Read this if you own a Kindle: common cord problem

Ever since I can remember, one of my favorite ways to pass the time has been to curl up with a good book.  As a kid, I became a master in the art of rapidly hiding a library book at very short notice and striking a natural-looking pose, so I could sneak reads while I was supposed to be studying math. I have since refined my reading methods (and, by the way, passed all necessary math classes).  In January of 2010, I became the proud owner of a hand-me-down Kindle 2, given to me by my dad when he got an upgrade for himself.  My Kindle may be a slightly dated version, but for all intents and purposes, it was everything I ever wanted for reading: a small, portable device capable of containing hundreds of books at any given time.  And believe me, in the almost eight months I have owned it, my Kindle has gotten a lot of use.

Even though I read a lot from my Kindle, I always treated it carefully.  The only time it was ever damaged was the time I dropped it, for which I accept full responsibility, and luckily only the casing was damaged, so it still works perfectly well for reading.  However, the dropping incident did not in any way affect the cord, and the cord is the part I find issue with.

A number of weeks ago, I noticed that on a part of the cord just below the micro-usb end that plugs into the Kindle, the insulation had begun to crack and peel off, exposing part of the wire.  I was surprised, because I hadn't noticed it begin, and it seemed like the kind of thing that would happen over time.  So I showed it to my dad, and we decided duct tape would be the cure.  Upon inspection, however, we found several more places along the wire that had cracks.  So we patched it up, and I went along my merry way.

Skip to present.  I hadn't been paying much attention to the cord, since when I used my kindle I usually focus on the screen.  But today, I inspected the cord only to find that the deterioration had greatly accelerated, and in one place, a piece of insulation the size of the end of my finger had fallen off.  Suddenly, I could see myself being electrocuted as I plugged my Kindle in, or burning the dormitory down in the middle of the night, simply because I wanted to be able to curl up with a good book.  Not acceptable.

So, I checked online to see about ordering a new one.  When I looked at the reviews for the cord, I noticed that several other people had complained of the same problem.  Curious, I checked out the forum, and found this thread: Kindle 2 power cord fell apart.  This thread is full of people posting about the same problem, and there are 1,033 posts.  Wow!  It appears I'm not the only one.  People have complained about their cords falling apart, on average, after two years, but sometimes as early as three or four months.

Even though my Kindle is no longer under warranty, my dad suggested I call customer service about a replacement, since it's a known problem.  And... what do you know? They replaced my cord, free of charge.  They even reimbursed me for shipping.  And the customer service was great too.  Any time I call with a problem, they always say "I'm so sorry for [insert name of problem here]," whether it's my fault or theirs, which I find kind of funny.  My only concern is... is the problem fixed?  Yes, I have a new cord for free, which they technically didn't have to do, since my Kindle's no longer under warranty.  But I have to wonder: will the same thing happen to my next cord?  Or are they going to make them out of better plastic?  Other cords I've owned have lasted for years without problems.  But since Amazon seems to have decided not to issue a recall or a warning, I've decided to issue a warning of my own to my friends who own Kindles:

Regular inspection of your Kindle's cord is recommended for safety.  If you see any signs of cracks or fraying, call Amazon Kindle customer service immediately (1-866-321-8851) for a free replacement.  According to my experience and the posts in the forum, once the damage starts it will progress rapidly.  Expect to replace your cord at least every two years, and at most every three or four months with normal usage.


As soon as my new cord gets here, I'm going to get right back to my favorite pass-time.  Now that I'm an adult, I don't have to hide my reading every time I hear someone coming (although I have to accept full responsibility for my education).  But my Kindle is still my favorite book, because it's more than just a book; it's a medium for reading: it's easy to use, it's very portable, and, for old time's sake, easy to hide.

A Red Sparkle Story, or What I Did This Summer

Once upon a time, in a strange land far, far away, also known as Oklahoma, a young lady returned home from a long voyage abroad only to find that her homeland had been ravaged by a severe drought as well as high rates of unemployment.  Unfortunately in this case, the young lady was (and as a matter of fact, still is) me, and one of those affected by the unemployment was my mother.

                

 Now my mother, who is a psychologist, was looking for a job either teaching or practicing psychology.  However, the giant suburb of a city we were living in did not have many opportunities for that sort of job, so my mother looked elsewhere, which was fine with my dad since his job is done mainly over ye olde internet.  Thus, my parents turned their eyes and search engines elsewhere, and discovered that the Dallas/Fort Worth area had lower rates of unemployment, an abundance of community colleges looking for psychology teachers, and a direct flight to where my dad works.

