Once upon a time in the month of May in Paris...

The recent French elections on Sunday May 6th in which François Hollande became the new president got me thinking a lot about Paris and specifically the month of May 2007 when I lived there. The days of the month and the days of the week in May 2012 are the same as they were in May 2007. So on Sunday May 6th 2007, Nicolas Sarkozy was elected president, defeating Ségolène Royal (Hollande's former long term partner - they had 4 kids together). I remember that election really well - the posters of both (see above) plastered all over Paris, the worries from people on the left about Sarkozy's ties with the media, the way TV stations in France can't broadcast anything about the election as the votes are coming in (like they do in Canada and the US) and can only make a dramatic announcement as to who the next president is after 8 pm when the polls have all closed. My friend S., who was living in London at the time, visited me that weekend and we sat in my apt watching Sarkozy's victory parade through Paris, culminating in a big celebration at the Place de la Concorde. Three weeks ago, I clicked through picture after picture on different news websites of Parisians celebrating Hollande's victory (or perhaps more accurately Sarkozy's defeat) at the Place de la Bastille. Then that night as I tried to fall asleep in my apartment in Montreal, all I could think about was that May of 2007, what it felt like, how I felt, etc. etc. It took me a long time to get to sleep that night.

I once read a review of the Kings of Leon's second album Aha Shake Heartbreak which said if the band's first album - Youth and Young Manhood - was the party, then Aha Shake Heartbreak was the hangover. For me, if April 2007 was the party, then May 2007 was definitely the hangover. April was all sunshine, and heat (hottest April on record at that point), tanning in parks, and drinking outside, and just generally being happy. May was grey, and rain (lots and lots of rain, cold November feeling rain) and big thunderstorms (where on coming back into Paris on the commuter train from the airport where I'd been teaching a group of Air France employees I could see how the sky had gotten instantly dark, and when I got off the metro I waited for a bit under a store front and then made a run for my apartment, getting absolutely and completely soaked in the process), and real hangovers. I drank too much while living in Paris, and as a result, endured some pretty bad hangovers.

That said, Paris is my most favourite place in the world to have a hangover. That's because on days (usually Saturdays) that I was hung over, I'd always do the same thing. I'd get up, drink lots and lots of water, put on some clothes, go down the street to the little magazine store owned by some of the only Chinese people I saw owning/working in stores the entire time I lived in Paris, buy at least one (if not two, sometimes they still sold the previous issue) issue of France's People magazine equivalent (or maybe it's a bit more tabloid-ey than People, I was never sure) Paris Match, come back to my apt, shower, get into bed with lots more water and my Paris Match and spend the rest of the day in bed. In one of the Paris Match issues I read in May 2007, I learned all about how Ségolène Royal (who had just lost to Sarkozy) had gone alone for a holiday on the beach in Tunisia (and there were pictures (I still remember clearly) of her in a blue bathing suit and a straw hat standing at the water's edge) to just relax and be alone after the election. It was in that article that I learned how she and François Hollande had broken up in 2006, but did not tell the press until after the 2007 election (see picture below). I also loved reading around then about Nicolas Sarkozy's wife at the time (he is now married to Carla Bruni) Cecilia who is very pretty (see picture below) and who apparently didn't even vote in the 2007 elections when her husband was elected president! Not only did I get to practice my French reading skills, but I got to be up to date on French gossip. It was perfect.

Another interesting thing about that May were the two long weekends in a row. May 1 - May Day - is a holiday in France. It fell on a Tuesday that year and so a lot of French people took a 4 day weekend (so they also took off Monday April 30th) and they called it "le pont" - taking the bridge. I, or the language school I worked for, did not take the "pont" and I had to work that Monday April 30th. But I only had to work until 1 pm and then I spent the rest of the day hanging out, eating crepes, and just generally having a good time. May 8 (which was the following Tuesday) marked the end of WWII in Europe and is also a holiday, and because it was another Tuesday, many people took another "pont." This one my work did take. S. left and went back to London late the afternoon of the 7th. That night I went to my friend husband's birthday party. He was turning 30 on May 8th and just before midnight there was a countdown to 12:00 am and then my friend brought in his cake. She told me later that it was cool his birthday was on a holiday because it meant he could always celebrate the night before and be assured lots of people would come since they wouldn't have to go to work the next day. To me that seemed like a lot of pressure on all his friends to always come to his birthday parties... But I got her overall point. I'm not sure I'd want my birthday to be on a holiday because yes, it's cool you never have to go to work/school on it, but sometimes it's nice to go to work/school/out on your birthday and have everyone celebrate you.

