November seems to bring out the nostalgic in me – perhaps the beginning of cold days and nights trigger memories. Novembers of past years all seem to hold very sentimental events in my life thus far; from the end of school (possibly forever!) to my trip to Paris.
I still cannot believe that it was really a whole year ago when I took my last test, wrote my last essay and received my last grade. Sometimes I feel as though we have been so conditioned since birth to education that it is like a cup of cold water to the face once said education is over. Of course, the argument will be made that our education is never over, and I do agree. But school does have an end. Isn’t it amazing that something that was once such a horror and a drain (and so complained of) can be missed? All the while through High School and then College I yearned for the day that freedom would come. No more forced tests and no more learning of subjects that held no interest whatsoever. But after the first shock of no school ended, I soon found myself trying to contrive some plan of getting back into the classroom. The grass is always greener, and we never know how good we have it till we are thrust out of our so called prison.
For the past few days Paris has been on my mind; the streets, shops, café’s, rain, river and voices through the alleys. Perhaps I have romanticized it since it’s been ages since I last roamed the streets there, but I suppose that’s what Paris, France really is – a bit of a fairy tale. It has been a while since I last thought of my trip there, as I was 16 when I went, but it makes me smile and sigh for the sights and sounds once more. Paris is one of a kind and once you’ve been you have to return – or else spend your life dreaming of it. Sometimes I fear going back to places that have strong memories tied to them. Not that I have any bad memories of Paris! But more out of fear that the memories have a rosy glint over them. And so I spend the week with my thoughts in French accent, craving the authentic French restaurant down the highway and dreaming of crowded streets full of starving artists, scribbling writers and the fashionable.
And so I sit here listening to the strains of Brooke Fraser and thinking of Thanksgivings gone by. Over the years I have much to be thankful for – and many blessing to thank God for!
Happy Thanksgiving and God Bless,