               

Alas, just as my parents’ idea of relocating was merely beginning to be formed, we received the most dreadful news: our landlady wanted her house back.  And how much time, you might wonder, did we have to find a new place to live? A mere thirty days.  Thus, in a mad rush, our searching began.

                 

Once, twice, thrice we ventured in a southerly direction, spending afternoons searching for houses, but our searches were not fruitful, and were dreadfully exhausting.  The heat was especially trying the day we spent an hour or so waiting in the lawn of a house for the realtor to appear.  When she did arrive, it took some small effort to see past her loquaciousness.  Once we did, however, we discovered an invaluable sagacity acquired from many years of experience.  In other words, she talked a lot, but she was really smart.  This realtor would come to be an incredible aide in finding, and moving into, the proper house.

                 

One particular day, we looked at a rent house whose crooked and sagging floors made us dizzy, and whose rooms reeked of mold and dog pee.  After a brief conference, we decided we could never live there.  Later that same day, we visited a house that stood in stark contrast to that terrible rent house.  Being only eight years since its completion, it was newer than any house we had ever lived in.  The outside was pretty but somewhat plain.  Upon entering, however, the eye was met with a glorious high ceiling, and beautiful arches stretching throughout the walkway, giving the house a certain elegance, and above all, character.  A formal den surrounded by columns was on the left, while a wide staircase on the right swept upward towards the bedrooms.  Farther down, a modern kitchen opened up to the rest of the house, and just above the counters were two glass block windows.  Another plus to the house was its proximity to a large park covered in trails.  This was ideal for my parents since they are avid joggers, and for me, since I enjoy bicycling. 

                 

However, our time was running up.  We only had a week or so left, and the purchase of a home takes time.  Once our offer on the house was under way, we knew we would have one or two weeks of time after our landlady wanted us out of the rent house where we currently lived and before we could move into the new house.  So, we planned to stay with relatives.  After frantically moving all our possessions (except for what we could fit into a few suitcases) into storage, we stayed with my mom’s brother while he was on vacation.  It was almost like being on vacation ourselves, except for the fact that the landlady threatened to keep the deposit for dishonest reasons, and we spent part of the time conferring with a lawyer over the matter.  Later, when my uncle’s family came back from vacation, we went down to Texas to spend the rest of our “homeless time” with my dad’s sister.   Much of that time was very enjoyable as well, what with playing cards in the swimming pool, and other such activities.  However, some of that time was spent conferring with the person putting the flooring in the new house, who kept getting the color wrong, or with the person from the mortgage company, who kept needing more paperwork.

               

Finally, we left for the closing on the house.  In the middle of the long drive there, the mortgage company called and said they couldn’t close that day, and had to put off the closing indefinitely.  We were very frustrated, but we ended up going anyway to stay in a hotel and try to get things settled.  Up until that point, being without a home had never been more than a nuisance to me.  I never lacked for anything; I always knew I would have a place to sleep and food to eat and every worldly necessity, even if I didn’t know where I would be that night.  But after the mortgage company messed up the paperwork and postponed the closing, I felt a taste of the insecurity.  Walking down the sidewalk in the 115 degree heat, getting tired and wishing I could go home, and then realizing I didn’t have a home to go to, was frustrating.  But I knew I was blessed to have a roof over my head each night, wherever it might be.

                 

The day came for my younger sister and I to move into our college dorms, and we still didn’t own the house.  But we had thought ahead.  Everything we would need for our dorms was packed away in a storage room closer to our schools.  So my family temporarily relocated to a hotel near our schools for a few days while we got moved in.  And let me tell you, it was a relief to have a consistent place to sleep.

                 

Now, several weeks after school has started, my parents finally own the lovely new home.  I have been there once since they moved in; it was the weekend the truck came with all our things from storage.  I think I’m going to enjoy my weekends there, and I can’t wait to explore the lovely Dallas/Fort Worth area.  But the moral of this tale is: homelessness stinks, even without poverty.  I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to be affected by both.  So next time you see a homeless person, try to imagine yourself in their place.  