In April of 2007, I taught a 3 week session of pretty much beginner English to a class consisting of almost all women, and one man. One of the students asked me, in front of the whole class, how old I was. I didn't want to say "23" because it seemed so young and was almost definitely younger than all but maybe one or two of the students in the classroom. So I told them I was 28. It did feel a bit odd to just add 5 years to my age but the students seemed satisfied. This spring I actually am 28 (and am very glad I did not miss the intervening 5 years of my life/experience/etc.), and while I miss Paris still so much and still think about it regularly, my life is different now than it was then and I don't think I could have or would have wanted to be in Paris this past spring, even if all the days/weeks of the month matched up with how they were in 2007. Six months of a carefree existence was just the right amount for someone like me; although I do want to spend a multi-month stretch of time there again at some point in my life, taking walks through the city, drinking too much wine, and getting over my hangovers in bed with Paris Match.

I meant to write it on the plane...

...high above my earthly pain but I slept right through the flight and that was all. That line (which started with the title of this post) is from the Sarah Harmer song Uniform Grey. It's from her album You Were Here which came out in 2000, I think, but which I first discovered in the winter/spring of 2001 when I was 17, and which I still love so much. In April of that year I went on a school trip to Washington DC and they took us to a baseball game in Baltimore. During one of the breaks between innings, I walked around the stadium looking out over Baltimore and listening to that Sarah Harmer album on my discman. The sky was a really pretty orangey-pink and I felt happy, which was nice, because that school year (S5), particularly the fall, had been tough.

As promised in my last post, here is one dedicated to planes and cars. It occurred to me just now I should probably put boats in here too in order to cover all forms of transportation. However, I plan on writing some posts (eventually... likely not any time soon) on rivers and lakes and oceans and I'll be sure to cover my love of boats in one of those.

I'll start with planes. I've always loved that Sarah Harmer line because I love writing in my diary on planes. Plane rides, especially long or long-ish ones (so say 3 hours or longer), are such good times to get stuff done - you are literally strapped in a seat with no escape and minimal opportunities to procrastinate. I often plan out what I'll do on a plane ride, factoring in reading my book, writing in my diary, and sometimes if it's a long flight watching a movie. Planes are great places to write because you're in between cities and time zones and exist in this type of suspended reality in which you are are free from many of the other demands that take up our time and can just focus on the writing.

During my four years at Berkeley, I took many red eyes between San Francisco and Toronto. Those were bad in the sense that I usually tried to sleep (airplane seat uncomfortable hurt your neck sleep) and therefore did not have time to write in my diary. But, in their own way, they had their charms - which, admittedly for me, are mostly nostalgia infused charms. I particularly remember the red eyes I took during that fateful fall of 2003 when I was 19 - the first when I went home in November for American Thanksgiving, and then when I went home only three weeks later for winter break. On both flights I had window seats, and as soon as the plane took off I'd keep my eyes glued to the window, watching as we crossed the Bay and then headed over Berkeley. I loved seeing the Berkeley campus and especially the Campanile (all lit up) from the plane. After Berkeley was behind us, I'd plug in my discman ear phones (I got an ipod in June 2004!) and try to fall asleep listening to the Strokes' second record - Room on Fire (that fall was the peak of my Strokes obsession). I usually would manage to fall asleep for a while, and then regain consciousness only to discover the cd had played all the way through or was on the last song of the record. I liked waking up because I could look out the window and see the moon and stars so close. It is especially cool to fly on full moon nights because the moon really does look extra beautiful when full and seen from an airplane. In a high school French class I had to read an Antoine de Saint-Exupéry memoir called Wind, Sand and Stars about his time flying airmail planes over North Africa. His descriptions of seeing the stars and moon from his plane were so beautiful, and I always think of them when flying at night.

