Thursday, 5:00 PM, Central European Time. The snow falls outside and the tempers flare within. Pemulis is now an unbelievable six hours into his Deutsche Sprache, schwere Sprache course and the Earth's elliptical journey back to the right side of the 23.5 degree tilt seems to have noticeably slowed down here in early February. It really does keep snowing day-in and day-out and the weather forecast seems to be stalled in a Groundhog Day cycle of cold and wet predictions ad infinitum. But good news is on the horizon.
Pemulis will spend an entire week next month in the land that time and his family forgot: Grenoble, France. Hey wait! That's even he name of the blog. Yes, it only seems right that as we celebrate fifty years since the 1968 Grenoble Winter Olympics that he should touch down in the city with a mountain at the end of every road. Pemulis plans to visit all his old haunts: the Shannon Irish Pub, Family's Irish Pub, Druid's Irish Pub, O'Callaghan Irish Pub, the Albion Irish Pub, and Maison Floran (some breaking horrible news: apparently Maison Floran has closed down and I can't help but think that it's either because Pemulis is no longer there putting their kids through college or that maybe they misunderstood the demographics of Grenoble and didn't adhere closely enough to the Irish Pub loving crowd).
But for now back to Germany. It's cold, it's dark, it's grey, and we seem to be stuck in the month of February without all that much forward momentum. The good news is that if you're inside, you turn the heat way up, close your eyes, and eat an ice cream cone, you can pretend that you're somewhere else. Like Australia. Or Sicily. Or an Irish Pub.
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