La Causerie

The Key Story

2010-04-18T00:34:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned before that the life of a nanny is much better to reenact than live. Fortunately for me my setup here is pretty sweet. However this week was one frustration after another with an outrageous culmination in the form of an absolutely ridiculous temper tantrum compliments of Jade. She had a little poem to write and in exasperation at the perceived impossibility of it she began something for which I have no words to properly describe. She ran from room to room making a constant eruptive yell that was more like a roar than a scream and slamming doors. This roar was punctuated by the most violent of french and casting of her self on any available surface. When roaring and yelling couldn't accurately convey her frustration the tone and volume would escalate to a piercing scream. I considered adding to this volume by some yelling of my own and the stare contest that I've engaged her in from time to time where I flatly command her to go to her room. It doesn't seem like a punishment but she's so stubborn that making her do anything I want her to is extremely painful to her pride. I had at first told her I was happy to help if she calmed down but when it got loud I just went on with the laundry. It was at first just the two of us but when Anne and Agathe came back I thought I'd let her deal with it. I know it's my job to deal with the kids during work hours but for reasons I'll explain later I was feeling less generous with my energies than usual. After all, she was the one who gave birth to this monster that was currently alerting all the neighbors within a kilometer radius of bad parenting.

I was naive enough to expect an expression of surprise and then some sort of punishment. I won't go into all that followed but it never ceases to amaze me how out breaks like this are treated like an unfortunate upset that is more important to calm than punish. Anytime parenting decisions are made that I see as grossly mislead I become robot-like with suppressed anger. There were other events in the evening that made me more eager to leave the moment the clock struck eight.

I headed out to have an evening with a few friends. We went first to the apartment of one and then later we took the metro across town to meet some others at a bar. The heat and crowdedness of the bar caused me to take off my cardigan that had my keys and phone in it. I'm not sure exactly when and what happened but all I know is that I arrived on the very last metro at my stop with the sudden realization that my keys were no longer in my pocket. I became faint with panic. My keys were no where to be found and though the night wasn't very cold and I didn't mind walking I had no idea where or when any of the night buses ran. I made a frantic text to one of my friends and then my phone died. I hadn't had anything to drink at the bar but I was certainly a little fuzzy minded from the wine we'd had before I went. This only added to my distress as I walked slowly to the apartment going over all the options. Theoretically I could walk to Sarah's apartment but my phone was dead and she'd have no warning and there is not a building in France that doesn't have a code to get into. My only real option was to buzz my own apartment waking Anne at 2:30 to let me in. I paced around my lobby considering the knock this would be to not only my pride but my carefully maintained moral superiority(and yes, I realize how horrible that sounds). It's one thing to be put in this position by your parents(and since I don't even have a house key this hasn't been a problem), and it's another with a land lady, but an employer? I was mortified. Though we have a nice enough relationship our personalities keep it from being very candid or natural. I emptied my purse and pockets twice before pressing the buzzer. In the stillness of the apartment I heard the buzzer all the way down in the lobby. I waited about 30 seconds and then heard Annes sleepy voice on the intercom. I immediately began crying and explained that I didn't have my keys and how sorry I was. When I made up into the apartment Anne was so gracious and forgiving of the situation that I was even more humbled. I felt ashamed of my past discontent and frustration with her. Until now we've always been like two adults in the house and I've never felt like a kid for a lot of reasons. I've felt like an adult who maybe has more accountability than usual but I've always been firmly in the position of another adult. Recent events in the family have made me the constant in the household. All of this made this situation harder for me.

As I said, it's better as a story than in real life but though it's infinitely less painful in retelling I'm so far from looking back at this as some funny work story that I'm forced to examine my position here. I have a different kind of homesickness now and am more eager for it to be over than before. I feel somehow stifled and tired from being a certain kind of person here. I'm tired of not being able to leave work at work. I didn't realize how different my attitude was about being here until yesterday I walked through Place de Concorde in the midst of hordes of tourists in the blazing sun. It forcibly reminded me of my first few weeks here when I would walk in the beautiful summer sun with the crowds through that same area. At that time I looked ahead to the year as one full of opportunity. Though I've developed an affection for many things French and had countless wonderful experiences and made great friends I found my attitude completely changed. I feel as if I'm waiting it out, as if I don't belong and am ready to leave this mess that I feel I only add to. I will miss many things and I hope I've changed for the better but it will be a huge relief to be home.

Nanny Diaries

2010-03-27T02:38:00.000-07:00

Babysitting is a pretty common experience. Most people, at least most girls, have babysat at some time or other and everyone with kids has employed a babysitter. I feel like it's one of those things that is so much more often terrible in real time and hilarious in retrospect that it lends itself pretty well to story telling and movie scenarios. Even though my days of ordinary babysitting are long long behind me I'm sometimes still plagued by memories of the terror of the parents returning home to the overwhelming smell of burnt popcorn, broken dishes, children out of bed or hurt, dead pets and other such horrors. Of course it's rarely as bad as most movies where demon children lock their babysitters out, call 911, run away, completely trash or burn down the house etc(or absolutely WORST case scenario, of Hide and Seek, the dad and/or kid is a murderous schizophrenic/demon possessed lunatic). All that to say, living as a perpetual babysitter who pretty much only associates with kids, parents, or other perpetual babysitters, I've not only lived some real doozies but I have several meetings a week with fellow martyrs where the sole activity is sharing such stories. It goes like this:

"My kids are monsters, when I ask the 14 year old how her day was she just flips me off."

"I know this one au pair who's dads* best friend sends her flowers and love letters."

"I gave a six week notice and they told me they no longer trusted me with their kids and kicked me out."--this one was around Christmas, she'd been working for them for 3 months by this time.

"I had to go home Sunday afternoon to make a sandwich for my dad."

"I had to stay home from Stockholm because my parents didn't get back form their dinner until one."

"My baby sleeps in my room so I have to take care of her when she wakes up in the night."

Just so you know, those are all true.

But....uh, yeah, my life here is pretty easy. I have a room and a bathroom with a real shower and bath and most of everyday free. There are real downsides to the things but if you are going to sign yourself into partial slavery you would pick the more comfy slavery and thats what I've got.

Thursday was a pretty dreary day so I didn't go out. It rained all morning a little inthe afternoon but by 4 o'clock, it was clear and sunny so I thought we'd go to the park after school. Jade hurt her knee a couple of weeks ago so she's been on crutches. She gets tired quickly on the five block walk between the house and school so I bring her scooter and she stands on it while I pull her along and carry her crutches and back pack. Sometimes as I'm doing this I feel like the kind of mom I don't want to be, the frazzled kind.

