Facial Hair Ahead

This sign warns drivers of a speed bump ahead. But the kid pointed to it the other day and announced, "Mustache!"

Why yes, of course, be on the lookout for triangles with mustaches.

FedEx Friend

The FedEx man told us something we already knew---our name isn't in the call box outside our building. Someone else let him in. You should put a sign by the box with your name on it, he suggested.

We did that, but our neighbors didn't like it, we said. They removed it.

Ah yes, that's French. The French are special, he said. Where do you come from? Ah, see, I know what it's like for you, I lived in New York for a while, and I watched the TV show Friends. The French are not like that. They are special.

Bonjour Banjo

It's March, after 8:00 PM, and the sun has not yet set. And so today, the cat has already claimed his summer post, next to the open balcony doors, watching pigeons fly from one building to another.

Tomorrow's Itinerary*

1. Go to language school.
2. Download THIS with high expectations. Listen.
3. Go watch France vs. Croatia at my first football game, Stade de France**, begin undoing my antijockness.

*Non-exhaustive
**Trivia: Stade de France holds 80,000 people. The town in which I live holds 40,000 people.

Try Again

You've got it backwards, Google Ads.
But maybe this is a good sign of how many emails I've been writing in French?
(Don't be too impressed....it hasn't been that many.)

Quittance

Got a piece of mail from our landlords. The paper inside said "QUITTANCE" in big scary letters.

For a minute or two we thought we were being evicted, which in some ways would just feel like par for the course.

Turns out quittance just means receipt. They got our rent check.

Whew.

Raising a Grammar Nerd

On the train, I said to the kid, "Man, this train is moving slow, huh?"

He said, "SlowLY, Papa."

I kid you not. And I have never been so simultaneously ashamed and proud.

Sure the kid can't speak in complete sentences yet, but at least he apparently knows how to use a good adverb.

Poetic Life

I talked with 4th and 5th grade students on Skype the other day, answering one question after another for 30 minutes straight. Two boys asked a question together because wondered the same thing: "Do you miss teaching?"

I didn't answer quite this way, but the answer is: most days no, some days more than I can stand.

And with spring weather comes the intense desire to teach physics and poetry. I miss teaching.

I like poetry--if you've been visiting this page for a while you probably know that--but in most of my circles, I'm usually a little embarrassed to admit it. To most people, especially in the Evangelical church, poetry is at best too complicated and at worst just plain weird.

I'm not much of a poet and I don't even read poetry very often. It's complicated for me too, it takes some work. But I guess the reason I keep coming back to it from time to time is that there are emotions in life that must be expressed somehow. It's the same reason we sing in church, because your average spoken sentences and paragraphs simply cannot fully portray the glory of the Lord.

(And for every 99 poems that go over my head, the 1 treasure I find tends to make it worth it--like that line from TS Eliot shared here the other week that continues to send my mind reeling.)

So I was surprised, yesterday, to find John Piper talking to his staff about the importance of poetry. I guess I knew he liked poetry--but enough to be talking to his staff about its importance? That doesn't seem like him. Isn't poetry just a hobby?

Most in Evangelical circles would laugh at me for my love of poetry, but they wouldn't dare laugh at John Piper, would they?

He quotes Leland Ryken: "At least a third of the Bible is written in poetic form. Its prevalence shows that God wants people to understand and enjoy it."

We are obliged to know something about poetry to at.the.very.least understand the Bible in its fullest. But I have a feeling, with Piper, that there's even more to it than just that...in appreciating the world around us, in expressing ourselves, in communicating God, in communicating with God...

So, April is coming, and if you still live in the United States, it's National Poetry Month again. Maybe it's time to find a few things to read. Maybe you should try your hand at writing a thing or two.

On Being Less Eloquent and Less Polite than a 10 Year Old

The three of us entered our apartment building with our cart of groceries. A boy, appearing to be about 10 years old, who lives on the fourth floor, entered with us coming home from school.

We took the elevator because of the groceries. He took the elevator because he lives on the fourth floor.

He greeted us so assertively, so politely, so eloquently by saying, "Bonsoir!"

I choked back my "Bonjour!" and changed it to "Bonsoir!" just in time.

We rode in silence, which I guess is typical for an elevator, but it was really because I was speechless.

We got off on the 2nd floor and he said so assertively, so politely, so eloquently, "Au revoir! Bonne soirée!"

To be honest, I really can't remember if I said anything in response. One third stunned by his sweet elegance, one third with a total mind blank of what to say and how to say it, one third wrestling a cart of groceries and a two year old out the door, I was mostly speechless.

(I've realized recently how much of our communication right now actually consists of awkward gestures and incoherent grunts and mumbles. We think we're saying something--some sort of mix of English and French in our minds--but what comes out in the speed of the moment are really just odd stutters and stammers. So when a boy says "Goodbye, Have a nice evening" your head says something like "Goodbye...Bonsoir...Goodnight..Bon soiree...Have a good day...no, it's evening now stupid...Merci...good evening...salut...what's the word for...Bonjour...You too...thank you...toi aussi..." and in the midst of flipping through all of that, it's hard to tell what actually really comes out in the end of that split second. To top it off, we sort of randomly wave our hands in the air along with it as if that makes things more clear. Or, the split second passes without us saying a n y t h i n g at all---the other person wonders why we're so rudely mute and we think of what should have been said several minutes later.)

I've met plenty of scary 10 year olds in my day, but I'm not sure I've ever been so intimidated by one. Oh, to have the class and the eloquence of a 10-year old!

An Open Letter to the Pickle Companies of America and Europe

Dear Pickle Companies of America and Europe,

America, you have some of the best pickles in the world. But you make us fish for them with hopeless stabs of forks that are too short. It's a frustration.

Europe, you have invented the ingenious pickle-lifter, so that consumers can grasp their chosen pickle from the top of the jar with ease. But your pickles really aren't that great. It's a disappointment.

Therefore, I propose a simple and fair trade. Pickle lifter for the pickle recipe. Even steven. Everyone wins. The world rejoices.

Think about it.

Sincerely yours.