Singing for my Supper

Paris and privilege...

Today is my birthday.  It's 11:42, and I'm just eating breakfast. I've been 'up' for a while. 

I will be doing some travel today.  To Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower.  It'll be my first time on the Métro and braving the tourist-y activity like places.  Where I'm at is pretty well removed from 'downtown' where most of the action is. No tourist buses coming up into the 11th arrondissment.  Don't get me wrong.  I LOVE where I am.  It's just farther out from the 'popular' stuff. 

I'm finding that most of my fear about being here is due to what I think most travelers go through.  The ability to not accurately communicate with others what you need and/or want is a bit daunting.  Also, though life is similar to life in the states here, things are enough turned to one side or the other to just make sure that you have to pay attention to most of what you do.  And don't get cocky.  

Traveling takes you down a peg or 3. Enough to really make you understand that your bubble is terribly small, and stifled, and perhaps a bit narrow in some cases.  My first few forays out into this new world weren't too bad.  Do as the locals do, and be kind.  Best advice I've gotten yet.  Though, depending on the kind of day someone is having, may not make much difference. 

The feelings I feel everyday I walk out the door need to be paid attention to.  Not coddled, just noticed. The first day was: "I'm a little scared today. Ok.  Do as you would do in any new place.  Walk around, don't commit to anything immediately, Ooh, there's a coffee bar.  Go get a coffee".  I did, sipped at a table on the far side of the bar and tipped more than anyone else had left on their trays which elicited a very loud "MERCI MADAME!" as I walked out. 

I walk out, and BOOM! Patisserie.  "Deux Croissant" with a smile. "Merci", and we smiled to each other.  Best croissants yet.  

Day 2 was similar, I went in a different direction, my croissant hunt was at a different patisserie, and not as good, but kindness got the job done, and she spoke a little english!  And, wonderful day. 

Day 3, I found the grocery store.  Thank the various and angry Gods! I got a cart full, and ran into issues with apparently using a large bill.  A €50 note.  Seeing as how close my bill was to €50, I wouldn't think this an issue. But where large bills are not hugely commonplace, but not unheard of back home, apparently, there's a lot of suspicion around the passing of such bills here due to counterfeit scams. I caused a young lady to have to go to her manager to apparently get permission to take the bill. Which was fine.  My first annoyed Parisian arisen from our language barrier.  Ok.  Now that that's done, I can handle it. 

Today is Day 4.  My plan is to eat, take a shower, go to the station around the corner, buy a "carnet" of tickets, make my way to Notre Dame and be summarily happy to be in the presence of such an old thing.  The humbling of which, should plenty kick me solidly in the ass.  Enough to not worry about walking out the door anymore (especially now that I've figured out how the front door lock works).  At least this is my hope.  Then on to the Tower.  I suspect I'll just be in awe of the thing as I approach.  I'll take as many pictures as I can, try not to be too silly about it (oh, who am I kidding), and be in the presence of greatness.  I will bring my knitting should I have a chance to take out the needles while I'm there. 

All in all, not a terrible 4 days.  I'm looking forward to my taking some braver steps into this new world.  Yes.  Yes, I am.

J

Ah! Here it is...

So, you know all that talk I was saying, "It's not an 'Oh my God what am I doing here panic'"? 

Well, that was yesterday. 

Today, I whine. 

whine/Traveling to a foreign place where you don't know the language is haaarrrd./whine

Today, the "What are you doing here"'s showed up.  The "you're wasting your time"'s, and the "you don't even really know what you're going to do"'s. 

The doubt is here.  And he's loud.  And he's screaming.  And why does this always happen after a major shift in your reality?  I kinda think it's because it's part of your 'safety check'.  If you're doing something you've never done before, I think sometimes your brain just freaks the hell out.  It really has NO IDEA what's going on.  It's scary.  It's different.  It's not bad, it's just different. But it's freakin' scary. And it needs to be absolutely SURE that you're doing this for the right reasons.  