And also, if you were wondering about the title of this story, it is a family inside joke that refers to the name of the company that messed up our paperwork.  You can try and guess what it is if you want, but the name of the company isn't really important.  What is, is realizing that when a company gets so big that bureaucracy ties the hands of the lower level people and keeps them from actually helping customers, that company is too big to be effective.

Introverts and dreamers: a response to Carl King's blog post about introverts, and a similar discription of dreamers

                Adam Young recently shared on his blog a post by Carl King, about the ten myths of introverts, taken from the book The Introvert Advantage by Marti Laney.  I think it was quite an excellent post, and I would like to share a few of the points he made that I find to be particularly relevant.  I would also like to give a similar review of a book called Strong-Willed Child or Dreamer? by Dana Spears and Ron Braund.  This second book is to me what The Introvert Advantage is to Carl King when he says “I feel like someone has written an encyclopedia entry on a rare race of people to which I belong. Not only has it explained many of my eccentricities, it helps me to redefine my entire life in a new and positive context” (see King’s blog post at http://www.carlkingcreative.com/10-myths-about-introverts).  Some of the descriptions Carl King gives in his blog post about introverts seem to overlap with the descriptions of the dreamer personality type in this book, and I think a distinction needs to be made.

First of all, I think all of the points Carl King makes are relevant and interesting, and I highly recommend you click the link above and read all ten of them.  However, the ones that are the most relevant to me are as follows:

1.     Introverts only talk when they have something to say.  This is very descriptive of me. 
2. Introversion and shyness are two different things.  It is a common misconception to think of the two as the same, but where introversion is a constant fact of my nature, I am only shy in very specific situations (ex. In front of crowds and around good-looking guys).
3.  Introverts don’t dislike people.  I LOVE people, but like most introverts, I can’t handle everyone, all at once, all the time.  Crowds wear me out. 

These are three points that stood out to me the most as an introvert.  There are, however, some things that stood out to me as a dreamer, because King seems to lump dreamers and introverts into one category, whereas I think a distinction is important.  Before I continue, though, I need to give some kind of definition of the term dreamer.  This is difficult, if not impossible, because dreamers, by nature, defy definition.  But to give you a general idea, I’ll give you a quote found on page 6 of Strong-Willed Child or Dreamer: “Dreamers are the most imaginative, sensitive, and idealistic of all children. They can be described as compassionate, moody, original, and stubborn.”  While some of those traits may have been more visible in me as a young child, I think I am still very much a dreamer at heart.

There are a few descriptions, however, that King gives of introverts that seem to be descriptions of the dreamer personality type… not that the two don’t overlap: much like shyness and introversion, they often occur together, but are two distinct traits.  First of all, King states:

“Introverts are often individualists. They don’t follow the crowd. They’d prefer to be valued for their novel ways of living. They think for themselves and because of that, they often challenge the norm. They don’t make most decisions based on what is popular or trendy.”

Yes, this is sometimes true, but not always.  I have met many introverts who, because of their introversion and possibly concurring shyness, try very hard to blend in and not be noticed.  They prefer to be a shadow, or a flower on the wallpaper.  Not a dreamer.  Even an introverted dreamer like me will occasionally do something unexpected, like wear a funky hat or take up the ukulele.  We can’t stand blending in.  On the flipside, I have met extroverted dreamers.  While extroverts are typically the people who understand the rules of social interaction so much better than we introverts, extroverted dreamers still like to break them from time to time and bring out that funky hat.

King also states: “Introverts are people who primarily look inward, paying close attention to their thoughts and emotions.” Yes, introverts do most of their processing of external events internally, such as making decisions and thinking before they speak, as opposed to my beloved extroverted younger sister, who has to process everything out loud and verbally, thereby chattering half the day.  But introverts are not the only introspective people.  Dreamers are full of a specific type of introspection, according to Strong-Willed Child or Dreamer: “Dreamers think about truth and beauty when their peers are thinking about bats and balls” (pg. 57).  While introverts are the type of people who are expected to come up with deep and thought-provoking phrases when they do speak, I have heard some very introspective and surprising things from the mouths of extroverted dreamers.

  That being said, I would like to share a few of the points found in the book Strong-Willed Child or Dreamer that I find most interesting and descriptive of my personality.

