One Year

Today marks one year in France, and the 200th post, coincidentally.

David's dad said that when we returned from France we wouldn't recognize ourselves. I really can't tell if we've wholly changed, but I do know that these things are definitely different than they were one year ago:

• I know when broccoli, cherries, Spanish strawberries, and oysters are in season
• We both drive like Parisians (not necessarily an improvement)
• I know the French words for derogatory, slacker, homebody, and tap dance, but I still don't know the words for fork or knife.
• I've developed a passion for underwear, as French lingerie is fantastic
• I'll eat lamb, veal, and just about any kind of fish, but I steer away from beef
• I'm an exact change freak. This is a result from the look of pure exhaustion and irritation that French cashiers give you when you hand them a rounded up bill.

I'm sure that David has his own list, but he took off shortly after taking the picture above to go running. It's 57 degrees in Paris today, and he happily bounded out the door in a short sleeved running shirt.

I cracked the window next to the computer desk, even though it's not quite warm enough for it, and my feet are cold. An organ grinder, a cheerful old man with an organ on wheels, just passed below the window, lifting his cap and waving to people who toss coins down to him. Ah, France.

Ready for another year?