Going Quebecois: 21 Feb 2006
Bonjour tout le monde!
The block we live on has two elders homes on it. The extended three block radius also includes four schools.
Every couple of weeks an ambulance will pull in front of one of the elders homes and the following day an old mattress will be waiting on the sidewalk to be picked up by the garbage collectors. Two elderly men, one from each home, have befriended Rachel and I. The one doesn't speak English so as he sees us hop by in the mornings he smiles, laughs, and calls "Bonjour, my belle! My belle!" The other warns me in English to be sure to wear my hat, else I get "the grip."
In the mornings during Rachel's and my two-block walk to school the chatter of hundreds of children carries us toward her day. If we arrive early enough Rachel has time to play in the snow with the other Maternelle (kindergarten) children. She asks me to stand on the side of the playground until they go inside together so that as she passes the window going up the stairs to her classroom she and I can wave at each other. This is how I spend the early part of my morning.
From there the day takes me to reading philosophy. With my energy finally back, after being sick for six-weeks, I've been spending a minimum of six hours a day reading. The amazing thing about this is that six hours consists of about 10-pages. My non-philosophy friends are stunned by this. My fellow philosophy students all nod, "Yes. Yes. Back to reading." A few of us have established a routine of breakfast at 9, lunch at 11:30, snacks at 2, more snacks at 4. Then I go get Rachel and begin an evening of goofy-time with her. My parents would be so proud to hear of me having such a schedule.
Recently, Rachel and I began working on learning various concepts or abilities during the walk home from school. A few weeks ago we spent the whole distance concentrating on Rachel learning how to click her heels after jumping into the air. She kept asking me, "Wait! Do it again, slowly!" Trying to click your heels in slow motion is a difficult task but by the end of the walk Rachel had mastered the jump and click.
Last week our walk home focused on distinguishing the notions of "real" money and "credit." Today I asked Rachel if she remembered what "credit" was and if she could describe it to me. She responded, "Yes. Yes. It's when you don't have money so you use credit and then you get a bill telling you how much you spent. Then when you have money you pay the bill. But you never wanna use too much credit all at once."
At the end of January two friends of ours became Canadian citizens. To celebrate several other Quebecois friends performed an induction ceremony. One can be a Canadian citizen. But you then have to become a Quebecois citizen too. That's the local view on things. So we were invited to participate in a Quebecois induction ceremony.
Ten of us headed far East into the city in order to enter the heart of French Montreal. It turns out that means walking only a few blocks from our house. The Quebecois shrine of induction turned out to be a classic local walk-in restaurant where you can eat Poutin and a side. To explain, dinner was the induction ceremony and Poutin and the side was our food. To explain more clearly, Poutin consists of what good-Americans would call French fries, covered in gravy, and then covered in cheese curds. The side is one or two hotdogs, in a bun, covered with chopped-up cabbage and pickles. And a coke.
Rachel was spared the gravy, cheese curd combination and didn't end up liking all the green stuff on her hotdog either. So even though she has a definite local accent when speaking in French, I'm not sure if she's been inducted yet or not. She's taken to spelling her name "Rachelle," by the way. Clearly taking after her mom's tendency to explore various first name options.
After the food was finished we all stayed at the restaurant chatting until an indiscernible yelling match began between three different customers that had all come into the place individually and one of the employees. The most of the French I caught was from the woman who kept yelling again and again, "You touch me! Don't touch me!" I'd only seen her elbow get bumped once. We were told afterwards this was the true induction ceremony--witnessing Quebecois elders yelling at each other over apparently nothing. So maybe Rachel has been inducted after all.
Even with all there is to do here, life is feeling more settled and regular-paced. The thing about getting over six-weeks with only five hours worth of stamina per day due to illness, is that even with so much work to do life seems pretty easy when you can stay up ten hours straight. So, what can I say. Finally, life seems pretty easy. And hard. Philosophy is hard. But I like it.
Big hugs to all of you! Please write. We miss you. Rachel sends her love.