So I went to get them, carrying the scooter and snack for them both as well as some knitting for the park. We managed to make the two extra blocks to the park and while the kids played I sat in the midst of nounous(nannies, usually a very international crowd) and au pairs and the odd parent(not many moms bring their own children to the park in the privileged suburb of Neuilly). The sun had come out but as if began to disapear the wind picked up and thought we better head home. I picked up all the snack trash and stuffed it in my bag, I got the crutches and Jade hopped on her scooter and off we went. It started to sprinkle in the robust spring fashion. By this I mean that there was thunder and the few but massive rain drops were drilled into our hair, faces an clothing by high speed wind. As we reached the block with no shops on it, the longest block, the block where we live I realized that I'd left Jades back pack in the park, a good six blocks behind us. Just then we were sprung by a sudden torrential downpour. The kids began running and screaming(this wasn't the first time i doubted the legitamacy of jades injury). I was behind them with everyones stuff, sans backack. It was about this time that I began to have a pretty serious feminine emergency. We were nearing half way point on the block when I realized the rain seemed to pack quite a like of force. It wasn't just rain, guess what they have some real hail in France. When we made it into the lobby Jade was in hysterics clutching her...forehead. The hail, rain and everything was hitting us in the face and we were all completely soaked to the bone.

When we got into the apartment Jade started hyperventilating about the backpack and said she was fainting several times. I had no real choice but to leave them both there with instructions to change tout de suite and run back to the park. By this time(approximately thirty seconds later) the sun was out and everyone on the street seemed to have time traveled past the storm because every person I past tut tutted me and my dripping hair and clothes. When I arrived at the park it was not just deserted it was backpackless. I walked around for a few minutes keenly aware of the hysterical seven year old twins I'd left alone. I asked a few concessions stands, no one had seen it. I hoped there was some name on it and walked back to the house. When I got in I followed the puddles to the kitchen where I found Noe standing in the middle of the kitchen floor with a broom and a large towel and no clothes on. "You're going to be really disappointed," he said, referring to the muddy foot prints. "Go get dressed," I said.

About five minutes later another nounou called. They'd picked up the back pack. I waited a minute for Agathe to get back before leaving, agonzing over leaving all three of them there without supervision. I walked six or so blocks to the apartment, got the backpack and took a new route ho,me in order to avoid passing the same street for the sixth time that day, especially since I was still dripping.

And as a side note, you know when you have some really cheap shoes and they stink wierd, especially when wet? The ones that are still drying on the radiator have redefined foot odor for me. This isn't foot odor, it's shoe odor but I'm really not liking it.

And uh, London was great, more on that later.

*More often than not we refer to our family as if we simultaneously filled all roles(believe me, this is not unlikely). So each of us call the children, our children, the mom, our mom, the dad, our dad, etc.

Ski/French lesson

2010-03-03T01:44:00.000-08:00

Skiing doesn't really come easy to me. Not that it's really coming easier to anyone else in my class. Just as soon as you think you're getting the hang of something you fall or lose control. On Sunday my class was all English ladies and they were all really fun and adorable. The next day we had a big dividing period where we skiid down a slope and the teachers stood at the bottom and judged. I ended up in a class with four others. One of the other students was English. The thing about these classes is that they claim to offer courses in English but then half the time they forget that they have English speakers and when they remember they just sort of say something really quickly and use a lot of words in French. They don't know any of the ski lingo in English. Most sentences are something like this:

“Quand tu travers.....eeeuuuuh, when you travers.” Or:
“Au fin de la virage tu mets des skis a parallel...euh, oh, les Anglaise...euuh, at euh, the end of the virage tu put your skis a parallel.”

This really makes almost no difference for me. French and French English sound like the same thing to me. It's only native English that sounds different. However, the only one in our class who understands no French feels as if she's on the outside of the joke all the time and even has to remind the teacher to speak in English. If I can't understand, one of the French people in our class translates. It goes something like this:

Teacher: long string of what I like to call French mumble where the mouth isn't really open and all the ubiquitous homophones of the french language turn into a labyrinth of floating letters and sounds unfamiliar to the English ear and designed to invoke tears from the intermediate French speaker.

French students: nodding “Bon, d'accord”

English student: “What did he say?”

Me: “Uh, something about putting your weight on one foot or something. I don't know.”

French student: “Euuh, he say, euh, leve your exterier foot and age a down quand you turn....euhh, and euhh, keep your euuh epaules straight.”

English student: “um, alrght then.”

Me: “She said to lift your outer foot when you turn and also to keep your shoulders facing forward.” And wondering how much was lost in that double translation.

But it's really beautiful here and the skiing has been fun. The green slope I've been going on yesterday and today has been great and all the inexplicable little blue and red portions of it have been good practice if extremely worrying every time I begin to descend.

Briancon

2010-02-28T06:58:00.001-08:00

This is actually La Clusaz. I haven't really taken or uploaded any pictures from here yet.

Well, I'm sitting on my bed in the loft of the chalet. No way they built this room with a 5'10” person in mind. Agathe and I are sharing it. Not gonna lie, this week is already the kind of adventure you enjoy remembering a lot more than you enjoy being on it.

I took the train down to Ardeche on Thursday. I love Ardeche. Anne picked me up at the station around 1:00 and after lunch an intense game of tag where I was it with the kids we went to one of the cities dating from the 1100's for a walk. The weather was in the 60's and with the sun out we got pretty hot walking around. I was given the same room with a queen sized bed. The room also entails a salle de bain.

If you don't know what a salle de bain is let me enlighten you. Before I came to Paris I knew that there was something odd about the bathrooms but I never was really clear on what until I experienced it at the house in Ardeche. At the Bonnailies there are regular bathrooms and half baths and it's all very normal. Well it's not quite like that in Ardeche. I will never understand how in the separation of bathroom elements they ended up with what they call a salle de bain and a W.C.. In the salle de bain there is everything you could want in a bathroom...except the toilet. In a W.C. there is nothing you want in a bathroom.....except a toilet. There really is nothing in this but a toilet. No mirror, no trash can, and most importantly, no sink. It's rediculous. Why would I want a sink in a bathroom solely for showering? This can only promote bad hand washing habits.

