The Words We Used

Telluride Bluegrass Festival starts today.  Most of my favorite bands, a place more beautiful than imaginable, happiest atmosphere I've ever experienced: there are good reasons that this week was the one I was most dejected to miss when we decided to come to France.

Along with the thoughts of Telluride, there have been other reasons that have made the past week or so the most homesick I've had here.  The end is in site, and my heart has definitely moved back to the States.  This semester hasn't been very busy, class-wise, so I feel somewhat like time is being wasted.  And because I haven't had many days of class, it's been hard to keep up regular interactions with people.

Rather than dwell on missing Telluride and accentuate the blue mood, I want to try to catalogue the many ideas, words, and pieces of art that have accompanied me through the past 5 months, alleviating homesickness and culture shock.  For those reasons, I think the proliferation and ease of portability of our entertainment and culture has been one of the things I've been most grateful for this year.

The library to bring to France was a major decision last December.  My all-time favorites, of course: the frozen poetry of The English Patient, Garrison Keillor's Leaving Home, the lonely companionship of Gatsby, the painful beauty of Till We Have Faces.  Also, A Moveable Feast for Paris.  And St. Augustin's Confessions, Mere Christianity, and The Brothers Karamazov to provoke thought.

As much as I keep harping on it, getting The New Yorker over here has been clutch.  At times my language skills have felt like they were covered in felt, because of the simplifications required when most of our speaking is with non-native English speakers.  Each issue of the magazine has been a weekly cleansing, reminding me of good words and well-constructed arguments.

And music has been a constant, with Margaret's iPod stereo dock playing almost non-stop when we are in our apartment.  Rocking out, setting the mood, waking us up- having music at the tip of your fingers might be my favorite modern technology.  And on days like today, it is a solace to be able to call up some DMB to provide the comforts of an old musical friend, or Darrell Scott to sing the beauty of the American spirit.

This blog has been an aid, too.  Even when the posts have been blatantly self-serving (i.e., this one), it has helped me express myself and also feel in contact with friends.  And really, I think all of the words and music we have used to keep us going over here can only maintain for so long.  It's the deep conversations and brief joyful moments with good friends that you really miss in a new place.

Still you don't expect to be bright and bon vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home
Paul Simon's "American Tune", via the Darrell Scott version