During my last year at Berkeley, in my lovely little Hilgard apartment where I could hear the trains so well, my bed was next to a big window which I never covered with curtains. I usually went to sleep around 10 or 10:30 pm and after I’d turned out my light I’d lie in bed and watch the several airplanes that flew overhead, night after night, week after week, all through the ten months I lived there. I was always sure that one of the planes I could see high above was the red eye flight to Toronto which I’d taken so many times. I’d wonder about the people on it as I lay in my bed back on earth, the same way I’d wonder about the people in the houses below me when I was in the sky flying over Berkeley.

I went to Miami Beach for vacation with my parents once where we had a hotel room on the 17^th floor with a balcony that had a view of the ocean. At night my dad and I sat on the balcony and watched the planes appear in the black sky in front of us. (The airport wasn't too far away). We both preferred the ones that swung out over the Atlantic, as opposed to the ones that headed north over the mainland. We wondered which city they were going to – London? Paris? Berlin? Were the people on the plane looking down at the hotel’s bright lights before they left North America far behind them? I watched those planes until I couldn’t see them anymore, like a ship dipping below the horizon. After my dad went back into the room, and the planes became infrequent, I stayed on the balcony, my eyes fixed on the dark ocean, during the daytime so blue, and now a reflection of the night sky.

Now turning to cars: road trips are so fun!! S. and my dad will always be my favourite people with whom to drive! And an honourable mention goes to J. because she loves driving so much. (I also don't have anywhere near as much road trip experience with her as I do with S. or my dad so it's not really fair to compare.) S. and I have taken some awesome road trips. In August 2005 we met in Buffalo, NY and drove across the country to Berkeley. Road trips are such good times/places to talk, because other than listen to music there's not much else to do. In May 2008, we drove from Austin to Los Angeles. That road trip was especially good because I had been counting down the days until S. arrived in Austin (it was May 7) since February. The drive took us through West Texas, New Mexico (a very pretty state) and then Arizona, which I loved! A detour to avoid construction around Phoenix took us off I-10 to Interstate 8- which goes right through the Sonoran desert. The land on both sides of the road was dotted with cacti as far as the eye could see. A really neat experience. In August 2008, my dad and I did that same drive in reverse Los Angeles to Austin (I'd left my car with my brother in LA all summer). It was fun too. But also kind of sad. That summer had been an intense one, and something I'd looked forward to (as I wrote above) all winter and spring and so it was sad to know it was over, and to have to return to a place I didn't really like.

I also have really good memories of driving to Mont Tremblant at Christmastime with my dad. We'd usually take two cars because my brother would sometimes leave early and drive from Tremblant to New York to visit friends for New Years. So my dad and I would drive in one car and my mom and brother in another. It was always so cold and snowy and dark outside, but felt warm and bright inside the car.

In our world which has become increasingly connected and where people seem to be regularly on the move, it's nice that at least (usually) our methods of transportation are pretty cool.

I can always hear a freight train baby if I listen real hard

I was going to call this post Planes, Trains and Automobiles (yeah that movie!) but then I decided I had enough to say about just trains to fill one post and that my thoughts on planes and automobiles would have to wait for another time. I also love the line in "Raining in Baltimore" which is the title of this post. Sometimes I feel like I can always hear a freight train too. I have an interesting relationship with trains because I don't actually like trains that much but I adore everything surrounding them. I definitely prefer travelling by planes or cars. (I don't mind/actually kind of like subways and commuter trains. When I was still in high school I used to prefer buses to subways because being underground kind of freaked me out. But once I left high school I started much preferring subways. They are faster, I can read on them, and they don't get slowed down by traffic, etc.) I don't normally get motion sickness but I find the motions of trains, the slight tilting or rocking side to side, sometimes gives me a headache or makes me feel a bit nauseous. Train tracks, however, and train whistles, I absolutely love.

