funerals, frenchmen, and fluffy scrambled eggs

Where I live, in semi-rural Connecticut, there are many small old cemeteries along the roads. For the most part, the stones are clearly very old and worn down. Yet, twice in the past two days, I have driven by funerals taking place in two of these cemeteries. Freshly dead people being buried. I'm not sure what it means, but it feels ominous.

I'm guessing that Death is also on Scott Peterson's mind today. How disgusting am I for still thinking that, except for the part about being a murderous psycho, he's actually kind of cute? I know. Very. Shut up.

From the New York Times:

Christmas chocolates were recalled from schools in the northeast French town of Coudekerque-Branche because they violate the country's ban on religious symbols in schools, Le Figaro reported on its front page. The 1,300 chocolate figures, depicting St. Nicholas, were recalled earlier this month after an elementary school teacher unwrapped them only to discover that there was a cross on the miter worn by the saint. Christian crosses, as well as other religious symbols, including Islamic head scarves, Jewish yarmulkes and Sikh turbans have been banned since September. For more than a decade, the mainly Flemish region has celebrated the saint's day, Dec. 6, by delivering chocolates to schools. André Delattre, the mayor, called the incident "a politically unhealthy incident," Agence France-Presse reported. He added: "St. Nicholas was a bishop. He is always portrayed with his cross."

Seems the the stupid fucking French got bitten in the ass by their stupid fucking hate laws, which they have oh-so-cleverly positioned as legislation to protect oppressed minorities. Serves them stupid fucking right.

I happily returned to yoga this morning after a three-week hiatus imposed by Thanksgiving, pediatric health crises, and the Dreaded Month of Hectic. Have I mentioned that I've been twisting myself into pretzel-like shapes at least once a week for a while now? I don't know exactly when I started, but the leaves hadn't turned yet. I love it. I go to this very low-key place, and the instructor is beautiful and strong, and older than I am. She has gray hair, and is not a teensy little tattooed Yoga Waif. Plus, I am in favor of any athletic activity that provides me with my own little mat on which to fuck up without hindering anyone else's experience. The legacy of my childhood gym traumas extends to a fear of aerobic-style classes in which my failure to move right instead of left at any given moment is likely to garner me the hairy eyeball from the nymph standing next to me.

Unfortunately, I forgot to eat before class this morning. I was starving and I spent most of my 90 minutes meditating on the scrambled eggs that I would get across the street when I was done. In my visualization, they were fluffy and soft. In reality, they ended up kind of burned and dry, but we were alone with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, so we got along just fine, thanks.

Posted by volfie at December 14, 2004 12:20 PM