Roots

The Gentines of the USA have now outnumbered the Gentines of France. Yes, we're the only "Gentines" who exist...so it's rare, as I'm learning, to find more of us. Well, more of us in France. But...thanks to facebook (which is also a recent obsession of sorts)...I found a Boris Gentine and a Pierre Gentine. Contacted both of them...yeap, we're all from the Alsace region of France...they knew of the Gentine group that left in the mid 1800s during all of the ongoing wars in that region between France and Prussia...knew that this group settled in Wisconsin. Pierre knew that there was a "cheese factory" involved.

So both were really responsive to my emails...we went back and forth...and just this past Thursday I met Boris for a drink. He's amazing. Quite simply... And it was so fun to recount stories and put things together...shared the family tree with him, which he's going to pass on to his dad and uncle...and I learned that André Gentine is the premiere ear surgeon in France...that Pierre is going to MIT to study water science...that the "Joseph" name has continued in nearly every branch of the tree...including Boris's 2-year old son! So I am responsible now for organizing a dinner with him and his wife, Anne Caroline and Fab...(my other distant cousin...who Boris doesn't know)...and some friends. He lives just north of me...and it's a pretty amazing feeling to know that I have family here who is willing to help me out if I run into any problems or need questions answered. Or just need to call technical assistance with my cable box! And we'll meet up with Pierre when he's home from school in Dec. Pretty darned amazing.
(The attached photos are of the area where our ancestors lived...and the house of Boris's family...which is almost a mirror image of the one my mom and I visited, in the neighboring city, belonging to my great-great-great grandfather before he immigrated to the States!)

I also have found a surrogate uncle here on my street. A 65-year old Israelien man named Dov...born in Casablanca and grew up on a Kibbutz in central Israel...and is now here on rue St. Sauveur. We met in the laundromat...just started talking about the price of American t-shirts...and then continued to run into each other in the street...took a coke or coffee or two together at the café across the street where the cook's window looks into mine and we wave and say hi to each other... So today we had a lunch date...ate Italian and toasted in Hebrew and then returned to the café across the street to have a coffee and say hi to everyone there. He has an interesting story. And some Sunday he's going to take me to his favorite Israelian restaurant in the Marais (heart of the Jewish quarter)...

And besides all that...I am OFFICIAL as a graduate student at Paris 13! The registration process was surprisingly simple...everyone was so nice and I now have my student card, my "certificat de scolarité" and I register for my classes in the beginning of Oct. It feels quite surreal...I am in the French system...a place I never imagined I'd be had you asked me even last year! And I am consuming novels this summer like I haven't consumed in years...African novels mainly...though I just started a Turkish one several days ago. It all feels quite exactly as it should be.

Ode to Dundee

Why shouldn't she have the spotlight? She wasn't my childhood dog. Charlie gets that honor. She was never our best behaved dog. London takes that prize. But she is most certainly the most affectionate. She will sleep by my bedside when I stay at my dad's. She will lay outside the bathroom while I get ready. And only when I am ready (even if it means going half-way down the stairs several times, thinking I'm following, only to turn around and return), she will accompany me downstairs. She has evaded intestinal problems, had a near-miss with cancer, and has to have her food poured on the carpet before she'll eat it (discovered when she almost starved herself to death). She's a finicky one. And I'm not a "dog person"...but I sure am happy that Dundee is there each time I go home.

Tichionana

Really, where do I start? A delightful trip up to Lake Geneva, being a part of Auden's first experience putting her head underwater. Having a day of non-stop conversation in the streets of Boulder with Jon...a girl's day with Molly...endless back-deck conversations and the LoDo experience...our Estes Park adventure....and Estes Park again...and again...horesback riding in aqua socks. Time on the pier at Cyrstal Lake and kyacking...Sargento BBQ at Lou's. And Chicago. It only gets better with each trip back. An unexpected view of Wrigley Field, bar-hopping and making friends. And more friends. Fabulous food and wine and diner breakfasts with free coffee refills...making the wedding dance mix in the midst of chaos. Eye make-up and shopping and St. Patrick's basilica downtown. Bagpipers and oh so many sexy Scotsmen in kilts...daggers and champagne and brie-filled philo pastries...Scottish dancing...spinning followed by Beyoncé..."Do you fancy a dance?"...foreign accents...Being in the American minority, perhaps. Being at the singles table. Terrible bars turned into fantastic bars and continued dancing until all eye makeup was gone and then all of us were gone. And back to Wisconsin. Porch time and pool time and painting time. Chester's drive-in and Lola's on the Lake...pitching practice in the rain. Cathrene's arrival...playing softball with the class of '96...pitchers of beer and going out with the high school gang...another trip to Chicago and an unforgettable night out...kidnapping Leah to Plymouth...sitting on the sunny porch overlooking the fields...blanching, skinning, canning peaches, singing at the top of our lungs and making fresh pie...throwing a dinner party...Nic and Paula, Josh and I, Cathrene and Leah, we overtook the adult's table. I don't want to talk about saying good-bye. Milwaukee time with Mom and Josh... dinner and African literature conversation with dad and Lou and Michele...finally finding the shuttle bus in Milwaukee. I don't want to talk about saying good-bye. But see you at Christmas.

From both sides now

It's my favorite Joni Mitchell song. And I can't quite put my finger on its significance right now, but this song pops up in my life at some key times. And makes so much sense. Maybe it's being back in Paris again after another trip home...and it was harder than normal to say good-bye. "Well something's lost, but something's gained in living every day." I guess it's the humbling notion that, even when everything seems so "on"--in this case, I was accepted at the Master's program here in Paris...the ducks are in a line, and I feel certain that it's exactly what I should be doing--even then, and perhaps especially then, I don't have it all figured out. The choices, good and good. The places, fantastic and fantastic. The friends, amazing and amazing. So now what? Is it a gut feeling? Is it faith? Is it the belief that everything happens for a reason...that once again, I might never figure out?
"I guess this is the price we pay for living in a world with so much worth believing in."