counting blessings.

this is the story of me arriving. (or is it "this is the story of me, arriving"?)

what i mean is, this is how i got to copenhagen. mostly, in a fog. and then we were toured around the (presumably, very lovely) city, but i'm sure i'll know about that once i've slept. and everything was very well-prepared with our ids and cell phones and bus passes and slideshows about regulations and bedding and the general telling of students where to be and the syllabi and all i could think was "this is so very different than france where they tell you nothing and you wait in the wrong line for 45 minutes to NOT get your student bus pass. ever."

still, all that's boring and i know what you really want to know is about the VERY SCARY things that i found in my room in the kollegium upon arrival this evening. and y'all, i'm not that much of a priss. chandler, i can HEAR you rolling your eyes all the way across 7 hours and an ocean, but, i mean, really. i've been camping.

this is what i found, in no particular order:

on the wall.

yes. that is a vomiting, fire-breathing dragon-type dinosaur.

no, i don't know why.

and in the bathroom.

in case you missed it, that's a "showerhead" by the sink. which, seriously, is fine by me. i get that europe is pint-sized.

what is not okay, not at all was the dirt and stale water and other general ick that gurgled up from the drain ON THE FLOOR WHERE I KEEP MY FEET when i turned on the sink. where i'm supposed to clean myself. no sir.

so now i live in another room. a double one. with my own kitchen.

but i'll say this much, i'm never complaining about france again. ever.

avoiding the neighbors.

this is the story of me leaving town.

i'm going to denmark for the next couple of months, but not yet. first, i'm going to the mountains to see my family. and i'm leaving today. imminently, in fact, and i'm driving. with lots of things. including, but not limited to, two boxes of my grandmother's crystal and a bag. not, like, a wheelie suitcase or a tote, maybe a duffel? a medium sized duffel bag? i don't know what you would call it, but i decided to carry it out to the car last night, and at the bottom of the stairs is my neighbor george.

let me pause here to say: i live on the third floor. on the second floor lives a truly lovely couple, george and martha (like the hippos or the president).

last night, george was coming back from the river or someplace that he had been with his cats. so george is at the bottom of the stairs checking his mail, and the cats are in their carriers stacked one on top of the other. on the stairs.

do you see where this is going?

i'm not a very coordinated or graceful person. my mother used to (and quite possibly still does) think that i have a neurological disease. that kind of clumsy.

now do you see where this is going?

some might say "knowing, as you do, your lack of coordination, maybe pause and reflect and wait for the cats to be moved or proceed with great care past the cats" and i say "don't stack your cats on the stairs. because it's weird and your neighbors might knock them down."