It’s officially Derby season (or has been for more than a week now) in Louisville. Here are some pictures of people “keeping Louisville weird” at the Cherokee Triangle Art Fair last Sunday.
Category Archives: Kentucky
Did I say there were little birdies chirping outside my window last week? This morning I woke to Winter’s second wind! As is often typical in Kentucky, it ain’t over till it’s over.
I grew up on the back of a horse. There was a time when neighbors who spotted me on foot would ask if my horse was lame or sick. They expected me to be on a horse or beside a horse but never without a horse. It’s surprising to some of these neighbors and friends when I tell them my life in France doesn’t include much riding. I guess I’m not the type they’d expect to have grown out of it.
And I haven’t.
Each time I’m home I’m reminded of the thrill of galloping over cross-country fences and winding through the trees or splashing into the creek. Although I don’t ride daily, my love for horses remains. When I have the time and the means, one day I’ll gather the passion and will to ride and pack them up with me. I’ll take them wherever I am living at that time and plant them there. For now though, I’m content to find them safe where I left them a few years back: at my old Kentucky home.
J’ai grandi sur le dos d’un cheval. A une époque, les gens qui me croisaient à pied me demandaient si mon cheval était blessé ou malade. Ils s’attendaient à me voir à cheval, ou à côté d’un cheval mais jamais sans cheval. Cela étonne certains de ces voisins et amis à qui je raconte que je ne monte pas beaucoup à cheval en France. Je pense qu’ils ne s’attendaient pas à ce que je puisse m’en passer.
Et je ne m’en passe pas.
A chaque retour à la maison je retrouve le frisson du galop par-dessus les clôtures, les slaloms dans les arbres ou les plongeons dans la crique. Même si je ne monte pas tous les jours, mon amour des chevaux persiste. Quand j’en aurai le temps et les moyens, un jour, je regrouperai ma passion et ma volonté de monter à cheval et je les embarquerai avec moi. Je les emmènerai où que je vive à ce moment-là et je les installerai là. Mais pour l’instant, je me contente de les retrouver sains et sauf à l’endroit où je les ai laissés il y a quelques années : dans ma vieille maison du Kentucky.
Hoping these images will get you all caught up (if a picture’s worth a thousand words…). Happy New Year, readers! Special thanks to everyone for your support and encouragement in 2011. I relished each comment and delighted in hearing that you appreciate my writing. Honestly, you’ve inspired me in so many ways. Writing this blog and hearing from you has brought much clarity to me in terms of where I am going and what I do best. So, thanks for launching me into a brand new year with lots of hope!
Probably the worst thing about waiting at the airport for someone you love is waiting. Tonight I was running late on purpose — to avoid the squirming, tippy-toed-squinty-eyed searching across that line you can’t cross because family members are a threat to security. But then, of course the plane was a few minutes late getting to the gate…
And there I was, dancing around as if there were ants in my pants, waving at strange men I thought from afar were him, and then giving them the “sorry, I’m a little excited” look when they passed me to go to baggage claim.
Was he sitting at the back of the plane? The dreaded lavatory seat? What could be taking so long!?
Was it possible I had mistaken the day? The hour? Had I forgotten what he looked like in our time apart? Maybe he had already passed by me?
Forget romantic sweep-you-off-your-feet kisses. As soon as he appeared I jumped on him like some kind of leech, feet dangling behind me as I threw my arms around his neck and he braced against my weight. He lugged me forward and out of the way of oncoming traffic: businessmen, singles, families with small children, etc, and I planted his cheeks with loud, meaningful smooches.
It was amazing.
TRADUCTION A LA MELIE:
Suspense à l’aéroport
Le pire lorsque l’on attend quelqu’un qu’on aime à l’aéroport, c’est l’attente. Ce soir j’ai fait exprès d’arriver en retard – afin d’éviter de me tortiller sur la pointe des pieds en louchant, cherchant de l’autre côté de cette ligne que vous ne pouvez pas franchir parce que les membres de la famille sont une menace pour la sécurité. Mais bien sûr, l’avion a pris quelques minutes de retard pour venir jusqu’à la porte …
Je me tenais donc là, dansant comme si j’avais des fourmis dans les jambes, agitant les bras vers d’étranges hommes que de loin je prenais pour lui, et leur adressant mon regard « pardon je suis un peu nerveuse » lorsqu’ils passaient devant moi pour récupérer leurs bagages.
