Letter from France 13

Thursday, November 17, 1989

born: George S. Kaufman 1889

died: Alan Watts 1973

1776—British forces capture Fort Washington

 

I think my computer cheats at backgammon. At least, every time it offers to double the stakes, it gives itself a pair of sixes on the next turn. Now, I know there are more important things going on in the world. Actually, because I hear the news in French, I couldn't really tell you exactly what is going on in the world, though I am sure it is important. Anyway, to defend the opening sentence, this becomes a bit more pertinent when you realize that the Macintosh is the only backgammon opponent I have. Fortunately, I don't bet that much and can afford to lose even when it cheats. It only costs me an occasional software program or maybe a new printer ribbon. My real concern is that Mac be honest when I balance my checkbook, figure out taxes, and write letters. I also have a fear that the Mac tends to take my personally written missives and make them look as if they came from some sort of form letter.

 

I have finally figured out why French people are always late for any type of meeting or appointment, Metric Minutes. There is some sort of different scale for the minutes over here which aren't the same as American minutes. I'm sure this accounts for my watch reading 10:10 or 10:15 when our 10:00 am staff meetings start. I'll have to get a converter so I can get into the local time.

 

Chinese cooking is coming along nicely. I have started to figure out my wok and feel I can—by and by—learn to work with it and not against it. At dinner time the kitchen table looks like a library as I spread out my French cookbook and obligatory French/English dictionary to figure out what do. I seem to be making progress. What does sauté mean? Saturday night I had some students over to taste some of the dishes and it wasn't too bad, certainly encouraging enough to try again. Unfortunately, two of the students are German and after a couple of beers and some wine it was hard to restrain them. They wanted to go into the center of town and start tearing down walls to show their solidarity. We finally convinced them to be content to watch some news coverage.

 

With a little luck, some determination, and a limited English-language section in the town library I should be able to realize a longtime fantasy and become Jean-Paul Sartre's Self-Taught Man. It turns out that they only have two shelves of books in English, so I am methodically going through and reading every one. To be able to say you have read every book in the library will be quite a thrill.

 

To get ready for the big end-of-the-year Christmas show the school has filled up the performing ring of the piste (our permanent tent/building/structure) with sod for the horses. Our nice, wood floor is now covered by about a half-meter of wood chips, sawdust, and dirt. Over this they have installed a removable wooden floor. Ah, circus life. Taking advantage of the situation, I planted some corn, tomatoes, and onions along the outer edge of the ring. We shall see how the school reacts. For people with red noses, there does not seem to be a lot of humor or practical jokes around here.

 

Next month I will go to Ostende, Belgium, on a field trip. There is an exhibition for the members of the European Economic Community to decide which circus school should be the circus school of Europe. Because a couple of my students are going along to perform and represent the school, I should be able to join them. Since Ostende is a ferry port to England I may hop over the channel afterwards to visit some friends.

 

Don't know if this will get to you by Thanksgiving or not. If it does, and you go a'visitin' with that group on the other side of the bay, "Hellos" all around. I'm having a tough time explaining Thanksgiving to people here and why I should have a four-day weekend. Maybe I keep talking up the freedom from oppression part too much. Isn't there any way to live here and not have to deal with French people every day? I'll tell you, the stories I could tell, the letters I could write. Why, when I was a boy we didn't even have any French pe...

 

take care,

 

Todd Strong, Professeur du Jonglage

 

Centre National des Arts du Cirque

1, rue du Cirque

51000 Châlons-sur-Marne

FRANCE

 

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