So now that I have that out of the way; I had a salle de bain and everyone sort of shares one or two toilets. It's so weird, I can't get my head around it. Usually there are more toilets than showers but that is not the case here. Anyway, we left Ardeche to drive roughly four hours to a ski resort near Briancon. Well, that four hour plan rested on a pass remaining open. Because that pass didn't stay open we went instead on a eight hour trip. The view was beautiful...especially when I was trying to maneuver the stick around the tightest mountain curvy roads I've ever seen. Yeah, I drove a couple of those hours. I hope if I'm doing any of the driving back to Paris it will be in the daylight hours.

We arrived at the chalet at around five and met the family we're staying with. I've met them before. They have four kids and are pretty cool. The thing is, that many people in a little place can get pretty hectic. My strategy is to just sit with a book and by drawing little attention I can also minimize the participation. Not that I don't participate, I just happen to be staying in the coolest room in the chalet so there is no place to go to get away from all the craziness. AND the internet is only by cable and someone else has pretty much monopolized that from the first moment. I was welcome to check my email but those keyboards are kind of terrible.

My first lesson was really nice. It's an English class and everyone is really English. I'm the only non-English one. It was snowing and really foggy so the long ski trail/slope down the mountain was beautiful. I'm really happy with the ski part of this trip so far. Family issues and the length of this trip have rendered other parts of it a little difficult but it will be good and when we get back things will all settle down.

Strasbourg!!

2010-02-15T01:33:00.000-08:00

A Strasbourg Quai
Cathedrale de Notre-Dame
Sarah and I on our boat tour

For the Valentines Day weekend Sarah and I took the train to Strasbourg. It was nice to get away from Paris and see something different. Before I left Anne told me that it's really cold in Eastern France and advised me to bring this massive coat that she leant me a while ago but that I only wear on the rarest occasions. I feel like a New Yorker in a not good way when I wear this coat. It's pretty much like a sleeping bag. But I was at least happy to be warm.

We left early Saturday morning and took the train out. Lately it's been snowing fairly often in Paris but as we were leaving the city we saw that there was a light snow all the way. Fortunately Strasbourg is well suited to snow and there was lots of vin chaud to be had(pretty much mulled wine--incredibly tasty but not so good if you haven't had anything to eat). We dropped our bags at our hostel and went wandering around the cobble stone streets that were absolutely adorable. It was cold but we ducked into churches, museums, patisseries and souvenir shops to warm up.

Strasbourg is right next to the German border and is in the northern part of the French region Alsace. Alsace has hopped across the border a few times and I think was last in Germanys possession(except for a few years during WWII) before WWI. There is a dialect of German called Alsatian that is spoken there but everyone we spoke to also spoke French if only a little. Strasbourg is small and academic and full of hte most beautiful churches(Catholic and Protestant). The Cathedrale Notre-Dame was by far the most beautiful cathdrale I've seen.

The city was so small that it took no more than fifteen minutes to walk from our hostel and the trans station into the center of everything. On Saturday we went into a few churches and walked around Petite France. One of our main plans was to eat lots of hearty Alsatian dishes. We began that for lunch on Saturday. We had an onion tarte and then Sarah got Choucroute which is sausages, ham and lots of saurkraut with potatoes. I got the chicken with reisling with fried noodles. It took us about two and a half hours and we were so full that we only ate an apple for dinner. We went to an Alsatian museum after lunch tat was set up like a traditional Alsatian house and had courtyards, wne cellar, wood working shop and much more.

On Sunday we got up and walked around some more buying a couple souvenirs before taking a boat tour. We then went to a museum of mediaval art before walking around until dinner. We got the Alsatian escagot and I had tourte vigneronne.

So it was absolutely beautiful(if freezing) and we both want to go to Germany and study German and walk by Notre-Dame(strasbourg) everyday.

Family and skiing

2010-02-08T02:37:00.001-08:00

Liz, Sarah and I at the Arc de Triomphe. Pretty sure Liz didn't know what was going on.

I went to church yesterday for the first time in three weeks. It'd been too long. Weekend traveling kind of compromises my church attendance and thus a large part of my social life. Unfortunately about half way through I developed a splitting headache. I went to late lunch with a few friends anyway and made it home and straight into bed.

Yesterday was somewhat of an emotional roller coaster. Before leaving for church I witnessed a complete breakdown that made me feel helpless and insufficiently sympathetic. I've seen enough family dramas from afar but I've never been close enough to understand whats going on and why it is. I don't know if you can be close enough to see those things but I know that being in the middle of it is heartbreaking and confusing.

One of the most difficult things is that for the msot part, outside of practicalities, whats going on in the marraige is not talked about and I haven't been given details or reasons or even seen any of the conflicts. But the control with which the situation was presented to me, the control I thought would probably last because I couldn't see them letting their personal issues interfere with the kids or with my job, is now starting to fall apart. It's alarming and difficult.

If you're wondering, I don't have any opinions about who's in the wrong or how it's being dealt with or any of that. I just want everyone to be happy and I hope that means everyone being together but I'm not sure if it does. And I find myself questioning what my role is here. I know I'm more than just someone who works here but in the end that is what I am, as I will be passing through and I'm paid for my time. But this is my family also, I live with them, I'm as much a part of their lives as they are of mine. This widening chasm in the family effects me largely even if it doesn't drastically effect my job and my duties. It also makes me wonder on a more cosmic level what my purpose is here. I've wondered this before; or more like I haven't stopped wondering that since the moment I got here. If my purpose has something to do with this circumstance I feel gravely inadequate for it.

But to move on to other things; I mentioned my skiing trip in my last(too long ago) post. At the time I wasn't really considering skiing again anytime in the foreseeable future but recent events have landed me in the family ski trip that lasts---a whole week. I have feelings of ambivalence about this. I'm relieved to know that my lessons(daily) will now be in English. I guess the reasoning behind that was if I wanted to spend time with other skiiers they would also speak English. But then there's just the whole skiing thing which in and of itself is hard for me to have a defined opinion of. I'd like to like it and I'm not sure that I don't but I'm pretty sure I'd like it more if I were good at it. Then there's the possibility that I won't own my life at all while I'm on vacation with the family for a whole week. To be fair I've always been given a choice of what to do and as much space as possible but a whole week is a long time for a chronic hermit such as myself. Not only that but there is also the fact that another family will be with us. They have four children(in the same chalet) and only speak french. So what I mean to say is that it will be awesome and I'm going to grow a lot as a person. This is a hard thing and I'm going to do it. I like to challenge myself. I know...my life is so cushy.