But man, he's loud. I really wish he'd shut up.  I have an herbed ham sandwich and a glass of wine next to me.  I'mma eat the hell outta that sandwich, and drink that wine like it's my job, wake up tomorrow, go to the Eiffel Tower, see Notre Dame, and tell my doubt to suck it.  

SUCK IT!!

Yeah, I went there...

J

A little hiccup...

Today, it was harder getting out of the building. I had to think on it for a second and then it hit me. 

The enormity of my most recent journey is starting to sink in. I'm on a different fucking CONTINENT and in an apartment ALONE and somehow able to feed myself by saying "Bonjour", and "deux croissant". 

HOLY EFFING SHIT! 

Mind you, this is not a "What have I done?" type of panic.  This is just your everyday "Holy shit, I'm really here, what the hell, Oh my God!" type of panic. 

...ON A DIFFERENT FUCKING CONTINENT...

WHAAAT?????

So, today I found myself a little more reticent to leave the apartment. Seeing as I went out yesterday with no issue, you'd think this wouldn't be much of a problem.  But something in my gut hiccuped.  It didn't grip me in intensity, but it did make me wait for a second, and to take it in YET AGAIN...I AM ON ANOTHER CONTINENT IN A STRANGER (A VERY NICE STRANGER)'s APARTMENT AND TRYING NOT TO LOOK LIKE A COMPLETE AND UTTER WEIRDO AS I TRY AND ALTER THE COURSE OF MY REALITY...which when you think about it, I've done just showing up here.  But OH MY FREAKIN' GOD!

So...A little reality is starting to settle in.  It's not yet been 72 hours since my arrival, and I have...oh...approximately 647 hours left...so, yeah.  Somethings going to change.  For the good, I'm sure. 

But, wow.  

I'm in fucking France.

Thanks for stickin' in with me...

J

Paris, je suis à vous...

It's 7pm, or 19:00 in Paris. 

All the windows are open. 

No screens.  I'm on the 6th floor.

It's MAYBE 76 degrees.

I'm in a dress...and I'm about to have un sandwich, with some tater tots (they left me a few things).

I'm not so scared about going out and learning to do things (tomorrow, the Métro)

I am oddly at ease here.  What is that about? 

The bells...I really love the bells.

J

Day 1, Paris...

I don't really think I should call this a "day" seeing as I haven't done anything after getting in the apartment except excessive "squeeing" and sleeping.  I suppose it could be worse. 

It is midnight, I am dehydrated. I am eating dry muesli (no milk), drinking green tea and trying to dump more water into my system and couldn't be happier.  So, Here's the last few days before I got here:

The reunion.  I posted about the emotions of the week, and they still stand.  It was nice to be taken in by cousin Penny who had a room for me after the festivites ended. The reunion ended Thursday, and I left on Friday. Penny is my uncle Hugh's (Junior) daughter and I remember her well from 15 years ago and even before that. Did I mention I love my family?

So, I spent a wonderful, comfortable evening with Penny and hubby James, and even more time with the relatives who hadn't quite left yet with group dinner and breakfast dates.  We apparently can't get enough of each other. 

So, Friday came along...this was it.  There was no backing out now.  I checked for my passport several times, made sure I was leaving at 7:30 PM and not AM, made sure I had the right day, got a load of laundry done and commenced with the minor panicking.  

"Holy shit.  I'm going to Europe. To France.  Wow...Oh my God, I'm going to France. Oh my God...", etc.