One of my favourite things about Berkeley (along with the hills and November full moons) were the train whistles. I could always especially hear them at night. Maybe because there were less cars out and so less background noise? Or maybe because more trains went by at nighttime? I'd hear them sometimes in the daytime too but it was always more special at night. I have so many very happy memories of sitting at my kitchen table in my lovely Hilgard apt and hearing the train whistles. I must have heard them before 2005, but all my memories surrounding hearing them come from my last year there. To this day, whenever I hear a train whistle, I always think about Berkeley and that year I lived on Hilgard. I mentioned to K. once, sometime after we'd both left Berkeley, how much I loved the train whistles there. She told me that during our second year when she lived in that house on Oregon St. and slept in the little sun room turned bedroom off the kitchen that she could hear the train whistles really well and also loved it.

I got to indulge my love of train tracks, but not whistles, in Paris. Near my fabulous apartment on rue des Batignolles were some wonderful train tracks. Paris has a really good commuter train system with an extensive network of tracks and trains taking people to and from Paris and the surrounding suburbs. I got well acquainted with these trains while living in Paris because I needed to take one of them in to Paris that first week I got there when staying in Meudon with my family friends. I loved that train because it was a short ride into Paris and you could see the Eiffel Tower for part of the ride. I also had to take commuter trains out to the airport when I was assigned to teach English to Air France employees. These trains were great because they functioned much like subways except above ground and didn't have any of that tilting that I don't like. Anyway, at the end of rue des Batignolles is a lovely little park called Square des Batignolles. It has a little pond, some nice paths, a playground and lots of greenery. On the far side of the park, there is a big long fence and on the other side of the fence, a steep drop to some commuter train tracks. I used to love going to that park and standing by the fence watching the trains go by below. I also used to walk over a bridge located above those same train tracks on a regular basis and I'd love stopping sometimes to watch the trains go by, or just to stare at the tracks. (See the picture of the tracks below.) When I first discovered that there were train tracks so close to me in Paris it felt like fate, and further convinced me how much I belonged in the 17th arrondissement.

Another amazing train track/whistle experience I've had took place in Marathon, Texas - this little speck of a town in the vast and magical West Texas desert. I've been to Marathon twice - once in May 2008 with S. en route to Los Angeles, and once in June 2009 with J. after we left Big Bend National Park. Ever since I first heard the song "We Danced Anyway" by Deana Carter when I was 16 I always loved the line "Well they say you can't go back, baby I don't believe that" because it's true that people do always say you can't go back. But Deana is right (!) since three times in my life I have gone back and going back has been perfect: 1. the two times I went to Marathon 2. Going back to Paris and living at 45 rue des Batignolles again in June-July 2008 and 3. returning to Berkeley for the 2005-2006 year after spending the first 7 months of 2005 in Santiago.

But back to Marathon, it is very beautiful there. The sky is so blue and bright during the day, and so so full of stars at night. It is also the most beautiful rich blue at sunset. Both times I stayed at the Marathon Motel which is located at the edge of Marathon and basically right in the desert. All the rooms are little cabins and when you step outside the cabin, you are confronted with the desert. The first time in May 2008 when S. and I were there, I was awoken in the middle of the night by long, loud and clear train whistles. Instead of wishing it would stop so I could go back to sleep, I lay there smiling and thinking about Berkeley and its train whistles and about how much I already liked West Texas. S. and I had arrived in Marathon in early evening and left early the next morning so we didn't get to enjoy the town much. J. and I arrived in the afternoon. In daytime, Marathon was awash with light, in brightness, the hot West Texas sun beamed down on our shoulders, our heads, the backs of our knees, our summer dresses, as we walked along the train tracks that scorching hot June day. It seems the trains there mostly go through at night and so in the afternoon we had the tracks to ourselves, to walk along and to explore. That night, I was awoken by the whistles again, and again I lay in bed smiling, so happy to be back in the vast desert with the night train and its whistles to keep me company.

