Yesterday Jennifer and I visited the French gym, a really nice facility opened and now languishing since the Francophonie games held here in 2005. As we were backing out in our car the guy working at the gym said, “Don’t go out in your car tomorrow, they’ll be looking for cars like that to throw rocks at.”
The teacher-student strikes are in full swing. Zuri said people were walking down the street this morning with sticks. “Don’t do sports this morning,” she told me, which is how she refers to my little jaunts to the stadium. Tires are burning in the streets. Jennifer is trapped up on campus at the University. One side has declared that whatever happens is the other side’s fault for taking so long to come to an agreement.
But it’s calm in the house, the kids are on vacation, so there is no drop-off, pick-up–Camille is writing an animal story on the laptop, Zuri’s braiding doll hair, Stefan is having the gardener blow up a yoga ball. Peter went to work early and has to stay late for a meeting, until after dark when things are calmed down. So we’ll sit behind our walls and hope they get things resolved and wait out the rock throwing. It’s too hot to protest past much past noon anyway.
twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?" 
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