Exhausted

Social conventions preach that you should be relatively polite to your surroundings. We all fail at this at times, more so in times of stress. At the moment I am in that place where some days you have to grit your teeth to be able to reply "thanks, doing allright", untruthfully, when asked "So, How Are Things?".

Seing as the surroundings all know of the current stresses, they hopefully know that the strain isn't them but me. However, it might be a good idea to circulate a pamphlet explaining the do's and dont's:

Don't ask me how I am
Don't ask me how things are going
Don't ask me when I'll defend my thesis
or if I have applied for any more positions

Wait for me to offer information.
If I don't offer information on my affairs, let's discuss the weather,
the latest news,
that film I just saw or the McGarrigle sisters I've recently discovered.

I can do that. Politely, and even smile genuinely.

However, the idea of telling people how to treat me is not going to be able to pass my Pride filter. These days my primary mortal sin. And the lutheran guilt of being crass to these dear and caring people is adding to my exhaustion.
Instead, I keep my head down, talk to my mother with tears in the corners of my eyes, just. Avoid large groups, and sit in my sofa with the tv on strumming the guitar singing

You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Though I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness there inside you
Makes you feel so small

Wenn jemand eine Reise tut

(I believe that was the name of the German piece we read in highschool).

I've been traveling. At first, after circling the Arc de Triomphe a few times before admitting defeat and phoning the hotel for directions, I entered efficient-travel-mode and happy-to-see-you - I hadn't seen my travel partner for three years. The second day, it hit me how long since I'd had a real holiday. Going somewhere else, external input from being in a foreign country, not just visiting parents and friends in well-known places. The third day I went to bed with a full stomach, and a smile on my face. It must have been the foie gras. Or the mood. Or the company. Possibly the temperature. I had landed, so to speak, and had left behind me all the worry of work and home life.

One of the many things I've pondered on this trip is how knowledge is a foundation for assembling new impressions, new knowledge. My fellow traveler, an American my own age, was an excellent sparring partner. Our different backgrounds added texture to the sights, - D-day landing beaches, war museums. Following in pilgrims' footsteps to Mont St Michel, my music background turned out to be a source of knowledge of medieval life. At Pompidou, a previous love for Leger was rewarded by the joy over the juxtaposition of three quite similar paintings in the Braque style - by Braque, Picasso and Leger. I find myself (as always) interested mostly in the things I already know, and the things I know give me a framework to fit new information to the puzzle.

Back to the history museums. Astonishing, really, how little we know, remember or were taught about the last 50 years of history. What really went on in Prague 1968, or in Hungary in 1955 - and wasn't it quite interesting that the resistance to the iron curtain was so large in Hungary and that it was they who opened it up?

Food for thought.
I have also bonded with hotel receptionists (over cycling), seen Lance Armstrong and the other bikers, eaten Camembert in Camembert and survived Charles de Gaulle.
I miss my friend, warm croissants and French coffee, cheap cheese, and - to be honest - that holiday feeling.

But home is good too.

"Let us meet" -attempted poetry

Caen, July 27th (to be considered a draft)

Let us meet
like oak trees, standing
in the forest, fierce and tall
show me acorns newly forming,
know your roots so deep and strong.
See my trunk of wood so solid
see the pride with which I bear
all the scars from time apassing,
and the sores from daily tear.
Meet me there, and as my equal
see my all with all that's you
Let us meet
as though we nothing
else but tow'ring oak trees were.

Let us meet
in carefree laughter
like the seagulls ride the wind
Where our burdens are forgotten
where we are the child within.
Meet me, where your soul is dancing
see the glory of my joy,
these are moments quickly passing
meet me ere they flee away.

Meet me in my darkest hour
when I fear that all is lost
Offer me that fledgling acorn
whisper words of wind and joy.
They who never saw the power
nor the pride, the strength, the smiles
cannot meet me
in my sorrow
simply 'cause they know not how.
As will I,
if I am able
open up a hand to you
On my palm behold the oak leaf
whispering words of days gone by.
Sorrow is in life a given
Know ye all, however, this
As is pride and strength and oak trees
as are winds and gulls and smiles:
neither of them everlasting
also grief, with time, will die.