Stop and Smell the Lilacs

Lilacs are my favorite flower. Period. Growing up, it seemed as though there were lilac bushes all around my house; I loved nothing more than to run up to and smell them three, sometimes four times each day for the short tme that they were in bloom. Bunches of the fragrant flower would always appear on the kitchen table, courtesy of moi. They never lasted very long--only a day or two--but I enjoyed the fragrance while they did.

Here in France, there are more flowers than I could possibly have imagined: huge pink buds, tiny mellow yellow blooms, vibrant red blossoms. Walking to school sometimes reminds me of a perfume shop--though more pleasant. Even so, I missed my lilacs. I realized that, in all likelihood, I will not be home when the lilacs are in bloom. This realisation seemed to be a sign of my homesickness in general

And then, this morning I found them. On my way to school I passed by the typical floral scents, and was halted in my tracks by a very familiar and beloved smell--the smell of lilacs. A tiny bush, almost completely hidden from view, is right next to the path that I typically walk to get to the university. If it weren't for the scent of the flowers, it would have gone unnoticed.

A simple pleasure--smelling the lilacs--was never so appreciated. It felt like a little taste of home.

Spring Break Quotables

As pretty much everyone knows, I have been on Spring Break these past few weeks. In short: I have been on a literary trip in England, and toured both London and Paris thoroughly with my mother and sister. In that time, I have also seen two amazing musicals--Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables. I must admit that I am not really in the mood to recap everything that has happened. So, in lieu of a complete spring break post, I have borrowed an idea from my sister Michele's blog and have composed what I call "Spring Break Quotables".

So--without further ado:

(walking to the Jane Austen House Museum)
Jessica: This is it!
Me: This is it?
Jess: No, not that.



(repeated line)
Mom: I brought (insert item here), but it's in my suitcase. (the arrival of her luggage was delayed by 24 hours)



Me: I'm sitting on my scarf and it's stranglng me!
Mom: Jess, cancel one of those plane tickets.



Jess: (in answer to the previous) I'll write you a eulogy but you'll have to write your own epitaph.
Me: How can I write my own epitaph if I'm dead? I won't know how or when I actually died.
Jess: Make it a fill-in-the-blank, like a Mab Lib.



Jess: Don't worry, Jenn. I'll write your eulogy. "She lived, she died, let's eat."



(repeated line)
Me and/or Jess: When are you leaving again, Mom?



Mom: (teasing me about a frilly pink dress): I can just see Jenn wearing that one.
Me: (in rebuttal) Sure, maybe in my nightmares. Luckily, I usually wake up from those. 'Course, there are mornings when I wake up and you're still there.



Mom: What would you do if I pushed you into the street?
Jess: Um...die.



(On Easter)
Jess: I could have sworn I grabbed a hard-boiled egg.
Mom: Hehe.
Me: She hid it.
Mom: Happy Easter!



Mom: (about an ice cream cone bought on the Champs-Elysees in France) This is really good Vanilla. I think its French Vanilla.
(You think?)



Me: Look at that pidgeon. It looks really bedraggled.
Jess: It looks like it drowned in a toilet.



Mom: (typing to my friend Sarah about Jess and me) They are brats, so they can't use the computer.
Sarah: (in reply) Oh, hi Debbie.

The Music of the Night

They say that you haven't seen Phantom of the Opera until you've seen it in London. Well, Jess got us both tickets for the show for tonight because we wanted to test this theory. She found us very cheap tickets--only 20 pounds apiece (and you could tell by the seats; we were to the far left, where some of the stage was blocked from view).

The performance got off to a rough start. In the dramatic opening during the overture, one of the curtains caught on the top of the stage, so some workers had to free it before the orchestra stopped playing. It was slightly distracting, but as there was nothing yet to be distracted from, it turned out okay.

And the rest of the performance was certainly more than okay. I've seen Phantom once before, about two years ago in Toledo; this performance trumped that one several times over in my opinion. The voices of all of the characters--particularly the main roles--were awe-inspiring. When Christine began her first song, it was so beautiful that I had to catch my breath.

And the Phantom? Every time he sang, I got goosebumps. The actor who played the Phantom was among the best that I have ever heard; he could really sing! Several of the notes in the title song were sustained with such amazing length and pitch that I was literally in awe. And at the end of the first act, I was so in tune with the Phantom's pain that I was almost in tears--something that has never happened to me before at a musical. My sister Michele and soon-to-be sister-in-law Stephanie are really the only ones who cry at performances--by their own admission.

They say that you haven't seen Phantom of the Opera until you've seen it in London.

They were right.