Toronto also has some really cool train tracks. There are some good ones downtown, running along the lake. They go right by all these big tall condos and if I'd lived in one of those, I'd love to look out my window and watch the trains go by. There are also the Dupont train tracks which cross over Avenue Road just above Dupont and which run behind Dupont St. and a few other streets in that area. Some friends of my parents used to live right on Dupont and said that the trains running basically through their backyard were noisy and annoying. I know I wouldn't think so though, and would actually love to live super close to train tracks like that. Hopefully one day I'll eventually get to.

Une journée sans chocolat est une journée sans soleil

D. and I went for a walk the other night and passed this restaurant called Juliette et Chocolat (I love the name!). In the window they had the words above and as soon as I read it, I thought how perfect! I need to use it for my blog :) I've actually only ever been to the restaurant once (and it was great!) and so I need to go back. Their motto is perfect, and so true. But it didn't always used to be this way for me. I've always loved chocolate but for many many years I didn't eat some every day. That changed in March 2011. I was home in Toronto for a few days at the end of that February and my parents had a Lindt 70% chocolate bar lying on the counter. Never one to say no to chocolate, I tried it and was instantly hooked. March in law school is really stressful and so I decided chocolate would help me get through. I kept buying 70% and also branched out to try Intense Mint, 50% and 85%. Intense Mint quickly became my favourite, closely followed by 70%. At that time, I limited myself to two pieces per night and told myself I would only eat chocolate through the month of March and maybe April.

Since March 2011, three important Lindt chocolate related things have occurred. 1. Starting in September 2011, I began buying the chocolate regularly and now eat some almost every day. So much for only needing chocolate during the stress of March. (Although in my defence, other months are stressful too). 2. Also in September, I began eating usually 4 squares a day. I know it's bad! I know I should go back down to 2 but I can't help myself. I also do not seem to have gained weight so I tell myself the extra chocolate intake can't be that bad. 3. In terms of variety and selection in drug stores, Montreal beats Toronto any day. In Toronto I pretty much exclusively go to Shoppers Drug Mart. Very occasionally I'll go to PharmaPlus which my mom told me is now called Rexall. In Montreal, there are three competing drugstores and they are all in convenient locations across the city and all very close to each other. They are Uniprix,
Jean Coutu, and Shoppers (called Pharmaprix). These three drugstores continually rotate who has Lindt chocolate bars on sale 2 for $5. I am positive they coordinate so they have their sales at different times. It's perfect because I rarely have to pay full price since the deal happens so frequently (at one or the other) and I always stock up on a lot when they are on sale. I love these sales and it's a good feeling to pop into one of the stores for some toothpaste and also leave with 4 chocolate bars. Sometimes, though, I have to admit I feel like all I do is go from drugstore to drugstore hoping they'll have the deal on Lindt chocolate :)

The last time I was so consistently into chocolate was in the winter & spring of 2007 when I lived in Paris. It started the first month I was there when taking that English teacher certification course. There were only 8 of us taking that class together and we used to take turns going up the street to the little grocery store (called Franprix - a Paris grocery store chain; there was also Monoprix which was another chain whose stores were bigger. You can't walk more than a few blocks in residential parts of Paris without seeing a Franprix or Monoprix) and buying chocolate which we'd then share with all the others. That class was pretty stressful too and we'd all look forward to the chocolate all day. I think we mostly used to get milk chocolate back then. I do like milk chocolate but if I am just going to eat chocolate plain I prefer dark. Eating chocolate every afternoon was definitely a highlight of my day that whole month.

I had two other cool chocolate experiences in Paris. One Sunday in early June, I went with some friends to this little restaurant called Puerto Cacao (it focused on fair trade cocao and coffee) for a chocolate brunch. Back in 2007 the restaurant was located in the 17th arrondissement. However when I just googled it now it appears it has moved to the 12th arrondissement. If you're really into chocolate I think I would recommend going but I think it's the kind of thing I am glad I tried once but wouldn't really want to be a regular thing. The menu consisted of hot chocolate, chocolate croissants and then lots of bowls of hot dark chocolate into which you were supposed to dip bread and fruit. I left fairly satisfied, I guess, but I wouldn't say it was the best chocolate I'd ever had.