In other traveling news I'm going to Strasbourg next weekend. Strasbourg is near the German border and we'll be taking the train. I love the train.

Happy week!

Don't not ski in the alps

2010-01-25T02:20:00.000-08:00

Just as I was sitting down to write this entry I remembered I'd taken some pictures and I thought I'd better upload them. I haven't uploaded any pictures since I got here so I pulled out my box of cords and things and set to looking. After ransacking every storage device in my room I died a little inside. I could not believe I'd left my camera cord at home. Of all things to leave at home. In desperation I searched all the little inputs on my computer hoping to find something memory card shaped and popped a little piece of plastic that was....just the shape of a memory card. So that's a total releif. Unfortunately I wasn't much of a photographer on this trip.

I'd been given all the tickets and instructions for taking the kids on the train from Paris to Annecy(oddly the town that I applied and was accepted to study in). Annecy is in the Alps and about 30 minutes from Geneva by car.

I wasn't super excited about the trip and had even at one point said I wasn't really interested in skiing but later took it back because if you get a chance to ski in the Alps for free you don't just say you don't really feel like it. I didn't really feel like it but that wasn't the point. I was also consumed with anxiety for not only the skiing but for the transporting of three fairly strong willed children from the apartment in Neuilly all the way to the train at Gare de Lyon. There had been some talk about taking the bus from the apartment to the metro(about a 20 minute walk) but we decided against it because the bus is slow and I'd have to buy tickets at the metro station etc. However I predicted that there would be a minor mutiny from the kids over it. I was totally right.

We made it to the metro where I bought tickets. By then it was about 4:50, the train left Gare de Lyon at 5:50 and it was all the way across town....by public transit. Four fifty on the metro is a little crowded but still manageable. Four fifty on the RER A(a faster train which I only use once in a blue moon and had no clue how to navigate)or 5:00 as it was by then, is an absolute nightmare. The upside of the RER is that it goes faster and stops less, the downside is that it's less frequent. We waited for it fifteen minutes while I pep talked the kids about RER procedure; hold on tight and don't let go no matter how much people push and pull you. The RER is not a place for kids, it's far too dangerous, crowded and fast. The only way I knew that Noe was still with us was by his tightly gripping hand and intermittent whimpers. Everytime the RER stopped and it wasn't our stop I shouted to the kids, "hold on to me and don't let people push you out!" Each stop is roughly five seconds, same as a metro stop. When we reached the Gare I tugged Noe through the crowds, carrying three bags with the girls trailing and 10 minutes to spare.We made it on with no casualties but it was close. The first words out of my mouth were, "I'm never taking you guys on the RER again". Five seconds later that was repeated par Agathe over the phone to les parents. Oh well. I sat back and dozed.

Anne picked us up at Annecy and we drove to the Chalet in La Clusaz, a small village in what was surely the nearest town to Heidi or the Abbey that Maria lived in. I remember once when I was twelve or so someone asking me where I wanted to spend my honeymoon. Maybe the oddity of the question is why I remember it but at the time I knew where I wanted to go:the Swiss Alps. Even though I had no interest in honeymoons at the time I had the idea that they were to be spent in the most idyllic place imaginable. Well, even though this was the French Alps I was right in thinking it idyllic.

It was nighttime when we arrived at the Chalet and I pretty much went to bed right away. In the morning we bundled up and headed down to the ski area. After getting my skis Anne waited with me for my instructor. When we found him Anne said, "elle parle Anglais, vous parlez Anglais?"
"Euh, no speak English," he said turning to me.
"C'est pas grave," I responded reasuringly. Whatever, it was totally grave. Maybe I'd be able to understand him telling me to bend my knees and all that but French ski lingo isn't something I studied in school and the last thing I needed was an added confusion slash humiliation. So I said bye to Anne and began the ski lesson.

We were working on this slope with a plethora of tiny children zooming by and various non-french adults crashing hazardously all about. I won't relive the mortifying and frustrating experience of being taught to ski by retelling it at great length but I will say that falling doesn't hurt in the moment but kills later and that after falling it's super difficult to get back up so you have to sort of thrash about until your teacher comes to the rescue. This guy was long suffering, especially with my success at turning right time and again and my absolute failure to master the left turn. As I was being toted up the hill by a thing completely unlike any ski lift that I'd ever seen before, I had time to contemplate my attitude towards my own incompetence. I'm usually game to try something but if I'm not good at it right away I'm convinced that I will never be good at it. Thats probably why I don't take on too many athletic activities. The fatalistic attitude kicked in pretty quick and my frustration was apparant to my teacher as I waxed elequent in mild French and English swear words and such useful phrases as "ca marche pas!(it's not working)" and "je peux pas(I can't)". This promptend lots of "C'est normal", and in English, "relax". After my lesson I continued to go up the slope and down, finally mastering both turns, a degree of steering and a little speed until my punch card was used up around lunch time. After lunch I went back the Chalet for a nap. And let me just say that walking the slippery uphill kilometer to the chalet in ski boots carrying my skis and poles was so far beyond any exertion I'd ever put myself to that I collapsed shaking in a heap while I tried in vain to take off my boots. I now have bruises from where the boots pinched my feet and calves.

The next day I was determined to take advantage of my oppourtunity to ski in the Alps. I'd taken the lesson but hadn't done much more the day before, and on Sunday I was going to not only get better at that same slope but also go to another. Armed with the generous encouragement of the whole family I put on my skis outside the door of the chalet from which we were going to ski down the few slopes to the resort. I should have just saved myself the stress and walked but I decided to brave it. I fell three times before deciding to walk down.

