So last Tuesday a co worker asked me, ça va [how's it going]?
To which I replied: On fait aller [We make it go].
She smiled at my expression. One she thought outdated so I asked her, what are the kids saying these days?
She considered this and replied, well if it's Monday you could say "Comme un lundi"
[like a Monday]. And Friday you could say "Comme un vendredi" [like a Friday].
I left that Tuesday after work to start my long weekend. Wednesday was a holiday and I had taken the Thursday and Friday off.
Wednesday I prepared the apartment for my in laws, who would be in Paris on Thursday for an André Rieu concert at the Zenith to celebrate the 80th birthday of my husband's grandmother.
After my in laws left that Friday morning I dropped off my daughter at the day care center and went into Paris with my husband. We went into the 8th district to eat noodles for lunch. In search of dessert afterwards we ended up lounging on green fauteuils in the Jardin de Tuileries with Angelina's hot chocolate in hand. We chatted on and off under the blue skies and warm sunshine. Afterwards I went shopping and bought great boots.
Comme un vendredi.
Until of course we realized when we got home the events that were unfolding in the Paris we were roaming around only hours ago.
I hugged my daughter extra hard that night.
Saturday and Sunday we were glued to the t.v., trying to make sense of everything. We were quick to realize that we too indulged in behavior that put us at risk. Thursday we had been at a concert. Friday we were sitting outside having a drink. Had the terrorist chosen a different day, a different time, a different target to hit that could very well have been us, and we too, would have lived or died based on chance.
After sheltering myself in the apartment over the weekend, I, like most people, would have to step out of my sanctuary and into a world that had clearly changed.
I stepped out of the apartment that Monday morning, like most other Monday mornings, to take my daughter to day care. Everything looked the same but felt different. Normally meaningless deviations from the norm took on potential dark meaning.
People wearing black; did they lose someone close to them? A woman that sometimes takes the bus the same time as me but not today; did she die? A man running past me and out of the metro; running away from danger?
The normal greeting of bonjour a joyous proclamation that the person in front of you is ok. The bisous a reassuring warm contact with the living. And what do you say, when someone asks, ça va?
Comme un lundi.
To which I replied: On fait aller [We make it go].
She smiled at my expression. One she thought outdated so I asked her, what are the kids saying these days?
She considered this and replied, well if it's Monday you could say "Comme un lundi"
[like a Monday]. And Friday you could say "Comme un vendredi" [like a Friday].
I left that Tuesday after work to start my long weekend. Wednesday was a holiday and I had taken the Thursday and Friday off.
Wednesday I prepared the apartment for my in laws, who would be in Paris on Thursday for an André Rieu concert at the Zenith to celebrate the 80th birthday of my husband's grandmother.
After my in laws left that Friday morning I dropped off my daughter at the day care center and went into Paris with my husband. We went into the 8th district to eat noodles for lunch. In search of dessert afterwards we ended up lounging on green fauteuils in the Jardin de Tuileries with Angelina's hot chocolate in hand. We chatted on and off under the blue skies and warm sunshine. Afterwards I went shopping and bought great boots.
Comme un vendredi.
Until of course we realized when we got home the events that were unfolding in the Paris we were roaming around only hours ago.
I hugged my daughter extra hard that night.
Saturday and Sunday we were glued to the t.v., trying to make sense of everything. We were quick to realize that we too indulged in behavior that put us at risk. Thursday we had been at a concert. Friday we were sitting outside having a drink. Had the terrorist chosen a different day, a different time, a different target to hit that could very well have been us, and we too, would have lived or died based on chance.
After sheltering myself in the apartment over the weekend, I, like most people, would have to step out of my sanctuary and into a world that had clearly changed.
I stepped out of the apartment that Monday morning, like most other Monday mornings, to take my daughter to day care. Everything looked the same but felt different. Normally meaningless deviations from the norm took on potential dark meaning.
People wearing black; did they lose someone close to them? A woman that sometimes takes the bus the same time as me but not today; did she die? A man running past me and out of the metro; running away from danger?
The normal greeting of bonjour a joyous proclamation that the person in front of you is ok. The bisous a reassuring warm contact with the living. And what do you say, when someone asks, ça va?
Comme un lundi.