One rainy Sunday in May I ended up in a cafe in a part of Paris I didn't normally go to as I had just gone to an art gallery and then wanted to escape the rain before heading home. I ordered a hot chocolate, which was a good choice as Paris cafes take hot chocolate very seriously. The waiter brought me a cup with milk and then a bowl of hot melted chocolate. I could then put as much or as little chocolate as I wanted into the milk. I liked how I could control how chocolatey it got. It was the perfect escape from the rain outside. I wish I could have one right now actually! But since I can't, I think I'll go have my daily pieces of chocolate.

Hares & Rabbits

I've always been fairly superstitious. I avoid the obvious like walking under ladders and I always feel a bit nervous if a black cat happens to cross my path. I also try to never open an umbrella inside. I love happening to look at the clock when it's 11:11 or 12:34 (I didn't know this one until about five years ago but I really like it; although 11:11 has better wish power I believe) and making a wish. I also have a darker superstitious side that makes me sound a bit crazy and sometimes causes me stress. If I have to go into a building and there are two doors to enter it, some weird instinct (voice maybe? except I don't really hear it rather than feel it) tells me which door I have to go through. Sometimes it switches back and forth until the last second when I have to enter a door. This also happens sometimes when I'm walking down the street and am faced with a tree or telephone pole or some other obstacle. I have to choose which side to walk around it and again the instinct will kick in. The underlying current is that if I go through the wrong door (according to this instinct) something in my life won't work out, etc. This doesn't happen all the time by any means; I think it only happens at times when I am already particularly stressed out, but that doesn't help make it any better. I could probably work on doing exercises or something to stop feeling like this, and I should. Maybe that'll be one of my goals for the summer.

Kit Pearson was one of my favourite writers when I was younger, and I still love her books today (even though it's been a while since I read one.) My favourite of her books was Looking at the Moon but her first novel - The Daring Game - was a close second. That story took place at a boarding school in Vancouver. For a while after reading it, I was really interested in reading books about boarding school. It's funny because though I liked reading books about it (mostly because it sounded so romantic and idyllic), I would never ever have wanted to go to boarding school. I would have missed my mom and dad way too much! The characters in The Daring Game taught me this superstition: on the last day of the month just before going to sleep you say "hares". Then when you wake up in the morning on the first of the month you say "rabbits." If you say these two words at the times you're supposed to say them, you should have good luck all month. Just re-reading what I wrote, saying these two words does sound a bit silly. But, I must have been doing this for 15 (if not longer) years by now and I still haven't gotten sick of it. And, truth be told, I don't really think it's silly. Many of my other superstitions have fallen to the wayside but not this one. It's just become a part of my monthly routine. Clearly doing this has not always brought me good luck, but irrationally I am convinced I will have bad luck if I don't do it.

Over the last fifteen years or so (so long!), I really can't think of a time I've missed it. I am perhaps a little too obsessed with doing it. There have been a few near misses (for example: on the night of November 30, 2004 I was hanging out with S. in his room at Stebbins in Berkeley and one thing led to another and I lost track of time. I tried to discreetly look at my watch to see what time it was but he noticed and inquired as to what I was doing. We were actually in his bed at this point and so my looking at my watch did seem a bit rude. Deciding honesty was the best policy, I explained my little superstition to him and how it was about 12:15 am and thus December 1, 2004 and uh-oh I had missed saying "hares." I still remember how he smiled and said totally seriously but also in a kind of amused way "oh shit!" Then he went back to kissing me. It's actually one of my favourite memories of him because I like how he took it seriously and didn't just laugh, think I was weird and say something to me like "who are you? and why do I like you?" To finish the story: I decided to just say "hares" in my head and told myself it still counted because I hadn't gone to sleep yet. When I woke up the next morning I said "rabbits" and December 2004 was one of my most favourite months ever so obviously being a little late didn't hurt.) but never any complete omissions. I like routine, a lot, and I think a big reason I like this superstition as opposed to some of the others is because I know exactly what to expect and what I have to do. It's not that difficult - I just have to say two words. Trying to choose/avoid doorways and obstacles in my path is never straightforward. I never understand where the instinct in my head telling me which door to go through is coming from, and that makes me a bit anxious. This I can handle much better.

