Endless Summer

Monday, September 14, 2009

As I write this the calendar says it’s September 13th, but I’m finding that really hard to believe. My life for the last 3 months has been stuck in a sort of permanent July, and there’s no end in sight. Labour Day came and went and the only reason it meant anything at all to me is because I could Skype with Karen and Steve earlier in the day because they weren’t at work.* It’s strange.

Fall is my favourite time of year. The days are still warm, but there’s a crispness to the air in the morning and the trees all turn colours and you get to dig up a favourite sweater again and start thinking about cooking things that need to bubble in a pot on the back of the stove for hours. And because I’ve spent my life either in school or in a kind of job that works in seasons, every September since I was about four years old has come with that exciting fresh start feeling you get with a new year of school or a new season of shows. I’ve often thought that we should celebrate New Year’s in the fall, though eliminating any holiday from the cold, dark days of January would be extravagantly cruel.**

At this time last year I was hard at work – we were building the first show of the year, and were about to start rehearsing it too (And if that’s not a “first day of school” feeling, then I don’t know what is. The first day of rehearsal for the first show of the season? Grand.) I’ve had a look back through my agenda from September 2008 and it’s all full of meetings with designers and consultations with outside trainers and staff photos and stuff like that. And I ran a 14km trail race on the 13th and a half marathon on the 14th. And I had my teeth cleaned, and my eyes checked. That was my totally normal life one year ago. Today I’m in a cheap (but nice) hotel in a small city in France, with one bag of belongings and no responsibilities and not much of a plan other than “Barcelona some time next week, and Portugal after that.” It’s funny how the wind blows sometimes.

I’m not complaining. Well, not seriously anyways. I admit that when I think about it, I think how nice it would be to have a walk in the old neighbourhood, shuffling through dry leaves and thinking about what to make for supper and zipping up my jacket because it’s a bit chillier than I expected. Instead, I think I’ll wander down and have all-you-can-eat mussels and frites and possibly contemplate a glass of wine or two.

Like I said, I’m not complaining.

* The fact that, regardless of their holiday schedule, I didn’t end up Skyping them until about 12:30am Paris time is beside the point. As is the fact that part of the reason I was late is that once again I ended up walking for about 10 minutes in exactly the wrong direction after deciding to get off the metro one stop early and walk a bit further rather than changing lines. This time I blame my $3.00 compass, because I knew I was supposed to be going west, and I’m sure that’s what the compass said, so I just kept striding confidently down the dark street next to the elevated metro tracks, past an uncomfortable number of the kind of coffee shops and bars that come equipped with a permanent collection of shady characters who hang about at small tables outside the place, smoking cigarettes and giving off a vaguely menacing aura. By the time I reached the metro stop before the one where I’d got off, I really didn’t fancy walking back past all that again, so I just got on the damned train again, and changed to the other line like I should have done in the first place, and took the new line that single stop, and it was all fine, except that my time-saving shortcut ended up taking about an extra 45 minutes, and Karen kept texting me saying “Skype??”

**God, could you imagine the bleakness of going all the way from Boxing Day to Easter without a break? People would be stabbing themselves with icicles.


Mitch said...

I was just checking out the "Big Plan" map, and after a little zooming in, noticed that you are on the "Autoroute du Soleil".

How appropriate.

Viviane said...

I laughed out loud in the middle of the office at the picture you created of people stabbing themselves with icicles. That would make a great cartoon. I probably don't say it enough but I think you're awesome. keep rocking Pam.

Unknown said...

Appropriate post today, thanks. Tonight I'm going out for dinner with some friends for Mussels and frites, though sadly not in France but instead at a French bistro.

I've also spent too much time researching a possible winter vacation just so I don't stab an icicle through my heart this winter in mid-February.

Yes, very appropriate post. :-)

PS: We just ran the 14km trail race and then Treherne the following day this past weekend. You were missed.Never quite the same without you.

Unknown said...

That was definitely a 'nyeah, nyeah" photo of you in the South of France with the sh*t-eating grin and the 2 (count 'em 2!!) glasses of rose in front of you. And musing about work, when some of us back here are actually dealing with the daily spirit distroying uphill grind...I officially hate you now. ;-)

Pam said...

@Robert: Well I was almost finished the first glass of wine, so of course there's a second glass on deck. As far as your hatred is concerned, the solution has three simple steps:

1. Quit job
2. Liquidate possessions
3. Meet me on the terrace, the first round is my treat.

@Karen: I miss you guys too. I got a bit wistful thinking about that race weekend, though I don't miss the hills of Treherne at all! ("T-t-t-Treherne is t-t-t-trying to k-k-k-kill me!)

Nigel said...

Greetings from sunny Scotland!

Just wanted to say hi and say that we're enjoying living vicariously through your travels. If you're anywhere near Saint Remy de Provence, there's very cool Roman ruins near Glanum.

Nigel and Margaret

Anonymous said...

Hey Pam, I hyped your blog on the "new" web based CallBoard (which I hate the interface for), so you may wind up with some new readers who didn't bother to copy down your web address when it was originally offered to them.

What a trip you're having, amazing!

Cheers, Blair

Post a Comment