grey foggy mornings

The sun is now coming out, but the last few mornings have been foggy and chilly, the nights brisk in the fifties, leading to much wearing of . . . ugg boots. Really, I've never worn them often and almost never in public, but I must say that around the house they are keeping me snug and comfortable. I have a tall chocolate brown pair and I cuff the half-again down to my ankles so they are like a big furry pouf around my lower calves (my attempt to make them some sort of cute).

Here are a few sketches of students typical of their majors from finals week . . .

I had this terrible experience at Ross the other day with my sister (quelle suprise) when we went out thrifting for some button-ups. I found this totally great pair of black boy-short bikini bottoms from a 2 piece Nike set, but hated the top. So I found an all-by-itself black bikini top, put them together (they were basically the same price) and crossed my fingers. Alas, I rung up successfully but then when the girl put them in the bag she said "These don't go together" and wouldn't let me buy them. Even separately! And I loooooved those boy shorts.  I can never find a good boy short bikini bottom. Or high waisters, for that matter . . . grrrrr.

Memorized the lyrics to a few new French songs, ever improving my vocabulary. I had thought that listening to lots of French music would improve my linguistics, but in fact I have the hardest time deciphering the lyrics of almost any artist, so not quite so.

Le ciel est gris la pluie s'invite comme par surprise
elle est chez nous et comme un rite qui nous enlise
les parapluies s'ouvrent en cadence
comme une danse,
les gouttes tombent en abondance
sur douce France.

Tombe tombe tombe la pluie
en ce jour de dimanche de décembre
à l'ombre des parapluies
les passants se pressent pressent sans attendre

On l'aime parfois elle hausse la voix elle nous bouscule
elle ne donne plus de ses nouvelles en canicule
puis elle revient comme un besoin par affection
et elle nous chante sa grande chanson
l'inondation

Tombe tombe tombe la pluie
en ce jour de dimanche de décembre,
à l'ombre des parapluies
les passants se pressent, pressent, sans attendre

-ZAZ "La Pluie"