found france

I was wandering around Rue de Republic, passed the Avenue de le Revolucion to Gambetta street, looking for Gulia's house for the party.  Found the address but there was only an alley and a garage door with a paper page taped on that said something French with "Lunatic" written there.  In France, where I am who I am, vwee pronunce dhees: Lunateek.  Vwee pronunce everysing a bit deeferent, see.

If I wasn't minding my pees and q's; as they say; I would tell you all about it (I am typing so slow, to get used to the foreign placing of letters on the keyboard).  This was a "French Expression Theme Party" and the people were all dressed fine in french expressions that need to be explained.  J'suis barrè; I am crazy.  A piè e poi liès. my hands and feet are tied together.  I was quickly saturated in allegorical maxims I did not speak and could hardly understand.

But the people are so kind and accomadating.  I have many French proffessors, now, and everyone can help me:

An Old Goal: Find a universal purpose:  Then you have a reason to talk to everyone.

A Universal Purpose: I wish to learn your language, World.

The party lasts until six in the morning.  There are toasts to the birthday girl; food spread and shared on the table; sofas for sitting and talking and napping; blankets for going under; a computer which plays songs for dancing: an ever occupied dance floor.

Joe tells me later; when we are walking on the rue; à le foret, how in France, at parties, they have few expectations, and that makes all the difference.

There is a certain lightness about everything I have found here; maybe it is the cheese; but it seems to run deep.  There is a long enjoyment (how to say this?) a deep breathing.  In New York I felt like if I stopped to take a breath, it might run away from me.  Here, it is easier to see: Breathe as much as you will, we won't run.  Perhaps too, this is just the feeling of getting older and seeing how much I can take my time;

At 6 30 we walk home to Mathilde and Anka's house, laughing in the streets and subways; singing in French qnd English qnd Spanish (the a's I am used to are q's, qs you cqn see).  When we camboreened off the final subway into Mathilde's district the snow was falling, tiny flakes.

The next morning my friend Gizan took me to the train station to rumble down to Vendome to meet up with Kim and Joe.  She is little and speaks the best of Anglais and French.  Goodbye Paris, you are as lovely as everyone says.

In my little book I am writing "Aha, I have found France", while the moon rises bigger and bigger every night.

Each morning I wake up with cheese in my nose, frommage dans moi nez.

Last night I slept in the dungeon of a castle which is Kim's house.  It is from there where I am writing you; on the ground floor (ha ha no, there is no ground floor) with the fireplace and the grand piano that is the same make and model of Chopin's piano that the crafty Detour's found at a garage sale.  The black cat is sleeping next to me; Jean Pierre is in his study, writing the script to next summer's play.  Kim and Joe and even Nancy are off siesta-ing after that irish stew we took for lunch.  I spent the morning sleeping and the mid morning sledding down the nezzy streets of this little town.

There is a tall church steeple in the middle of town. and there are no lights at all around here at night after 10 except the moon. 
Between the houses are gardens and above the town runs the train tracks I came on. 
This is a little town like I used to see in pictures of little towns in France. 
Kim's house has a stone tower that is 800 years old: 
The tobagon that we sledded on is all wood and ricketty as grammaz unused garage chairs. 
There are six inches of Nez on the ground. 

The town is full of caves.  It is a cave town.  We went to Suzie's for dinner last night and she said "please fetch a bottle of wine; its in the cave."  And it was.