Every walk through my neighbourhood is still an adventure.
First stop this morning was the bank. Everything's arranged now, my loan is paid off leaving me with a tight budget until I get on my plane, but not as tight a budget as they once were.
I have to write letters to cancel my insurances, home insurance (complete with anti-terrorist clause) and life insurance, and I have to make arrangements with my company to send my checks Canada-side.
My monthly automatic payments are cancelled, there is one remaining payment for electricity, one for internet and the telephone, the dates are preset and the money is there.
To celebrate, I went by my favourite tea-shop and stocked up on more Mangoustan tea to trekk across the ocean with me.
And then I went in search of a fruit shop and a patisserie. The first fruit shop was closed for lunch, but I know my way around now. I found the other one and walked out with a four kilogram watermelon and an armful of fresh mint for the tea which is currently brewing on my counter, the way Azziz taught me to make it. Plenty of sugar and plenty of mint and the scent is mixing with the minty and lemony couscous that is still simmering away. I didn't have enough chick peas, but they're not the same anyway, when they aren't picked from the garden.
All the patisseries were closed. All eight of them, now that I've memorized the winding cobbles of Montmartres.
I'll stop by again later this afternoon on the way to the party.
Arms heavy with tea and watermelon, I decided to stop into the juggling shop not two blocks away, I've been meaning to go there since I discovered it in October.
Wandering in, heels clicking against the flagstones, the clerk's jaw dropped as I he saw me bend over the acrylic ball display.
I need to replace the ball I lost at Cristal's birthday weekend...
...so I started asking questions. I needed so many milimetres diameter, so many grams in weight, these colours and preferably the belgian Babache brand.
Putting down my watermelon I tested them out and the awe in his eyes at this corporate-dressed little blonde girl hurling colours around his shop was a lovely interlude into the afternoon.
We discussed fire-breathing and fire-balls, discussed techniques and what I should practice next and when I could stop by again just to chat.
We talked of magic tricks and the philosophy of the clown, we talked of his next performance in the little arena atop Montmartres.
I left, rolling a bright yellow ball along my forearm the way he'd shown me, the leering barflies from across the street watching me in silence for once.
Now I am ready for lunch and to begin the eight thousand phone calls to deal with insurance, work, and the first few interested queries into buying some of my stuff.
Soon I will call Cristal and plan to head over, arms laden with party stuff.
But first, I will sip my tea and watch the light refract off my crystal ball and dance about the cour.
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In other news, one of my cousins who's been having difficulties finding work has decided to start up his own company selling a software product that he's already written to learning institutions.
He just called. He needs help with the english version of his proposal.
I figure it'll do me some good to learn a bit about proposal writing in general.
So Friday it's lunch in some fancy meatery, and consulting of a different kind.
It'll do me some good to be learning and letting my brain run through the rush of work.