1. Dreamers are idealistic.  We tend to see the world as it ought to be, rather than as it is.  Think of Don Quixote.  Ok, he was a little bit crazy fighting windmills and thinking he was a knight, but a dreamer will go out into the world with the idea of a knight on the inside, hunting for figurative giants to fight and figurative fair maidens to defend.
2. Dreamers can visualize all possible outcomes.  That’s why a dreamer may give up before they even start; because they can see all the ways a situation could go wrong.  Also, a dreamer may visualize an ideal into a particular person or situation, and become disappointed or even despair when confronted with reality.  “Dreamers weave colorful tapestries of what the world could be” (pg. 26).
3. Dreamers are sensitive.  A dreamer will read into every word or facial expression, and a dreamer is the kid who comes home from school sobbing, saying “my teacher HATES me” after being corrected for a simple mistake.  Even as an introvert who tends to hide her emotions, I am still very sensitive, and I work very hard not to read meaning into every little thing.
4. Dreamers are principle driven rather than rule driven.  In the book, a dreamer is described as a bird, whereas the dreamer’s polar opposite, the driver, is described as a charging bull.  A driver sets a goal and goes for it, and would run right into harm’s way if it weren’t for the fence (the rules).  For a driver, rules provide protection as well as guidance.  A bird, however, can get caught in a fence and hurt.  A dreamer needs to understand the principles behind a rule in order not to get snared, and needs to be able to make his/her own decisions based on principle rather than always being caged in by lots of rules.
5. Dreamers are imaginative.  Dreamer children see nothing wrong with coloring the sky green and the grass blue.  Dreamers also tend to tell tall tales, not to deceive, but just for the sake of telling a story, such as playing with invisible faeries and unicorns in the backyard (like I did all through childhood) or giving imaginary lives to favorite toys (I’m just sure the person who came up with the idea for the Toy Story movies was a dreamer).
6. Dreamers tend to link their moods to those of others.  Dreamers cannot always separate themselves from other people’s problems, and sometimes blame themselves when someone is upset even if they don’t know the cause.  Also, dreamers are particularly prone to grieving, whether it’s for someone they know, a pet, a fictional character, or even someone who died before they were born.
7. Dreamers tend to learn things better the hard way.
8. Dreamers have a natural desire to learn, although actual success in school depends on the individual.  We also prefer individualized instruction to make learning personal.  This is why homeschooling was great for me.
9. Dreamers need to be liked, and greatly fear embarrassment. “On a scale of one to ten for fear of embarrassment with ten being the most fearful, dreamers are a twelve” (pg. 214).

Well, I was going to try to come up with ten points I found interesting to match Carl King’s article, but I only came up with nine.  Oh well, I hope you enjoyed it, and learned something about me, and maybe something about yourself.  I highly recommend the book if you would like to learn more about dreamers.  And for the other dreamers out there, I will close with a poem:

I WAS BORN A DREAMER by David C. Page

It was a secret, of course, even to me.
To my parents, I was "frustrating".
To my teachers, I was "not working up to potential".
To my peers, I was "a loner".
To me I was an alien.

It has been a me and them world.
They did it their way, I did it mine.

They watched the surface of things.
I looked into them.

I saw relationships between things.
They saw things.

They learned to use equations and formulas.
I estimated answers.

They played baseball.
I sat in tree tops.

They rode their bicycles someplace.
I just rode my bicycle.

They slept at night.
I swam in darkness.

They lived according to rules.
I found order in chaos.

They lived today.
I lived yesterday, today and tomorrow.

They needed a reason to do anything.
I cried over nothing at all.

They survived on facts.
I survived their facts.

They know because they have learned.
I know because I know.

I was born a dreamer,
when pulled from the womb,
the drum beat I heard was set to rhythm by poets
and artists who had preceded me.
I found their parental guidance on gallery
walls and in music.
I was born a dreamer, I will die a dreamer,
and in between,
I will have seen a glimpse of eternity.

three kids and a monster

It was a dark and stormy night.

Ok, it wasn't actually stormy, but it was definitely dark.

There were three kids on a large, netted trampoline: a twelve-year-old girl, a six-year-old boy, and a seven-year-old boy.  The six-year-old boy was Simon, the seven-year-old boy was Luke, and the twelve-year-old girl was me.

The only light that reached the trampoline was a faint glow from the windows of the three-story, curtain-less house about fifteen feet away.  Twenty feet away in the other direction, the branches in the dark forest blew in the Oklahoma wind, and reached out towards the trampoline like dark, gnarled hands against the black sky.

