Dear Madame K,
I've been reading your blog for a while now, and I'm wondering how you ended up in France. Partly because I'm interested, and partly because sweet jesus, get me out of Metro Detroit.
Dear Susanne Summers,
That’s a damn good question. How did I end up in France? I ask myself that question every day. Twice on bad days.
The quick and easy answer is, I met FrenchBoy. And once we decided that we were gonna get hitched, it was obvious that one of us was gonna have to move. We could have just as easily chosen to live in the US, but since he already had a job and an apartment, it was just easier for me to move to France than to start from scratch in the US. Plus I'm an artist. I have a job that I can do from practically anywhere. It just made sense. So I moved to France, and here I be.
But since I have time and a tendancy to over-analyze damn near anything, I'd like to take this moment to elaborate a bit on that question. How the hell did I end up in France? Well, I like to think that anyone’s life is the sum of the decisions they make. Given, life throws sh*tstorms at us that we definitely do not choose, but the rest is up to us. You know the old expressions about lemons....lemonade. So, I’d have to say the path that lead me to France started when I saw 12 years old. Yep. Before I even had boobs.
When I was in Jr. High, we were forced to take a foreign language. All of my friends chose to take Spanish, but being the contrarian that I have always been, I chose to take French. For the next 5 years of my life I studied French in school. In fact I took so many French language and culture classes that by the time I’d graduated from High-school, I was actually exempt from having to take any language courses at the University level. That fall after high-school graduation I went on to The University of Iowa where I spent the next 4 years drinking copious amounts of vodka and promptly succeeded in forgetting absolutely everything I had learned about France. Or so I thought.
Ok, fast forward like a million years.
After living in Brooklyn for 5 years I decide to leave the thrill-ride of life in New York City behind and I moved to upstate New York to
squat live at me mum’s place while I figured out what the hell I really wanted to do with my life. After 6 months I was bored nearly into a coma and thus start planning an escape to….hell who knows...Timbuktu? Nova Scotia? Hell, even Europe? All I was thinking was sweet jesus get me outta Rochester, New York.
By the time I finally made it to Europe and met FrenchBoy, I still didn’t speak French, but having studied it for so many years there was a familiarity with the language and culture that really bridged the gap between us. It just made it easier. Freaky Frog accent aside, he just seemed….familiar to me. And I figured that re-learning French would be a snap! Or so I thought.
So I guess I should
blame thank the hell out of my 8th grade French teacher for helping to land me here in the land of the frogs. And I thank the heavens everyday that I came from a family that allowed me to take risks and go for big adventures, even when they were a bit leery of my choices. But I give myself a lot of credit too. Thank god I’m one of those difficult head-strong people that decides to do stuff the hard interesting way. Or at least I like to think of myself that way on my good days.
So yep. Life is full of choices. God knows I've mad a crap-load of bad ones, and as much as I bitch and moan, moving to France definitely isn't one of them. At the very least, my decision to live in France has made for some big adventures that I'll be able to tell my grandchildren someday. The censored versions anyway.
I will however proudly leave in all the parts about the smokin' and the boozin'.
Have a question you’d like me to rant about?
Send your question to: Madamek at ymail dot com.