Bonne année from Montlaur.
Yesterday was my first time on ice skates, at the Magic of Christmas ice rink. The rink was 95% teens; the boys had hard eyes and Tintin haircuts. I dreaded their French derision.
The falling man in the last post is a new friend, who lives without dread. We lost our ice rink virginity together, worlds apart in style. I cleaved to the rink wall and skated without courage. One could call it “walking on ice skates.”
But new friend Jesús went balls out, as if he had no notion of consequence. He glided along with grace and elegance, a resplendent Brian Boitano. I half expected a triple Salchow.
Then he fell. Spectacularly. Over and over again. People watching sucked in air and said “Oh la la!” French kids offered assistance, not snickers. “Ca va bien, monsieur?” said one rose-complected little ice fairy, extending a delicate paw.
Of course this was an instructive moment. Take risks, Hirsch, be bold. The timorous little teacup has less bruises than the daredevil, but also less fun. I envied Jesús for sucking the marrow from life while I gazed from the sidelines.
Like a boss
PS This song was playing when I first hit the ice. Let me add to that humiliation: it used to be my “ping-pong song,” a tune for pimply 12-year-old me to work himself into a pre-game lather.
Let me bazooka you now with the foal metaphor.
To be cont…
As I take my shaky first steps into 2013 (little foal that I am), I will not even be on good old American soil.
Sylvie said “It’s so cool you’re going to France for a week and not even visiting Paris.” And I said “The downside is, I’m not visiting Paris.”*
But. Adventures abound in tiny towns. I got here yesterday.
-Had coffee and biscuits at this gentleman’s home, hoping he’d take me wild boar hunting.
-Went to butcher, bought two pork ribs, one boudin blanc sausage, a triangle of duck liver mousse (aka not foie), and some well-recommended potato chips.
-Drank all the wine.
-Might drive to Spain, to witness the marriage of nice strangers.
I’m studying which cheek you start with on the kiss-kiss hello. Right now I’m clocking 60% left cheek starts.
And if you’re the type of person who gracefully intuits which cheek to offer up, please to suck a baguette.
*For my next trick, I’ll complain about getting paid to eat.