The kids are all stellar skiiers and definitely at their best when teaching. They were all very helpful when I managed to lose my skis and poles in a particularly jarring plumet off a slope. Agathe helped me reattache myself and Jade carried my extra skis while Noe explained that falling was normal and that everyone learns by falling and how fun it was to see me in skis etc. I bought a morning pass for the same slope and went on it a few times with Jade who is an excellent teacher and cheered me on when I made it to the bottom with no tumbles. I skiied the rest of the morning gaining speed and confidence before going up the mountain in a real enclosed lift to a new set of slopes where we were going to have lunch with another family. This other family stayed wth us a couple months back and I really like them. They've lived in the states for about seven years and their son who I babysat is completely blingual, speaking with a perfect American accent which was disarming when he responded to my first orders of the evening with an "aww, c'mon, you seem nice, you're not going to make us work." I definitly made him work. After a long lunch of tartiflette, a potatos, bacon, and reblochon gooey mess of goodness I was presented with the full range of choices for the afternoon; stay and nap in the lawnchairs(which I'd been doing for forty-five minutes while I waited for everyone for lunch), go back to the chalet for a nap, ski on the debutante slopes, go back down and ski some more on the same slope I'd been on in the morning, etc, etc. But then Anne asked if I wanted to go on a long 'promenade' back to the chalet. I said yes but didn't really anticipate the gruelling trail of tears it would be. I didn't cry but I was close enough. I completed about thirty epic crashes, one of which involved another skiier and half of which involved losing one or both skis. All of this was distributed between kilometer long flat stretches where we pushed ourselves along at a snails pace.

Although the skiing was a trial in many respects I'm not opposed to doing some more of it, maybe with a couple more lessons. I completely adored being in the mountains. The drive back yesterday was beautiful. I was happy to be approaching our destination at a speed of 180-200 kilometers per hour but I klutched my seat in terror as we rounded mountainy bends and FX performed drums, guitar and vocals to blaring Coldplay. It was good times. I love traveling in France. Thats why I'm super excited to go the Strasbourg in a few weeks time.

Driving has always been an adventure for me

2010-01-20T01:25:00.000-08:00

It's a the pleasant typical winter morning in Paris. And that means that its drizzly and grey. Of course I hadn't looked out a window so I was surprised to feel it dropping on my uncovered head when I left the house. On Wednesdays there is no regular school. My kids go to an American school extension program for the morning. It's further outside Paris so I drive them into St. Cloud. Normally I take the mini which is small and adorable and already has the school in the GPS. Well, since we're going to Annecy to ski this weekend there was a little bit of a car shuffle and instead I ended up with the four door diesel, stick shift that FX normally drives. When they asked me last night if I could drive I said yes but I didn't really clarify that I meant I could drive it in the loosest possible meaning of the word.

It all went well until I got to the school where I realized at the gate that the pass to get into the school was on the visor of the mini. So I rolled down the window to explain this to the man that I see every week.

"Ma carte, c'est dans l'autre voiture." Anne has always said the security at this school is a crazy paranoid American thing. I just think it's a crazy paranoid crazy thing. After asking my name a couple times and telling me he didn't recognize me he smilingly waved me through telling me, "t'inquete pas(don't worry)".

After running back and forth after forgotten notebooks and classrooms I finally got back to the car to drive home. I turned the key in the ignition and then looked at the gear shifter: crisis approaching. Rather than having the five gears and then directly below the fifth, an 'R' for reverse there were six gears and far to the left beside first gear there was an 'R' for reverse. Okay, this should be no problem. I let off the emergency brake, took hold of the gear shifter and pulled. It felt and looked like it was as far over as it could go but it also looked exactly like it was in first gear. I tested it. Nope, I was definitely nudging the curb. For awhile I messed around with it and then pulled out the manual. Other than teaching me French vocabulary and detailing the difference between a gasoline stick and a diesel stick it really didn't help me. In near desperation I called Anne and then texted with no answer: "is there any secret to the reverse on this car?"

After sitting there wondering how I'd get out I glanced around looking for help. There are two gates and about fifty speed bumps to get into the parking lot and another to get out. At each of these gates stands two men and in between about three more to direct the parking of roughly fifty cars(I know, outrageous). The thing is these guys are real sticklers. They make you repark if you park crooked or too far from the car next to you. So they are all sort of standing around. Considering how everyone in France drives a diesel stick I knew these guys could help me out. The only thing was this was some serious vocabulary. I didn't know what reverse, manual transmission, borrow, any of that was in French. So I went and asked for help from one of the guys gate. He called for someone who had a license and three men standing at the other gate came walking down. Six of them stood in a little crowd around the car, the last car in the parking lot. I was looking distraught, they were looking amused. I considered telling them that I was American and of all my acquaintances in my generation I didn't know but maybe one girl who could drive a stick. I also know no one who drives a diesel car let alone a diesel stick. But it wasn't necessary, as I expected they were perfectly friendly and overly helpful and gave me lots of bilingual advice. Apparently there is a special little ring on the under side of the shifter that you have to lift to reverse. Who knew?

At least when I go pick up the kids I know they'll recognize me....as the only person they've met who can't drive.

On a different note, I recently heard about this blog from Elise but keep seeing stuff about it everywhere. It's written by a wife recording things her husband says in his sleep. Here are a few of my favorites:

"Give me back my hands! Limb thief!"

"Fluffy bunny + big ears + twitchy nose = great stew."

"You can stop clapping now if you want. Really. You'll need your energy for cheering me later."

"Hey, don't...don't say anything. Why don't you put it in an email, then I can ignore it at my pleasure."

"Your mums at the door again. Bury me, bury me deep."

"Vegetarians will be the first to go. That's my plan. Vegans haven't got a hope. 'I eat air, I'm so healthy...' Bollocks!"

So have a lovely day!

International Flight: My Favorite!

2010-01-14T12:25:00.000-08:00

It's been about a month and a half since I posted here....

Well, now that I'm in Paris again I have time to do whatever I want. Sort of. I spent 24 hours in transit. I remember being excited about flying and enjoying it but things have changed a bit. I don't mind it really but going away from where I wanted to be made it kind of a drag. However it's totally awesome to start flights at MCI. You don't have to get there very early and security takes about a minute. So my flight from Kansas City to Chicago was nice and I slept most of it. For my three hour layover in O'Hare I pretty much snoozed in limb numbing positions and read I, Robot (why doesn't blogspot have an underline button? You underline books, right? I can't believe I'm uncertain about these things). We started boarding early which I thought was good but since I'd changed this flight only two weeks earlier I knew I'd be sitting in the back(the same thing happened with my flight home but Air Canada could also be named Air Awesome so it was no problem). As soon as I got down to my seat I knew there were going to be problems. The flight had been over booked. There was no room for carryons in the over head compartments so it had to be put in business and first class. My seat wasn't directly behind a seat but rather behind half of two seats so there was no place to put my backpack underneath the seat in front of me. One young married couple and their baby ended up without a third seat and separated. I think their marraige partially dissolved from the strain.