For a while we just jumped and laughed, enjoying our freedom from the grown-ups and their endless gossip over coffee.  The social dramas, disagreements, and political agendas of the adult world did not concern us.  We wanted something otherworldly.

"Tell us a story!" they begged.  I smiled, and thought for a moment.

"Ok," I replied, "but first I have to tell you something.  I'm not really Chloe."

They seemed confused, but they kept jumping and listening, their attention caught.

"I may look like Chloe, but I'm actually a monster, disguised as her.  The real Chloe is tied to a tree out there in the forest, with her mouth gagged so you can't hear her scream."

They watched me, two pairs of wide, blue eyes.

"And now," I said, as I sat in front of the entrance to the trampoline net just so my face was dark in the shadow, and I blocked off any exit, "I am going to eat you."

Simon, ever the hero, let out a warrior's cry and catapulted his tiny body towards me.  His small mass was not enough to even knock me over, but he used the velocity of the trampoline's bounce to his advantage, attacking again and again, constantly yelling.  I braced myself against his attacks.

Luke, ever the lawyer, started yelling as well.  "Chloe, say you promise you're really you!  Say it, Chloe!"

I gave them a minute or two of suspense as the three of us jumped around, I laughing, the two of them yelling and making their various attacks.  Finally, I caught my breath enough to say:

"Ok, ok, I promise I'm really Chloe!"

"Let's go inside!" they said immediately.  I was in no position to argue.  We slid off the trampoline and entered into the comfort of the bright, safe, air-conditioned home, filled with the familiar sounds of chatter and laughter.

Segue

I sat shivering in the air conditioner that I had not yet readjusted to after five months in France as I watched my-movie-star-thin mother eat her tofu stir fry microwave dinner while contemplating my question.

“You need a segue,” she said at last.

“A what?” 

Laughter ensued.

“Not that kind of Segway,” my mom replied.  “a literary segue.  Something to connect the last phase of your blog into the next one.  Journalists use them all the time."

I considered this.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for joining us at let felicity fly: stories from a dreamer.  Tune in next time for our latest installment jam-packed with literary something-or-other-ness.  In other words, I think I might have fun with this.

There's no place like home :)

It is morning in America, and I am writing again.

My last week in France was lovely, and E-mama (my grandmother) and I had many adventures.  First, I had to clean out my dorm room, all by myself, and reduce my amount of belongings enough that I could carry everything myself.  That was a challenge, but I finally did it.  Then I had a miserable 5-hour train ride (kind of a round about way) to Paris, where all the toilets on the train were broken.  It smelled awful.  Then when I got to Paris, I had to get myself and all my luggage to the hostel where I was to stay for one night before meeting E-mama.  I took the metro, which ended up being a huge mistake because it was rush hour, very crowded, and I had to lug all my suitcases up and down many flights of stairs.

Finally, though, I made it to the hostel.  It was very nice to get cleaned up, eat a hearty dinner in the restaurant downstairs, and rest.  Then the next morning, I was up early.  I can never really sleep in in a hostel because I'm a light sleeper and wake up when everyone else does, but it didn't really matter because I had to pick E-mama up at the airport anyway.  I took the metro again, and luckily it wasn't quite as crowded as the night before, but it was still a real challenge.  Then, once I got to the airport, I had to figure out where to meet E-mama.  It turned out I had to go to another terminal, but before long I found where I could meet her, and waited.  It was so nice to see her again!

Then we took a TGV train (stands for train grand vitesse, or high speed train) right from the airport to Rennes, in Northern-ish France.  That train was much nicer because the bathrooms worked, and we both slept some.  Then, in Rennes we rented a car: a dark silver Clio, stick shift, so E-mama had to drive because I don't know how to drive stick shift.

We drove straight to Saint James.  It's a little town in Normandie, where we stayed in a cozy little one star hotel, which in France just means it's old, small, and has few aminities (like no room service).  We rather liked it though, because it was very friendly, the kind of place where you would get to know the owners.  Also the kind of place that's really and truly French.  Take this picture for example.

The restaurant had two kitties that were both very fat, probably fed from table scraps.  This one had a favorite spot, this table.  I like to think of him as Phantom of the Opera Kitty, demanding that table 5 be kept empty for his use.  But the owner never bothered to shoo him down.  This is very French, because French people love their pets, take them almost everywhere, and aren't so worried about keeping everything sanitized as we are.