J'taime,
Elaine
The block we live on has two elders homes on it. The extended three block radius also includes four schools.
Every couple of weeks an ambulance will pull in front of one of the elders homes and the following day an old mattress will be waiting on the sidewalk to be picked up by the garbage collectors. Two elderly men, one from each home, have befriended Rachel and I. The one doesn't speak English so as he sees us hop by in the mornings he smiles, laughs, and calls "Bonjour, my belle! My belle!" The other warns me in English to be sure to wear my hat, else I get "the grip."
In the mornings during Rachel's and my two-block walk to school the chatter of hundreds of children carries us toward her day. If we arrive early enough Rachel has time to play in the snow with the other Maternelle (kindergarten) children. She asks me to stand on the side of the playground until they go inside together so that as she passes the window going up the stairs to her classroom she and I can wave at each other. This is how I spend the early part of my morning.
From there the day takes me to reading philosophy. With my energy finally back, after being sick for six-weeks, I've been spending a minimum of six hours a day reading. The amazing thing about this is that six hours consists of about 10-pages. My non-philosophy friends are stunned by this. My fellow philosophy students all nod, "Yes. Yes. Back to reading." A few of us have established a routine of breakfast at 9, lunch at 11:30, snacks at 2, more snacks at 4. Then I go get Rachel and begin an evening of goofy-time with her. My parents would be so proud to hear of me having such a schedule.
Recently, Rachel and I began working on learning various concepts or abilities during the walk home from school. A few weeks ago we spent the whole distance concentrating on Rachel learning how to click her heels after jumping into the air. She kept asking me, "Wait! Do it again, slowly!" Trying to click your heels in slow motion is a difficult task but by the end of the walk Rachel had mastered the jump and click.
Last week our walk home focused on distinguishing the notions of "real" money and "credit." Today I asked Rachel if she remembered what "credit" was and if she could describe it to me. She responded, "Yes. Yes. It's when you don't have money so you use credit and then you get a bill telling you how much you spent. Then when you have money you pay the bill. But you never wanna use too much credit all at once."
At the end of January two friends of ours became Canadian citizens. To celebrate several other Quebecois friends performed an induction ceremony. One can be a Canadian citizen. But you then have to become a Quebecois citizen too. That's the local view on things. So we were invited to participate in a Quebecois induction ceremony.
Ten of us headed far East into the city in order to enter the heart of French Montreal. It turns out that means walking only a few blocks from our house. The Quebecois shrine of induction turned out to be a classic local walk-in restaurant where you can eat Poutin and a side. To explain, dinner was the induction ceremony and Poutin and the side was our food. To explain more clearly, Poutin consists of what good-Americans would call French fries, covered in gravy, and then covered in cheese curds. The side is one or two hotdogs, in a bun, covered with chopped-up cabbage and pickles. And a coke.
Rachel was spared the gravy, cheese curd combination and didn't end up liking all the green stuff on her hotdog either. So even though she has a definite local accent when speaking in French, I'm not sure if she's been inducted yet or not. She's taken to spelling her name "Rachelle," by the way. Clearly taking after her mom's tendency to explore various first name options.
After the food was finished we all stayed at the restaurant chatting until an indiscernible yelling match began between three different customers that had all come into the place individually and one of the employees. The most of the French I caught was from the woman who kept yelling again and again, "You touch me! Don't touch me!" I'd only seen her elbow get bumped once. We were told afterwards this was the true induction ceremony--witnessing Quebecois elders yelling at each other over apparently nothing. So maybe Rachel has been inducted after all.
Even with all there is to do here, life is feeling more settled and regular-paced. The thing about getting over six-weeks with only five hours worth of stamina per day due to illness, is that even with so much work to do life seems pretty easy when you can stay up ten hours straight. So, what can I say. Finally, life seems pretty easy. And hard. Philosophy is hard. But I like it.
Big hugs to all of you! Please write. We miss you. Rachel sends her love.
J'taime,
Elaine
posted by hawkbrwn at 8:38 p.m.
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