I don't recommend you become as obsessive about it as I am (unless you'd like to of course) but I do recommend giving it a try tonight (or if you're reading this in April then on the night of April 30) or on the last day of any other month when you want a little bit of good luck to come your way. It may seem silly, but it's actually kind of fun.

Going Grey

A few weeks ago, after just getting home from a step class and going to the bathroom to take a shower, I saw three incredibly long grey hairs I had not seen before coming out of my head. My hair was in a ponytail, which it only ever is when I'm exercising, and I guess the way I had pulled my hair back that day exposed these long lost greys. Normally, I monitor (and regularly try to cut) my grey hairs, so seeing those new ones, which by their length had obviously been there for a long time, was a bit shocking. I think I noticed my first grey hair when I was maybe 22 or 23. I can't remember exactly but I do know that the fall I was 24 is when I noticed I had more than one. Mine are also almost white, definitely more white than grey, which is a bit odd. I still call them grey hairs though just because it seems even weirder to have white hair.

The only friend I ever really talk about grey hair with is J. She also has long grey hairs which she dislikes and cuts. According to J., there is a link between not drinking milk and having grey hair. I hate milk and never drink it. She doesn't like it either. Maybe the study she read is true.

At one point, I would love it if I could just sit in a chair and someone would go through my hair, find all the grey hairs and cut them out. I wanted J. to do this when I visited her in Buenos Aires last year but I never ended up asking as it seemed a bit of an odd request. I'm not great with scissors and cutting though and often I cut out a bunch of regular brown hairs when trying to cut the one grey (or white) one. I need to find someone willing to do this for me :)

I still distinctly remember when A. told me that Taylor Hicks (see picture below) who had just won American Idol (this was back in 2006) was not in fact in his 40s, but was only 29. I didn't watch American Idol and therefore had only ever seen pictures of Hicks and had not really seen or considered his face up close. Discovering that he was 29 and not 45 was both surprising, and brought home for me the horrors of going prematurely grey. I read an article sometime recently on the Huff Po's Style page about grey hair now being popular in the fashion world. I really don't get it. Why would you want to go grey before your time voluntarily? I guess it is cool that some people, like Taylor Hicks, just own their grey-hairness. I, however, do not think I could be one of them.

Two people at the law school, both as far as I know in their 20s or max early 30s, have patches of exclusively grey hair while the rest of their heads have normal brown or blond (as the case may be) hair. I know it's mean to dislike features of other people's personal appearances in general, and features over which they have no control, in particular, but I really dislike grey patches. I really hope I never get one. If I did, I know I would have to dye it, which is something I would not want to do as I have always prided myself on never having dyed my hair, not even as a 13 year old when it seemed all my friends wanted to try having purple (or plum as the package called it) or red hair. Even amidst those exciting options I wasn't tempted. I have always liked my dark brown hair. In addition to worrying about a grey patch, I also just really hope that I won't go prematurely grey, or even just have enough grey hairs such that they are very noticeable and hence won't look good, and have to start dying it now! I guess one day if I had a lot of greys and they were very noticeable I would consider dying my hair.

But for now, my grey hair volume has held steady, with maybe a slight increase, for the past three and a half years. This is great and means I won't have to start drinking milk anytime soon.

