It’s been nine months since I went to church. I go to the American Church in Paris, where they focus on loving people and helping out the community. Sermons are short, the music is good, and I do love me some good liberation theology.
Paris’ spring lockdown was harsh. We could go outside to buy groceries or to exercise one hour a day, within certain hours, within one kilometer from home. Parks were closed, loitering was forbidden. When the police stopped you, you had to show them your sworn attestation stating why you were out. The fine was €135.
However, it was easy compared to Columbia, where you got a 4-8 year prison sentence for being outside at the wrong time. And it was stricter than in the US. I saw you people on Facebook, out driving around, going to drive-in movies. Crossing bridges. Hiking.
Paris is pretty quiet right now. Only grocery stores and pharmacies are open. We are only allowed out for one hour per day for exercise, before 10 a.m. or after 7 p.m., and you have to take along a form you filled out with your info. There aren’t enough police on the streets to catch everybody, but there are enough to make you jumpy about breaking the rules.
The old terminal resembled a third-world airport, with a dropped ceiling and cramped, stinky bathrooms. Your only dining option was an exorbitantly priced Dunkin Donuts. The fluorescent lighting made everyone headachy. Only the most aggressive flyers got seats in the skimpy waiting area. It made you second-guess all your life choices.
The new Laguardia looks like a real airport. The ceilings are high, there are bars and cafes and bookstores, shops, even a spa.
Bethany and I have watched Pride and Prejudice for years. I watched it for the first time when she was a newborn in 1995, probably while nursing her, and rewatched it whenever it came on TV. Later I bought the DVD set at Costco, and now we watch it online. When they micro-chip me sometime in the near future, it’ll be on there, too.