirely sure how to discipline in French.
Bread, cheese, sausage, and wine make a lovely dinner. Especially when they’re all from little bakeries, farms, or vineyards within 100 miles of me. And this is even before the market tomorrow.