not a very good tourist

3 July, Paris

People have very small cars here, if they have a car at all. Late afternoon, men ride bicycles home, long loaves of bread tucked under their arms.

I have unsuccessfully tried to figure out if a machine near my hotel is a money machine or if it a ticket or a stamp machine.

Today I am going to the park, Parc' des Buttes, to read. I found a book in English, at a used bookstore down the block, although I'm not sure I've figured out the price.

I'm not a very good tourist. I don't like going to many places, only a few. I like sitting and feeling things.

Now I will try to buy that book, The Constant Gardener, by John Le Carré.

full of beauty

2 July

You can walk around a corner in Paris and see an ancient Roman bathhouse, a gorgeous building or monument, a garden, a plaque that says Manet was born here.

I'm in the La Villotte neighbourhood. Parc' des Buttes Chaumont is nearby, with a cave and waterfalls. Our room is too small for the two us, but right now I'm downstairs in the garden where it is pretty and fresh. Four round tables, orange tableclothes, pink hydrangas, phlox. From here, I can see the windows of apartments and balconies. Birds land near my feet, eating crumbs the receptionist has thrown out. Rachel is afraid of birds, but I can't see why.

private property

In England you can cut right through a farmer's field, or go right up someone's driveway to a path beyond it, and no one bats an eye.

Lewes

24 June from Portland Airport

You'd think I was awaiting execution, instead of the dream trip of my life, for all the worrying I've done. My naturopath says that anxiety and feelings of dread are not necessarily normal, which is news to me.

28 June on the ferry between Newhaven and Dieppe
I guess I had imagined an open air boat, windy and crowded, huddling around cars, but the ferry across the English Channel is dignified, big, and comfortable. I'm sitting on what seems to be the 6th floor, by a window. I can see two boats in the distance. Two young English children sit behind me, with their boisterous voices and sweet British accents. When I feel braver, I'll get a cup of coffee.
I've been visiting friends in Lewes, England, former home of Thomas Paine, taking walks by the River Ouse with my friend Rachel and her dog. Rachel is the great granddaughter of Roger Fry, but when we went on a tour of the Bloomsbury Estate, she would not let me say it.

not irreplaceable

12 June 2009

Yesterday was my last day of work at my school, after 13 years, which was more odd than sad. I will miss sitting in my rocking chair reading Bark, George; How Squirrel Got his Stripes; Pete, Smartypants at School; The Lorax; The Viper; The Greatest Power; Why Mosquitoes Buzz in People's Ears.

My hardest moment came when Robbie came to say goodbye. See you next year! he said and I lied. See you! I've had him since Head Start. Mother gone and father in jail. He learned to read sitting on the floor with me, sounding out words. Hi, Fly Guy; A Friend for Dragon; Nate the Great. The thing is: we are not irreplaceable. Someone else will have these feelings and do these things. That is both the good part and the sad part of it.