life: in progress

It was a Thursday. Nothing extraordinary could be said about the day in itself, until dinnertime rolled around. And actually, dinner itself was the way-above-average meal I had come to expect. But after I downed a dish of pasta, followed by a heaping plate filled with meat and an assortment of cooked vegetables, I was ready for the third and final course: cheese.   The cheese containter in the fridge was always stocked—sometimes with cheeses I had come to love, like gruyère, le tomme, and chèvre, and sometimes completely new types to try.   There were soft cheeses, hard cheeses, mild cheeses, smelly cheeses, and truffle cheeses.   But one was absent: orange cheeses.   That is why it came as such a surprise to me when, on this particular Thursday, I spotted a block of orange cheese in the cheese container.   As soon as it was discovered, the table was in uproar, with everyone talking all at once.   A niece, one of the younger generations who was le...

I went to bed last night smelling the most delicious, sweet aroma...actually it was kind of embarrassing because I was pretty much drooling alone in my room thinking about whatever it was that Vita was baking.  When I asked her she said "des biscuits" and said "Oh oui, c'est bon"  like the majority of our interactions involving food go, but not knowing what "des biscuits" were exactly. This story has such a happy ending.  Fast forward through a full night of sleep and waking up to a rainy, gray morning, my only plans for the day being an advising session and to write a paper on women immigrants, not the most uplifting topic for a rainy day.  Then I sat down for breakfast.  Violins started playing, a chorus of hallelujahs commenced, the sun broke through the clouds, my paper wrote itself, and all the people in Switzerland applauded for the miracle that I was about to experience. I present to you....des biscuits! Then the word I was waiting for...