Dylan
Here's another picture for you.
Kent
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Paris
Our next couch surfing host was a young man named Joel. Iroinically Joel's place was also undergoing renovation. 90% of his furniture was crammed into one room. For three days Joel slept someplace else. We saw him once when he returned to iron a shirt, once by accident and the first time when he gave us the key. He aplogized for not spending anytime with us but said the next time we're in Paris that his door would be open.
Kent
Our next couch surfing host was a young man named Joel. Iroinically Joel's place was also undergoing renovation. 90% of his furniture was crammed into one room. For three days Joel slept someplace else. We saw him once when he returned to iron a shirt, once by accident and the first time when he gave us the key. He aplogized for not spending anytime with us but said the next time we're in Paris that his door would be open.
Kent
Paris
Monia, whom we had never met, was our first couching experience. We were also hers. She stood behind the rail in the airport with a faintly written sign that said 'M WHALEN.' It was a happy meeting and our stay continued to be so. As guests we were comfortable with the idea that we were stepping right into the middle of whatever was going on in her life. A this point it happened to be a renovation of her apartment. The workmen had left a substantial hole in the wall where the fireplace used to be. Plastic covered the floor, her furniture was in temporary places, and she had given us slippers to wear. Yet Monia was as happy as a clam. She loved her new place, which was bright, breezy, and had a southern exposure, where the Eiffel Tower could be seen in the distance. Her french was emaculate. I began my practice of the french language right there over wine, cheese and pasta. And Monique who is a consumate guest chatted with Monia as if she had known her for years.
Monia, whom we had never met, was our first couching experience. We were also hers. She stood behind the rail in the airport with a faintly written sign that said 'M WHALEN.' It was a happy meeting and our stay continued to be so. As guests we were comfortable with the idea that we were stepping right into the middle of whatever was going on in her life. A this point it happened to be a renovation of her apartment. The workmen had left a substantial hole in the wall where the fireplace used to be. Plastic covered the floor, her furniture was in temporary places, and she had given us slippers to wear. Yet Monia was as happy as a clam. She loved her new place, which was bright, breezy, and had a southern exposure, where the Eiffel Tower could be seen in the distance. Her french was emaculate. I began my practice of the french language right there over wine, cheese and pasta. And Monique who is a consumate guest chatted with Monia as if she had known her for years.
Hi Everyone
We're sorry that there has been such a big gap between our last post and this one. We'll try to catch up to today.
June 8th, Detroit
I didn't think leaving would be so difficult. I've spent a lot of my life with the Whalen Family. And while it was not as difficult for me as it was for Monique, I still felt as if I had opened my hand and let go of something valuable, or that I had been plunged under water and for a moment couldn't breath. I miss you all terribly.
After we loaded our 200lbs of luggage in the car I embraced my sister and we wept. Next I hugged my brother-in-law,Claudius Maximus Jones, whom I think is an angel here on Earth. I had a lump in my throat. And the emotion that I felt when I embraced my eldest daughter whom I've always thought was the perfect female version of myself was/is beyond words. The oldest living part of me, my Mom, had stayed in the apartment, having wished me and Monique farewell there.
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