It has been raining steadily for more than two weeks, these treacherous and deceptive rains that manage to lure you out, because the rain is slowing a tiny bit, and the light increasing ever so slightly, and you've been stuck inside listening to your two boys fight like animals for the last three days so you know they need to get out of the house, and then, as soon as you're outside, sheets of water immediately dump on you with no warning whatsoever. On Saturday, my brother's family came from Poitiers and we all wanted to do something, so we bravely went into the wetness, with 5 inadequately equipped children, and walked 20 minutes to the museum of natural history, visited the museum in shoes that were like pools and jeans so stiff it was hard to bend them, and then walked another 20 minutes in another deluge. Simeon is now allergic to rain. We had to turn on all our radiators to dry the clothes of so many people (I must remind you that we have no drier here), and then the furnace was making noise all night like an aeroplane taking off, and my brother was sleeping in the room next to the furnace to try to avoid being woken up too early by hordes of wild children...

However, as you can see, just today the rain stopped, God put his bow in the heavens promising us no more deluge, and it has finally turned winter cold (cold enough to wear a hat, which is welcome to me because I got my hair cut ever so short, and I kind of feel like hiding my head).

We didn't celebrate Thanksgiving, anymore than we did Halloween. I was a little tempted to attempt it, they do have extremely expensive cranberries at the market (Ocean Spray!), and Mark Bittman had 101 ideas in the NYT about original stuff to cook for the meal. But, that day was Mimi's birthday, and we had a special birthday gouter (that sweets-only schoolchildren's after-school meal). She invited her friends Oonagh and Suzie (and their siblings and mothers) and we had a variety of treats and balloons, which once again, just like last year, provided Tipomme with an occasion for practicing her jumping aerobic skills. It's funny to watch Mimi interacting with her friends. Oonagh speaks english, but not Suzie, and Mimi just speaks English to her and she replies in French, and neither of them is in the least bit bothered that they don't understand anything the other one is saying. I guess that's how they'll learn (her friend Suzie is going to spend a year in Boston next year, and so the English is welcome to her mother). In any case, to get back to thanksgiving, they didn't have any turkeys.
Life is becoming a lot less unusual, I guess, and so I have less to say. Last week-end, I took the three little ones plus two friends of Simeon's to the pool on the tram. Everything went fine until the life guards saw the boys's swimming shorts. Well, wouldn't you know it, in all of France, only tight little speedo type bathing suits are acceptable for boys and men. At first I thought this was just too comical, the French aesthetic fascism brought to insane extremes. But it turns out it's some kind of 'hygiene' precaution (possibly because they don't want people swimming in the same clothes that they ride the tram in, just like my two boys). They lent the boys some very tight, very small speedos in which they looked very French, and thank goodness, they were allowed to swim (this was the second time I had taken them to that pool. The first time it was closed).

Oh, and speaking of aesthetic fascism, the Christmas spirit is just as tacky in Nantes as it is in your standard American mall. The main square in the city, the place Royale (I think there's a photo of it from early on, it has a huge fountain in the center), has been completely covered with decorated booths and an enormous merry-go-round (yes, I know, I hadn't mentioned those in a while, this one is really gigantic). There are American Christmas songs translated into French (and a few indigenous ones, like the one about St Nicolas bringing back to life three little children who had been murdered and sold for meat by a wicked butcher--it's a traditional song, but the mallish rendition is pretty horrible) blaring from loud speakers, and the booths sell the most hideous stuff, as well as the traditional mulled wine and pretzels (I didn't know about that tradition, I guess that's their eggnog and cookies). I was there with Tipomme, looking for candles and an advent wreath, and the two of us were traumatized by the experience: she by being stepped on by the pressing crowd, and me by the aesthetic pain it caused me to see that France had sunk so low. Anyway, since they had nothing remotely christmas related, we did not find our candles, and since it was Sunday, when everything is closed, I ended up at the little corner store which did have some candles and matches. We put the candles in espresso cups, and we will buy a wreath (and other decorations) at IKEA next weekend, when we rent a car.

One last vignette of life here: The other day, I saw a man get banged in the face by a woman opening her metal shutters at street level. In the States, this sort of thing happens only to bicyclists with car doors, but here, people walk so fast (well, young people in any case) they are in danger even on the sidewalk.