Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Croissant In The Universe

We're obsessed with naming things, I think it's because we're so small in this vast universe and naming makes us feel powerful.  My daughter named the cardinal that lives in our evergreen Carlo. His mate, Carla. It all makes sense. The backyard feels orderly. Naming is how we do this. Otherwise, the world is just a jumble sale of birds and trees, but we've named them creepers and nuthatches, and cypresses and white pines and whatnot, and that makes it livable.

I often think how awesome it must be to be a scientist and find a new star or starfish or whatever, and to name it is your job, it's your job. A name gives it a home and a lineage, which leads me to my point which is that I'm French. Genetically. Mostly French. Just found out. There's some German there too, and Irish and Dutch. But.

With all my meringue-making and cheese-sniffing and oohing and aahing, and sad attempts at tying chic little neck scarves, all these years its like I've been trying leap back to my ancestors natal stream like a salmon.

I know naming something "French" is silly (what's French? Croissants? Being able to say "boeuf?") and a construct, we're all the brotherhood of man, and originally from Africa  however it makes me feel like I have dispensation to be all oh la la and to go deeper into the history of French pastry because it is mine.

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