The flight was really pretty normal except that it was over an hour late because people just weren't sitting down. They were running around looking for places to sit and put their stuff and then forgetting things and running back to their bags and it was just pretty chaotic. About half way through I got sick and passed out. After some water and ginger ale I sat back in my seat and watched Slumdog Millionaire. I love that movie. The first time I watched it, when it got to the end and everyone started dancing I remember thinking "this movie just got a hundred times cooler."

So anyway, I missed my connection from Munich to Paris and ended up getting a flight that left at 2:45 rather than 10:30 so I waited there for about four hours sleeping in limb numbing positions on the chairs in my gate. Then we were oddly shipped out of the gate by bus and driven all around the terminals until we got to this huge parking lot with lots of tiny planes. So we got on and I promptly fell asleep and slept until we got to Paris, where the ground was covered in snow(the ground was covered in snow at every airport). After walking like a zombie to my lugage I got a taxi home. No one was home when I got there since the cleaning lady had been recruited for some fill-in babysitting. But about five minutes later they showed up and I drifted about the house like a ghost until the kids dad got back. He told me that he and their mom would not be staying at the house together anymore. So though one parent will always be home I guess both won't be for the time being....not sure what to think about that. I definitly didn't know what to say.

Jetlag is the wierdest thing ever. I slept a normal night after getting back and then last night i didn't get to sleep until about four and then I woke up at noon. There went my day.

So this weekend I'll get caught up with everyone and everything will be back on track. I'm determined to make this stay in Paris fruitful.

Tu ouvriras un restaurant

2009-12-01T11:18:00.000-08:00

Now is as good a time as any to talk about food and France. I like food a lot and I like the food I like a lot more than I like food in general. When I got here I noticed that the French like food a lot too. The thing about the food they like is that it's very different from the food I like. Another thing is that they like French food and mainly just other French food, there isn't a lot of diversity. I have yet to take a picture of the dairy section of the grocery store but it is a sight to behold. You cannot imaging the yogurt. I have always liked yogurt okay but to me there have been two kinds, the knd thats plain and the kind thats fruity. Here is a little piece of my weekly grocery list. I buy all of this every week.
Yogurt= Activia-coconut(kids-8), Panier Yoplait fruit 0% (8), Panier plain0%(8),
Taillefine-Brasse 0% plain(8 or 16), fjord (8)

I had no idea what any of that meant and still struggle to find just the right kind of yogurt for every different member of the family. Each member also had the right kind of chocolate. To them chocolate is not a sort of candy or dessert, it's just a staple, along with the baguette and brioche. So when I just want some chips and salsa or a little macaroni and cheese I have to dig through all the sugar and starch.

So there was Thanksgiving last week and I was pretty excited to make everything but I had a few problems. Leading up to Thanksgiving I had some things I needed. I needed cranberries, which I couldn't find anywhere, pecans, canned pumpkin, corn meal, corn syrup, allspice, vanilla and a few other miscillaneous things. I searched high and low in every so called ethnic food selling store I could find. Le Grand Epicerie at Le Bon Marche had ethnic foods. It had a five foot span devoted to American foods. This was pancake mix, six different brands of peanut butter, cranberry jelly and oreos. For the things I didn't manage to find I made recipes with alternative ingredients(no corn syrup in France). One little surprise was that after I'd bought Fleur de Mais (flower of corn, not flour of corn mind you, I missed that one) I realized that it was actually corn starch(that would have been some interesting corn bread).

So I began with making a sweet potato casserole and then made two pumpkin pies and a pecan pie, stuffing from scratch, cranberry sauce, mashed potatos, the whole thing. The meal was for 18 people (and before we served it the FX and the kids went out and bought me a huge bouquet of flowers). They were all French besides my friends Charlene(British) and Hannah(American) from church.

One memorable moment came when Anne asked if we usually held hands and said a few words. I took this to mean prayer so I said a prayer to a bunch of French people looking awkwardly and confusedly at eachother. Yeah, they don't know we usually pray before eating Thanksgiving meals.

Another thing about the French is they don't really go for the natural American tradition of unreasonably stuffing your face for Thanksgiving. The leftovers were overwhelmig and on Monday when the cleaning lady came we had a nice chat while I retrieved stuffing and two pies from our little outdoor area. I sent her home with some pumpkin and pecan pie. She was very nice and said that she had an American friend who had given her a taste of pumpkin pie once and that it hadn't been good but that she really liked mine. Probably because it was made from a fresh French pumpkin(the green kind, called potiron, the orange kind is called citrouille and they only have those at select grocery stores n the fall. Most French people don't know that the name for pumpkin is citrouille. I found this out after askng for it in four grocery stores. It was when I spotted the 'soupe potiron' that I changed my tactics.).

Pecans and cranberries both exist in France but the cranberries only come in dried version. I kept my laptop in the kitchen and was googling recipes all day. When I googled 'cranberry sauce with dried cranberries' several recipes came up they mostly went like this: 'place cranberries in bowl of warm water overnight, finish the recipe as if they were fresh.' So that was simple. By the way, American recipes can be a real hassle. I was pretty annoyed with the '1.5 cans of evaporated milk'. Thanks for that, evaporated milk must come in the same size the world round...not.

Overall it was really fun but I know this, Thanksgiving jsut really fits with American culture and not totally with French, and there's a reason it's always a collaboration of grandmas and aunts and moms, it's really close to impossible to do it by yourself. But not totally impossible because I managed it.

And the title is what the kids grandma said to me as we were eating, "you will open a restaurant". I was kind of thinking, not after today.

Dublin

2009-11-12T05:27:00.000-08:00

Dublin is green. I love me some green.

Well, well, it's about time I write a post about Dublin. I didn't get a lot of time to plan this trip. Lots of things were unclear until very near to the day we left, including the person I was going with. I went with Hannah who is also an au pair. I met her at Hillsong at the end of August. We finally got it all figured out so that we were leaving early friday morning and coming back early Monday. This gave us a good amount of time to see the city and do most of the things on the top things to do in Dublin lists.

The first thing we noticed about Dublin(other than the windy drizzle-rain that is sort of strange and the biting cold that was about 5 degrees celsius which feels freezing to us but its really something like 40 degrees fahrenheit. Yeah, we're tough) was that everyone spoke English. We really didn't predict just how awesome this was. I'm not really that bold around strangers most of hte time but when you have to approach people who are rude AND don't really speak English it totally changes your scale of difficult social interactions. Suddenly every transaction was completely straight forward. We were lost, just ask; we needed ketchup, just ask; we wanted to joke around with the person behind the counter, just talk. It was so incredible. I found myself saying lots of things in french on accident which was really odd. The second thing we noticed was that these stange people who spoke English also were unbelievably helpful and friendly. I'm not just talking creepers(but believe me, Dublin has it's share, they just take different tactics), everyone. It was so cool to have people be chatty and sweet with their little Irish terms of endearment and profuse profanity.