We got in the car, Penny's husband reassured me that if I wanted to come back through Minnesota, I'd be welcome in their house anytime, and by this time, the tears stung my eyes quite feircely as I had that feeling of "WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING??!!", but it passed quickly as he hugged me.  Another relative, Marjorie (2nd cousin) was being dropped off at the same time with her child Christian.  Christian and I had fun going through the security line.  I got to my gate, and just sat there.  I created a bubble around which I could not be very much disturbed, though the guy in front of me at Security and I struck up a wonderful conversation if only for a few minutes.  So, now I'm at the gate.  Iceland Air is a nice airline, though I got stuck in a row that was just behind business class, and my hips were in a vice. There was no moving the armrests. Yay. At first there was no one in the middle seat.  Then, some lady got in, and I had one of the most uncomfortable 5 hour flights ever. Very spotty sleep. Bonus.  Arrived in Reykjavik, and saw the most awesome bathroom.  

I know, right?  That is a Dyson faucet and the two handles is a Dyson hand blade...The bathroom is just private cubicles just like this.  *singsong* AWESOME...So anyway, got on the plane to Paris, and THANKFULLY, there was no one in the middle seat.  Phew!  Comfort at last.  Alsoo, the flight from Reykjavik to Paris is 3 hours.  So, I bought a sandwich, scarfed it down (I didn't eat OR DRINK in Minnesota, so as not to deal with plane bathrooms and the like), with a tomato juice, and fell asleep...again. I read a lot, and I slept a lot, and as we were flying over the Norhtern coast of France, I couldn't keep my eyes open.  I really wanted to.  I was thinking they were going to have to pick my ass up out of the plane I was so tired.  Luckily, I woke, I exited the plane.  It was warm.  I did my usual post flight potty thing, grabbed my bags, and a cart (which I was totally expecting to pay for) and headed to the currency exchange (for those of you in the money discussion, I most obviously did not opt for the other choice).  I gave her $300, and I got €188.36 (€200 + fee).  I walked past an inordinate amount of exits to finally find the taxi stand, empty, thank goodness, and walked right into a cab.

"Bonjour", I said. He smiled and bonjour-ed me back.  I helped him load the bags, got in the car, and tried to tell him where I was going.  I gave up and handed him my cell phone.  To which he said...AH!  Plugged in the Garmin, and off we went. I did my "Je ne parle pas français bien" bit.  He smiled. Pretty quiet drive, but as we got closer, I started to recognize the area. I totally scoped out this place on Google for like an entire week before I left California. We got closer, and finally found the place.  I paid him €36.40 and punched in the code for the front door, pressed the buzzer, and Audrey, my contact buzzed me in.  The lift is like 5 feet wide and maybe 24" deep.  I was totally just looking at it like "how the fuck is my baggage AND me gonna get in there...but I managed. Audrey took me through the apartment, showed me the automatic window shades, gave me a wifi network and password, warned me against the wobbling table, and off she went.  So very sweet.  I filmed my little video and that's it!  

You're all caught up.  It's now 1am, and I'm about to hit the sheets again...it's still a little warm...but I'll survive.  The crossbreeze in here is wonderful. I'm a little hesitant to venture out, but...well...When in Paris...do as the Parisienne do, oui?

J

In every conceivable way...

Around the time mom died, my cousins mailed a large 'throw' with a picture of her family including her parents.  Around the picture was a saying; "In every concievable way, family is a link to the past and a bridge to the future".  

This week, I am reminded why this is so very true.  

The last time I attended a Schuck Family Reunion was 15 years ago.  I was living out of state, in school, living my life, and couldn't afford to go, or didn't want to.  The last reunion was my mother's last.  I should have been there.

I'm not beating myself in the head with "could've's and should've's", but this past week has shown me what an amazing bunch of people we are.  The last of my mother's family was there. Aunt Dorothy.  I'm so glad I was there this year.  We are educated, fun, musical, nerds, carpenters geeks, teachers, politicians, soldiers, we've all had our various crosses to bear, and every 2 years we come together for 4-5 days and lay that aside.  We gather, we eat, we chat, we catch up. Camp Koinonia is on Lake Sylvia in South Haven, just outside of Annandale, MN.  It was a quaint little town.  It was clean, it was neat, but urban spread has spread with a Wal-Mart 20 miles down the road. Nevertheless, I got into the lake this week and swam and remembered how awesome lake water is.  It's a little stinkier than salt water, in my opinion, but the water is sweet...and it's clear...and FISHIES!! 

