The Rites of Spring

I've officially made it to spring. Morgane and I celebrated by engaging in the age old ritual of cleaning. As most of you already know, we are living in Clint's apartment while he travels in India (Clint is Morgane's brother). Clint is somewhat of a pack rat. He seems to have trouble letting go of anything (even if it's a Naughty by Nature single from 15 years ago). Despite this, the place has always been relatively clean though never approaching a state resembling order.

After living with a house full of guys for the past two years, a perpetual state of disorder is unfortunately something I've grown to accept. This is not the case with Morgane. Something within her took over and it was cleaning time. My portion of chores consisted of cleaning the kitchen and the shower room (a peculiar feature of most French abodes is the shower and the toilet being in separate rooms).

When you have a dirty rug, mat, or table cloth the common practice here is to shake it out the window. This is a quite natural practice exercised throughout the world. The difference is that here you are dumping whatever filth you've acquired on the table cloth out on the sidewalk below. I wouldn't want to be attacked by crumbs when I walk so I've been a little hesitant about aerial bombing the sidewalk four floors below. I have, however, slowly gotten used to it and don't think much about it anymore. This is largely because, save for one incident where I accidentally hit the windshield of a parked car with a grape while people were in it, I haven't had any problems. I've never heard any French curses directed at me after I shook out a table cloth or a floor rug.

As Winnie the Pooh might say, it's been very "blustery" here of late. Bursts of rain and wind have been followed by periods of sunshine, giving the past week an odd feel. I had shaken out the kitchen floor mat and left it hanging over the balcony railing while I cleaned the floor. Perhaps it was naive to leave it hanging without weighing it down--shades of Kramer dropping the blinds on the Commando 8 and declaring, "Installed!" This naturally proved to be true. As I was beginning to swab the floor a big gust of wind rattled the windows and started to take the mat with it just as I turned around. Unlike Kramer, my naivety didn't fall on a dog. Luckily it landed harmlessly on the sidewalk below as I hung over the balcony helplessly staring down at it. The startled looks of the bystanders quickly turned into smiles and laughter when they saw me pathetically staring down at the sidewalk below.

My mat adventures aside, the cleaning went well. Though there is still stuff bursting out of every closet, drawer, and shelf, the place has taken a more orderly shape--one that is befitting to the new season and the renewal it promises.