Dreaming in cake.

Where were we?  Ah yes, I had just gotten into Pastry school, and then big ol' socialist Hollande became president of France, and then Angela Merkel vomited in her mouth a little.

And all the while as the news has unfolded, I've been blissfully, finally doing things I like.  Blissfully, finally.  School's been mostly awesome.  My understanding and technical execution of pastry is evolving waaaay faster than it would have if you'd left me in a room full of pastry books and food to survive on for the same period, which I think means the school is a decent one.

I'm incredibly excited and nervous for my stage (think: temporary "kitchen intern" placement.)  I kind of need to pinch myself when I think I'm going to be allowed into this kitchen for a month.  It's exciting because it's a pâtissier and a company I really respect and that I've always wanted to see the inner workings of, but it makes me terribly nervous because well... they're awesome and ninja-like, and I'm not a ninja.  I'm a grasshopper... larva.  Please god don't let me suck.  I'm like each character in "A Chorus Line" at some point in the day when I consider my upcoming stage.  Completely insecure and absolutely hopeful that it will work out.

I dreamt of cake for the first time last night.  Normally (if I dream) I dream of working with chocolate, but last night after googling "melon garnishes" and sketching a few mentally for myself, it was a REM construction consisting of layers of Biscuit Joconde, crème bavarois, and fruit coulis/gelee.  Pastry school is having it's effects on me, it seems.  :)

Lost promises, loose ends, and small triumphs.

First: let me be clear that I am no pro.  I don't have a 'blogging schedule' of any kind, I don't have a fancy camera, and... I can't even come up with a third excellent thing to round out this sentence nicely about how unprofessional I am as a blogger.

However as unprofessional a blogger as I am, I do strive to be a woman of her word, and I realize that faaaar too often while zipping around doing things in real life, I leave things hanging here in the form of loose ends, mentions of things not yet elaborated upon, and as-yet-unfulfilled promises (like the recipe for that cake, which is still coming - but can I just tell you how many sweets have fallen into our lives over the past little bit and how much attention I've had to pay to other things, and while we're at it, how expensive almond-powder is here? (because the cake uses it, and our grocery store seems to have mistaken it for gold-dust.)

Anyhow, the point is there are some holes that ought to be filled in, and I'm going to spend the next little bit trying to find them and fill them in and to tidy things up around here because I hate when my deficits of attention make me look like a liar.  It's a good time to fill in the holes anyhow.  I'm trying to tie up loose ends everywhere to make sure I have enough room and organization in my life for this new thing...

(No, not a baby if that's what you were thinking.  Who are you, my mother in law?)

That pastry program I wanted to get into?  The one that ought to help give me a little 'Belgian credibility'?  I got in!  My long division and multiplication stuck by me in the math tests, I did well in the French comprehension test, and I must not have come off so badly in the interview because I'm in!  I suspect the next few months are going to be very intense, and pretty tiring, but I'm also hoping they'll be worth it and will allow me to go back to living the sort of life where I come home from work covered in splotches of flour or butter or chocolate, and more importantly: a contented smile.

Three Years.

I'm in a bit of a quiet spell here at the moment, which is really only because there is a lot going on off the computer, some of which I hope I'll remember to talk about later, and some of which will doubtlessly be lost in the crevices of my grey matter.

But, today is my expat birthday.  Today I'm three.  I'm not really sure how I feel about that although there's something about it that seems worthy of making a note of.  I'm not sure I expected that I'd still be here three years later, mind you I'm not really sure what I'd figured would happen.

I do like that I'm more comfortable here, though even with three years of experience I am reminded at least once every day by something that happens either in conversation or event that I am not from here, and that I do not "belong" here.  Perhaps I am welcome here, I don't know that for certain either, but it's not the same.  This might seem bleak but it's not.  You can have great times even when you feel as though you are not 'in your proper place', but there will always be moments where you feel that outsiderness, I think.

