Jacques

Just when I thought I was finding my bearings and settling into a routine, Le Chef de la Maison appeared out of nowhere and threw me off balance again. All of a sudden I'm self conscious about everything I do. I feel like I'm being selfish and lazy if I try to take some time to myself to read or write or just think! I'm feeling antsy. I want to constantly be doing something. Jacques, on the other hand, does the cooking, makes Alex set the table, won't let me help Max put away his toys, and tells me to sit down when I start cleaning up after dinner. When I did get a chance to do the dishes, yesterday at lunch, it was no to washing them by hand and yes to the lave-vaiselle! Gone are the familiar tastes of the American style dishes I had been preparing for the last week. And even though I thought my mind and body were ready for the new and the exciting, my taste buds had the final say in the matter. I feel like I'm six again, with no appreciation for foods other than poptarts and corndogs (gee-whiz those sound amazing right now), wincing at my first sip of wine during shabbat dinner at Soph's. I actually have been eating everything on my plate even if I don't like it. According to Jacques, even that is not enough. If I walk in the kitchen while he is cooking he immediately makes me try whatever he is making and then proceeds to pull things out of the refrigerator, off shelves and out of cabinets that I didn't even know existed. Before I know it I feel like I've eaten a whole meal. Then the actual meal rolls around and I don't eat seconds and thirds and all of a sudden je suis sur un regime aussi. Roxy told me that this was a very food oriented family, but I don't think I could even begin to comprehend all of this.
None of this is to say that I don't like the man. He is very sweet and has a wonderful sense of humor. He is more rough with the boys than I thought he would be. Honestly, I can't say I blame him. Since he has been home they have become complete animals-- constantly crying and fighting and just being loud. It is obvious that they want attention from him, but he doesn't give it to them. I hope he finds a wife who has enough energy to take over parenting these kids. It seems to me that he is too old, too tired, too heartbroken  to really try anymore. It is very sad. He generally has a good disposition but every once in a while I'll catch him staring off into the distance and he just looks empty.
I wish that I had taken more pictures this weekend-- of all the food, Jacques, the kids, the family, the clothes, the car, the secret places I've discovered on the property! I'll have to go back through everything throughout the week once he's gone. This place is like a figment of his imagination. It is rare that we get to see this close into another's mind. You'd think that with the language it would be more difficult. But there are things that pervade even formal communication. Like the man who ordered me a coke on the plane in Galapagos when I wasn't feeling well, the German woman who talked to me through her facial expressions on the flight to Nice, Jacques is telling me his story through his house and his food.
This is what I like. This is what I want to learn more about: the humanness that we all possess no matter who  we are, where we are from, what we believe, or what language we speak. It is globalization at it's most basic level but also at it's finest.