Etait-il assis à l’arrière de l’avion ? le redouté siège toilettes ? qu’est-ce qui prend autant de temps !?
Est-il possible que je me sois trompée de jour ? d’heure ? est-ce que j’ai oublié à quoi il ressemblait le temps notre séparation ? peut être est-il déjà passé devant moi ?
Oubliez les baisers romantiques et passionnés. Dès qu’il est apparu je me suis jetée sur lui comme une espèce de sangsue, mes pieds se balançant tandis que je passais mes bras autour de son cou et qu’il supportait tout mon poids. Il m’a entrainée vers l’avant, en dehors du flux des arrivants : hommes d’affaires, célibataires, familles avec enfants en bas âge, etc … et j’ai dévoré ses joues d’énormes bisous expressifs.
It was the last evening my aunt Sherry would be in town and I was alternating between the desire to do something and my natural inclination to spend a few last moments with my Godmother.
I’d been wanting to get involved in something meaningful, even if my time here was drawing to a close. Through a series of fortunate events I discovered a group of French speakers that gets together on Thursdays to chat over coffee or wine.
But I needed the extra push to go to that first meeting because timing (as is often the case) seemed to be an issue.
I’m glad I went because this group has shaped the end of my summer in more ways than I could imagine at first. Here are two notable things I’ll remember from the experience:
1. A discussion group has more to offer than conversation (although that’s great too). I don’t know about you, but when I think of “networking” I envision conferences and meet-and-greets and awkwardness. My dad would say that’s the wrong assumption to make, but that’s neither here nor there. In the almost-month I’ve been involved in the French Meetup, I’ve met some pretty interesting and connected people — especially from the International community in Louisville. There’s a whole nonprofit network dedicated to Greater Louisville’s International Professionals and Grace, the association’s ambassador to France, is also the leader of the French Meetup. Her friend Sanait runs another nonprofit called Unikids, which sends school supplies to Ethiopia. Both of them have encouraged me to get involved, inviting me to take part in their respective associations. As timing would have it — in this case “perfect” would be the modifier of choice — Louisville’s WorldFest was coming up and they could use my help. Of course, participating in this festival of cultures was arguably more advantageous for me than for them, since I met even more people and heard even more ideas…All this from joining a discussion group!
2. Opportunities are out there, and a lot of them can’t be Googled. I’ve spent a lot of time this summer brainstorming and researching both freelance and other job opportunities. The most inspiring information I’ve gleaned, however, has come as a result of getting out there and getting involved. Isn’t this always the case in situations of location? One person might say “there’s nothing to do in Louisville,” while another thinks its the “most happening” city. Thankfully, I’ve never thought of myself as falling into the first category. I’m just saying: sometimes these things aren’t apparent at first glance. You have to do more than read the Chamber of Commerce’s listings or even the independent newspapers’ suggestions for what to do. I found out about the French Meetup Group through an interview I did for a Louisville Magazine article. The interview itself was the result of trying a new restaurant and heeding my friend Erin’s suggestion to pitch that story. A question of chance? I think it has more to do with refusing to wait for an opportunity to arise. As Erin said, “in this market, we have to make our own opportunities.” That’s an active verb right there.
(Aside/Proof that she knows what she’s talking about: Erin created a power-point pitch for the social media cause, presented it to a company while interning for another and before the second company could offer her a job [they did] the first realized she was too good not to be paid and snapped her up! She’s now working for company #1, a big consulting firm headquartered in Louisville.)
Well, this little note (from thx thx thx) sure gives “a case of the Mondays” a new ring! I never thought of it like this, but now I doubt I’ll ever think of Mondays in the same way.
After a great weekend spent with a friend from college, I’m ready for a promising new week. The days are shorter, the air is cooler, and my time on the farm is now limited to the few last weeks of summer.
Then, back to France, where Monday turns into Lundi!