Lots of fishing.  I didn't get to borrow a pole or anything, but it has been a tradition in our family to get the kids on a boat and catch some fish. Which they did...Oh.  The kids.  The kids that I hadn't seen in 15 or so years now have kids. O_O Do you understand how disconcerting that is?  Holy crap! I couldn't keep everybody straight.  I think I have a bug in my behind to do some serious family tree digging, and try to get all the kids in order.  

There was card playing, music, too much damned food, and our share of imbibing.  For the first time in years, I went to bed after 3 because I was playing tonk, bid wist or Uno!  ;)

Did you know the name "Schuck" is German?  I didn't. I've always known I'm part white, but didn't know from which ilk.  Now I do.  With what little digging I have done, there are a couple of things I'm anxious to find.  I will do what I can. I think I can say I'm part German and part Madagascarian.  Wow...that's a nice sauce!

So much wonderful scenery, fewer bugs and amazingly mild weather...Awesome.  My cousins and I are now "The Elders".  I don't really know how to feel about that.  But there it is...I am the youngest cousin...Ever the 'baby' of the family.  *Sigh*

Our time is over, we shall meet again.  I will try to convince as many of my family members to always return.  Family really is a bridge to the future, and I can't see that bridge not full of my family.  I am so blessed that this is a part of my legacy. And that so many of us can find the time to come together every few years and just be family. 

We are family...indeed.

 

Big, black and a bitch...

How much worse can it get?

I mean, really.  

Through no fault of my own, I have become THE most hated demographic in these United States.  

Did I mention I tend toward bisexuality?

No?  Well, there it is, then. 

So the title should read: "Big, bi, black and a bitch".  

My demographic is so reviled, so hated, so frowned upon that it's amazing I can get through the day. So many stories of weight shaming, the neverending black vs. white battle, the homosexuals and the war against women?  When does it end?  

Have you seen the tweets to the new Wimbledon champion, Marion Bartoli?  She's not skinny nor is she blonde.  She has a very little muffin top, and the haters came a runnin'.  Holy shit.  Since when has it been a requirement of a Wimbledom Champion to have a weight category?  This isn't hand to hand fucking combat.  It's a larger than life game of ping-pong for fucks sake.  NO weight classes.  None.  

Of course, when Serena and Venus came around and winning Wimbledon, Twitter didn't exist to have possibly seen or heard the haters when a big amazon black woman won.  Oh, but they were out there, and they were using 'nigger' like it hadn't been used in decades. The Williams sisters are both bigger by a pretty large margin on muscle mass alone.  They both have at LEAST 20 pounds on her.  But then, back in the early 2000's, the haters didn't have such a prolific and ever encompassing voice.  That's what the internet has done.  It's given everyone a voice. 

Which in and of itself, is actually pretty cool.  But when that voice is a voice of hate, prejudice and violence,  the voice is toxic. It's poison, and it's up to those to whom it is directed to ignore that shit and let it roll off your back like water on a duck.  Which Ms. Bartoli, I'm sure has done with gracious aplomb.  However, she'll be asked about it for the next month or two on her various media blitzes on TV.  Soon thereafter, it'll be gone and the next target will come, and the trolls will come running. 

I am a big, bi, black bitch.  And I love attention, and I will go stand in the limelight, and I will let the haters hate, because that's all they know how to do. They don't know how to win Wimbledon, they don't know to sing, they don't know how to captivate any audience by merely being in their presence, and they know nothing of self-respect and self-love.  And that's their cross to bear. 

I am about to embark on an amazing journey, where I will encounter haters. It is my job as a big, bi, black bitch to let them hate.  Because that's all they know.  It'll be a challenge. But I will come to know me like I've not done before.  And it won't matter.  

Haters gonna hate. 

And Nita don't care...