Our first morning in Saint James, we went to the Saint James American Cemetery, where E-mama's cousin is buried, who was killed in WWII.  We went to visit his grave.  It was very nice because the cemetery was very well kept up, and they rubbed sand from Omaha Beach on the engraving in the stone so it would show in the pictures, and put a flag in the ground by it that E-mama got to keep.

The cemetery was kind of heartbreaking to see all those crosses and imagine who they all were.

That afternoon we went to Fougeres, about 20-30 minutes away by car, and toured a medieval castle.  It was very beautiful, and huge.  Probably in the best condition as I've ever seen a medieval castle.

The next morning, we went to Mont Saint Michel.  It was incredibly beautiful, although very touristy: probably one of the most visited places in France, and maybe the world.  But besides the crowds, it was almost magical.

There is a castle on a cloud,
I like to go there in my sleep,
Aren't any floors for me to sweep,
Not in my castle on a cloud.

Sorry about the incorrect date on that one; it was taken on E-mama's camera and for some reason it kept putting the wrong date on her pictures.

This castle was built around a monastery high on an island just off the coast of France.  Back before the causeway was built, the only way to reach it was crossing the sands during low tide, which was very dangerous because of sinkholes, sinking sand, and the ever-present danger of being washed out to sea if you got lost in fog and didn't make it across before the tide came in. 

Inside, there were narrow cobblestone streets that were crowded with tourists.  Also, there were a lot of stairs.  E-mama and I found a very narrow stairway when we were wandering around: it was so narrow one
 person could barely fit through.

Later, we went back to Paris.  Because Paris was so crowded with tourists at the time, we couldn't stay all four nights in one hotel, so we had to split our stay between two hotels.  The first place we stayed was a very small but clean place that catered towards American tourists on a budget, called My Hotel.  The morning after we arrived, we took a bus tour and saw most of the major sights from the street.  That was really nice.  E-mama had wanted to go up the Eiffel Tower, but when she saw how long the line was, she changed her mind, as I had suspected she would.  That was fine with me; I didn't really want to stand in line all afternoon.

Here's the proof that she was there

Later, we went to L'Orangerie, which is the impressionist museum that has the famous Water Lilies.  E-mama was impressed by those, and I loved them even though I had seem them before.  I think the Water Lilies are probably my favorite.  One day, when I'm rich and famous, I'm going to have a house big enough that I can hang a life-size copy of at least one of them on the wall.

Then we spent all day at the Louvre.  That was really nice; even though I had been there before, I only really spent the latter part of an afternoon there, and with a whole day I got to see so much more.  Even so, I don't think we got to see even a fraction of what's there.  Honestly, I think the Louvre is bigger than a museum has any right to be.  A museum should be small enough that people can actually take the time to appreciate everything that's there.

On the 21st we were going to go to D'Orsay, the larger impressionist museum that has many of Van Gogh's works, but it was closed, and had a sign on the door that said "We may or may not be able to open at all today."  So very French.  So we hopped on a train to Versailles.  That was incredibly beautiful, but so crowded I could barely breathe.  After walking through there, though, I now want to re-watch the Doctor Who episode called The Girl in the Fireplace because it was set in Versailles.  The Hall of Mirrors was incredible.

 Also, that day was La Fete de la Musique, where all the musicians go out and play their instruments on the street.  That was a lot of fun to walk around and hear all the different varieties of music.

a Hawaiian guitar

Reggae in front of the cathedral

an American gospel band just down the street

Rock on a balcony (I thought it was funny that they played "I don't wanna be an American Idiot")

guitar player on the Bridge of Love

Then early on the 22nd, we flew home.  E-mama and I were on the same flight to Houston, about 10 hours and 20 something minutes.  Of course it was even longer since we had to go around some storms.  Then E-mama drove on home, and I got on a flight to OKC (which was delayed because they had to change a tire), where Daddy met me and drove me home to Tulsa.

So now I'm home!  It's good to be able to be with my family, speak English, and relax.  I'm still a little jet lagged, but I've already had a good American breakfast of biscuits and eggs.  Now that my adventures in France are over, I'm looking forward to my next adventures.  However, I will have to change the name of my blog, since my France trip is now over.  I haven't decided yet what I will do, but next time you come back, my blog may be completely revamped. :)  I may have to think of a new theme to keep me motivated to write.  As much as I enjoy writing, I tend to be more of a sporadic writer, and writing regularly takes discipline.  But we shall see. :)