So on Friday we got to our hostel and dropped off our stuff with the lovely girl at reception who gave us several good lunch recommendations. After that we pretty much wandered over the entire city that is south of the Liffey. People ride the bus there but the bus is a double decker and the drivers are friendly and helpful and when people exit they say thank you or 'cheers' which would appear to be some sort of substitute.

When we got back to our hostel we met some American girls who were exchange students from Barcelona traveling. We went to dinner with them and then met some of their friends at Dublins famous pub O'Neils. I'd already had both a pint of Bulmers Cider(yummy) and Guinness(kind of an aquired taste, but I think I aquired it after visiting the brewery) so I went with the yummy cider again. I'm not really a beer person but thats everything in Dublin, and the bars are so packed you can't really even move. It wasn't really my kind of thing unless we were siting and chatting, other than that it was sort of like this game of holding your pint without spilling it and warding off the drunk.

On Saturday we went with the Barcelona girls all over the southwestern part of Dublin in a meandering path that eventually lead to the Guinness Brewery. It was kind of cool but I think I know more than I need to about how beer is made. I still kind of think of Guinness the way I used to think of coffee, it's okay the way it is but I'd enjoy it more with some sweetened creamer. Thats why I stuck with cider. When it comes to alcohol I want it sweet. But I got a green hoodie that says guinness on the front from the gift shop. Boy am I ever a sucker.

After a late lunch we parted ways and Hannah and I went to Phoenix Park, the largest enclosed park in Europe. It was beautiful but it started to get dark and we were really chilly. Just as we were about to leave the park to find a place to get cofffee(another plus to Dublin is that they know how to make real coffee) there was this little round building in the middle of this clearing in the woods. It was a little cafe in the park. It was totally adorable and made me wish again that we had good parks here.....

That evening we went to the Temple Bar area because you kind of can't not go there when in Dublin. It was semi traumatic because there were crazy people everywhere and kids getting busted(they sort of have a heroin problem there) and the bars were totally claustrophobic. We went into Temple bar and were conned into taking seven euro shots that were basically liquid candy and half mine ended up on Hannahs coat because of some creep trying to show us his tattoo. So pretty much we left there after about thirty minutes and went someplace else where they carded us and the guy didn't believe that my license was real and I had to keep explaining where the birthdate was and then he thought it would be funny to address us with a "how" because we were American and thats where Indians come from. It took me forever to get it.

So anyway, bars in Dublin aren't really my thing but Dublin Dublin is. On Sunday the weather was incredible and sunny for once. We got up early because we wanted to get to Howth Harbor which is north of Dublin a little. So we went and got Christmassy drinks from Starbucks and headed out in the Double Decker. The harbor and our cliff walk was incredible. It made me seriously consider an extended stay in Ireland in the future. We ate a very Irish dinner and headed back prepping for our three a.m. wake up call to find our alcoholic German roommate guys having a party in our room. We felt bad but we kicked them out because we wanted to go to bed. We were annoyed they were partying it up in our room but they were so nice about leaving that I'm still beating myself up about kicking them out.

I'll spare you tales of the return home because it was one long and uncomfortable wait after another with lots of additional costs and annoyances. I was SO HAPPY to get back to my home away from home that I took a bath in celebration. It was amazing.

So Dublin is small and lovely and they wear color and are friendly, things I wish were true of Paris but aren't. Except the lovely part, Paris can be lovely even if the people are cold and wear funeral clothing everyday. But I know and love Paris now too.

"Je suis Lucky Luke."

2009-10-29T12:53:00.000-07:00

This was a draft of a post I never finished so I thought I'd put it up, it's a few days old.

Today we went to two fortified cities in Ardeche. It was incredible. The kids grandparents point out all the plants, trees, rivers, cities, and everything for me and I do a lot of nodding and smiling and looking in awe at everything. The cities were both from 'le douzieme siecle'(1100's) I said in broken french that it's many hundreds of years older than anything in the states and they did native american pantomime. It was pretty fun.

I've been noticing a lot about non-Paris France and I really like it. Other than the french part they have pretty much nothing in common. I haven't bought anything here but I noticed the same mums here are 8,50 euros that are around forty in Paris. The town that the house over looks is like any small town at home and the odd assortment of McDonalds and locally owned hardware stores is comfortingly familiar. Also no one speaks English here. There is something kind of comforting about that also. I'm so used to being patronised that I forgot how nice it is to be treated like a normal person. Instead of replying in English to my first word in French they just listen, help out and then talk slowly, knowing I'm trying my best. I have actually never been spoken to like this since I got here.

Another thing about foreign language is that when you are around one you don't really acknowledge it's importance because you can't tell whats being said. Often you don't even notice that it's there. Because of this I inturrept people speaking french to eachother(not a lot, just the kids) because I didn't understand the conversation I also didn't really hear it. This happens alot here because the kids and I still speak in English to eachother but it's just sort of white noise to their Grandma so she jumps in as if nothing were being said. It's something I never would have noticed if i hadn't been really bad at French and living here.

We jsut got back from watching the movie "Lucky Luke". I think this is a French comic but it's about a cowboy. The french really like cowboys and all things "old west". Well this movie was great because I've seen some old westerns and I know the history and it really is unique and pretty cool. I mean, it's so idolized and glorified and it says so much about Americans and all the intricacies of our culture and short but full history. Also, the movies can be really exagerated and tons of fun. But this was all in French so that was an added oddity. So it was extreme western with all the ingredients but with a french angle and all in French. BUT it also had real life characters like Jesse James, Billy the Kid and Calamity Jane. There was one priceless scene where a hand holding a gun from behind a curtain tries to shoot the president. Moments later Jesse James rescues the president. Wow, Jesse James rescues the president. It was good stuff, Lucky Luke, he shoots faster then his shadow...and his horse talks...and he has never killed anyone. So that was fun.

"Qu'est-ce qu'ils s'appelle en Anglais?"......"Um, lice."