Right now what I can say is that after putting in three years of hard work with another language, a different job-market, and a generally different prevalent philosophy of 'how to live life', I feel like I might actually be getting somewhere, possibly, and that the advances I've made will be of worth to me regardless of where I end up in the future.  Certainly my language skills have improved.  I am more patient and a touch less serious about myself, and I may possibly have cracked the tough nut of how to become a recognized professional in the kitchen here.  Possibly.

I'm also quite tired though.  I probably wouldn't have been so much so if it weren't for the unexpected injury last September, the long road to recovering from it (still going,) and the added drama caused by one incredibly unsupportive and downright pessimistic (ex)employer.  Running back and forth from my union, my health-insurance providers, and learning the ropes of how Belgians play office politics hadn't really been an item on my list of "things to learn", but nonetheless I know much more about it now than I ever wanted to.  And I'm still learning, reluctantly, about these things.

I do feel at three years that I've got most of the basics solidly down.  I feel now that instead of trying to figure out simply how to be here, or even how to deal appropriately with what life throws at me, that the challenges are shifting toward my figuring out how to steer myself toward achieving the goals I have in mind.  Not "survive in Belgium" goals, but "get what you want out of life" goals.  After three years, I'm just starting to arrive at that similar point, mentally, where I was shortly before I left Toronto, trying to figure out the same things, no longer distracted so regularly by more basic matters of survival.

While I can't say with any certainty where I'm taking myself, I'll say that what's on the horizon looks nicer than it has ever looked before.  That, and despite the lack of a predictable trajectory, it's still very nice to feel less like a hapless passenger in my life here and more like the one with her hands on the wheel.

City envy, relearning math

I have a little crush on Namur.  I've been there a few times now, and I was there again last week for a course.  I found myself (a few times) thinking wistfully "if only that were my apartment balcony" as I walked from the train station over into Jambes.

It's true it's superficial.  I like the way Namur looks.  I like the way all the parts I've walked in have smelled, and I like the variety of shops, bakeries and architecture I see there.  I like the fact that it's centrally located in Wallonia, but these things aside do I really know what it's like on a day to day basis?  No.  Not at all.  I don't know the real Namur, but I think I want to.  I'm back there next week, and I plan on stopping into the patisserie I had my eye on yesterday to see if what they make tastes as good as it looks.  The Boy has already agreed to spend more time visiting Namur... it seems he may finally be tiring of the Liègois soot, the heroin addicts that hang around the Place St. Lambert, and of the areas of the city that smell perpetually of urine or decaying cement, or both.  Does Namur have places and problems like these?  I don't know.  I'm very curious to know, actually.  Anyone?

********

I discovered the other day that I had completely forgotten how to do "long multiplication."  Upon the shocking realization that I could no longer multiply larger numbers or decimals without the assistance of a machine, I went about relearning, all while feeling a little embarrassed to have let such a basic thing slip.  I've been practicing various math skills as I have a math test coming up.  I'm not sure what sort of questions will be asked and I'm not sure if calculators will be allowed or not.  I'm a little nervous about it given that it will be the first French math test I've ever written, and the first math test I've had to write in... 15 years.  I'm pretty sure I'll have to relearn long division too.  La honte.

Don't even scratch your nose

I forgot to mention the other exciting thing!  This weekend, within walking distance from my home there will be a craaaaazy auction featuring works by Magritte, Picasso, Lichtenstein, Miro, Delvaux, Renoir, Christo, Giacometti, Modigliani, and Rodin, among other things like 1000 bottles of expensive wine, furniture, and so on.

My Grandma and I have enjoyed an auction or two together, but I have never been to anything like this.  As an art school kid (and a lover of old funky objects they don't make like they used to,) this tickles me so very much.  I think I may have started sweating after reading only half the list of artists.

We are hoping to go, view the items pre-auction, and then sit completely motionless and amazed as people with far more money than we have engage in bidding wars.  And in the unlikely event that nobody wants the Modigliani or one of the Magrittes, I happen to have a space above the mantlepiece here that could use a little something should they care to donate it to a good home.