The 29 Day Leap & Other Date Oddities

I am fascinated by Leap Year and Leap Day. I love dates & months & years and thinking about what happened on dates & months & years past. I like to be very exact when talking about these things, which is why, on the multiple occasions I have heard people refer to April 31st and June 31st, I have been both shocked that the person could make such a mistake, and just generally feel a bit distressed. The first time it happened was back in May 2007 when N. stayed with me in Paris for a week. We were talking about what he'd been doing that spring and he said, "I left New York on April 31st." I was speechless... but only for about 5 seconds.Then I said "April has 30 days!!" For the rest of the day I couldn't get over (nor could I let him get over) how he could have made that mistake. It was so interesting to me to think that he thought he had done something on a day that did not (and does not ever) exist - because the thing was, N. didn't say it like he was making a mistake and meant to say he left New York on April 30th. He said it like April 31st was a real day on which he had truly left New York.

The next time happened about a month later when I was on the train heading out to Meudon (just outside Paris) to have dinner with A. and S. I overheard this guy talking on his cell phone behind me and he made some reference to June 31st. I felt like turning around, interrupting his conversation and telling him that whatever he was planning on doing that day was impossible because June 31st does not exist! The last time was very recently, just over a week ago in fact. I was discussing the semester and what finals I had with a classmate, and she made some comment about finishing finals on the "31st." I don't know her very well and so it didn't feel right to say "I think you mean the 30th because April 31st isn't a real day." So instead I just nodded and carried on with the conversation, but inside the truth was screaming to get out :) Obviously, the number of days each month has is permanently ingrained in my brain. And so what I love about Leap Years is that that all gets changed up. I like how every four years we get that extra day. February is one of my least favourite months, except in Leap Years. Then I like it.

K.'s boyfriend B has such a cool (or annoying or odd depending on how you look at it...) birthday situation that I had to write about it here. His mom went into the hospital in Vancouver (or just outside it? K. which was it?) on April 14th, which was her birthday, to give birth to him. Unfortunately, she had a very long labour and he was not born until just after midnight on April 16. The hospital staff though, when filling out the paperwork, said he was born on April 14th. B.'s parents didn't realize the mistake until too late. They inquired into legally changing it when he was a kid but the whole thing was too complicated. So instead B. has two birthdays: his legal birthday of April 14 (which according to the Canadian/BC government/his drivers license/his passport is his real birthday) and April 16 (which is his real birthday and the one he celebrates.) I can't get over that! It must be so weird for B. on April 14 and April 15 knowing that according to some people/institutions he is really his new age, but knowing inside that he is really not. On the other hand, he does have two birthdays every year (in a way) and that's very cool.

It's interesting to compare B. to people born on February 29th. According to the Wiki page on February 29, in the UK and Hong Kong people born on February 29th are considered to have turned 18 (ie. the legal age) on March 1st of the relevant year. Whereas in New Zealand, people born on February 29th become the legal age on February 28th. Wiki doesn't say anything about which date other countries choose. Unlike B. who has two birthdays a year, people born on Leap Day only have a birthday every four years! I wonder which day those people prefer to celebrate their birthdays on - February 28 or March 1. I see wanting to celebrate your birthday on February 28 because then it's in the same month you were actually born in. On the other hand, I think I'd feel like I still hadn't reached a new age on February 28 and would therefore want to wait until March 1st. It would definitely be a dilemma! And I love birthdays, so I think I'd definitely feel sad not to get to have a real one every year. I am glad that 1984, the year I was born, was a Leap Year. There was a kid in my elementary school whose birthday was February 29th and I remember in 1996, so the year he (I/we) turned 12, everyone was joking that he was only turning 3. And this February 29th will only be his 7th actual birthday. If I had a Leap Day birthday, I'd make the biggest deal of my birthday every four years and have a huge party.

This coming February 29th is also D.'s half birthday - something he only gets to celebrate every four years. D.'s real birthday is August 29th so his half birthday is in February. I really like half birthdays and also smile and think to myself on July 18 how it's my half birthday. My mom, whose birthday is May 31st, never has a half birthday unfortunately since November only has 30 days. Neither do people born on August 30 or 31 or October 31 or March 31 or December 31. That's okay though... while fun, real birthdays are definitely better.

Wishing you a very happy Leap Day and Leap Year! Enjoy February 29th!