2009-10-27T12:28:00.000-07:00

On the train: It's cute but watch out for that hair, there's lice in it.
Jade et moi au Gare de Lyon
We carved us some pumpkins for halloween day. I also made potato spinach casserole which is about my favorite food ever. The kids wouldn't eat it so I'm crossing my fingers hoping there will be some left for this weekend when I'm home alone.
Versailles: This is the biggest painting ever. Josephine is at least twice my size.

I'm blogging from Ardeche near Montelimar. This morning we got up early to go by high speed train to the central south area of France. There is another family staying with us so there was all kinds of scuffling around in the early morning with coffee and packed lunches and such. We made it to the metro in good time, me with a messenger bag and a back pack plus the kids valise. Taking the kids on the metro can be kind of hard and stressful but it wasn't bad even though we got the morning crowd on their way to work. Sixteen stops later we were at Gare de Lyon and after waiting in confusion for about thirty minutes I found someone to help me find the right train.

The TGV is really nice and I look forward to going on it again on Saturday(even though my metro is closed over the weekend. I'm not excited about taking the bus). The view was beautiful showing all sorts of fall colors that seem to be nonexistant in the north.

The kids Grandparents are really nice and they speak very clear French. I haven't had to speak French out of necessity for much more than directions and monetary transactions so it been an interesting foret into the vocabulary of landscapes, sewing, plants, and social activities. By interesting I mean really frustrating but not all bad. I was looking forward to being in this sort of situation and it's the kind of looking forward that you have to some kind of self torture...like excercise or school or going to a foreign country where they speak the worlds most difficult language. It's incredible how important the most complex sentence structures and irregular conjugations are in the most everyday sort of dialogue. My comprehension of French if spoken carefully is pretty high but even the simplest response is made more difficult by the formal and informal, the feminine and the masculine and countless other intricacies of the language. the gender thing is probably the one thing I find least appealing about this language.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to school and study french for a few more years before immersion. But can't really call what I have immersion. I rarely speak french.

But anyway, it's fairly warm here and the rocky hills and small mountains of the Central Massif are covered in scrubby bushes that include rosemary and thyme and little olive and figue trees and cactus. Its an interesting landscape and i look forward to getting some pictures.

But in reference to the title, the big event is that as I was chatting with the coiffeuse in terrible french about the difficulties of french and she was trimming Noes hair she suddenly froze and picked a louse out of his head. She gave me a lot of advice and the atmosphere immediately changed from convivial trivialities to the grave act of bringing a lice infected child into a respectable hairdressing establishment. I looked and felt very subdued and reprmanded and uttered everything I knew from the ubiquitous "oh la la" to the rare "je suis desolee." Then she gave me directions to the nearest pharmacie.

Full Weekend

2009-10-20T05:30:00.000-07:00

I took this picture this morning on my way back from breakfast in Puteaux with Hannah. This is one side of an island that is across from my apartment building. So I live to the right and closer towards the camera. Click to make it big.

Generally my weekends are pretty full. I always spend Monday kind of recovering from the social shock of spending most of my waking hours in the company of several people. I have church to thank for this problem. I'm really glad I went to church that first Sunday. It's been a total blessing all around.

Bear with me while I give you a little play by play. On Friday evening I left a house full of crying children to meet a friend from school and a couple of her friends. We were planning to go to Fajitas a real Mexican restaurant near St. Michel(across half the Seine from Notre Dame). I was really excited to find out about Fajitas. It was Hannah who first pointed it out to me. I'd already been there with Julianne so I spread the good news to my fellow Americans. Until very recently I had only met two Americans, no one else really cares about a good south western meal. But Fajitas is kind of crowded so while we waited we accumulated about a group of twelve. We were primarily American au pairs except Charlene who is a friend of mine from church. She's adorably British and works in Paris as a bilingual assitant. All of us are in awe of her French skills as well as her accent.

After finishing dinner we went down a little alley to a Scottish bar. Unfortunately for those of us living outside Paris the trains only run until 12:00 on Friday nights. So we left in order to avoid being stranded and falling victim to fake taxis and other horrifying scenarios branded into our minds from various news stories and movies in recent years.

The St. Michel area is really fun. It has a lot of English speaking themed bars like the Scottish one we were at and also and Irish and Canadian along the river. It's also a great place to get crepes. Hannah is kind of an expert on the area and she showed me Shakespeare and Co, an English bookstore thats the stuff of legends. Also there is this little movie theatre that plays old American movies that we went to once. So yeah, I should probably venture south of the Seine more often. I tend to go to Tuileries and rue de Rivoli every other day and sit on the same bench along the river.

On Saturday Julianne and I went to lunch at a little place called Scoop that is near Palais Royal. Scoop is famous for it's burgers and ice cream. It's very nice and trendy but we had a new server who was absolutely abysmal. We kind of forgave him because he said our french was very good. After sitting and taking up space for about four hours Julianne went to do homework and I walked off toward...rue de Rivoli. One nice thing is that the sidewalk is covered. It was pretty drisly so I went on that side of the road. The only problem is that it's so crowded with identical shops with berets, eiffel tower key chains and I heart Paris shirts that one can hardly make any head way. I spent way too much time getting another calendar at WH Smith, my favorite place in Paris.

Saturday evening was quiet and I ate pizza with Anne and the kids in front of French dubbed A Wizard of Oz. The songs were in the original voices so I was happy. Old fashioned french is much easier to understand.

Sunday morning I accidentally left and hour early for church so I get coffee and sat on the Seine and read my book. It wasn't quite as idyllic as it sounds. That stone bench was like and ice cube. But the sun was warm so it was pretty nice. After church I got lunch with five or so girls from church before a speed clothing exchange session. Even though I didn't bring anything I made it out with some gloves, a belt, some shirts and a scarf.

So that was my weekend. It was lovely. And next weekend I take the kids to the South of France to visit their grandparents. They don't speak English so I'm excited to have French be necessary.
Have a lovely day.

Paris Routine

2009-10-13T12:34:00.000-07:00

Statue in Tuileries

I suppose the reason I've gone a long time without writing is because...I'm lazy. It isn't really that not much has been going on. There has been some going on, I started school. If I don't have some interesting anecdote I kind of run low on energy to blog. A general synopsis never came that easily to me. That being said I've been particularly verbose when it comes to hand written letters. I whip out pages of rambling letters that I mail off in thick envelopes. I guess I have more confidence saying nothing with a lot of words when I'm only sharing it with one person.

I haven't been going out and exploring or sightseeing too much recently. Somehow I replaced very good Paris Adventure time with general moping. My main problem is that I persuade myself that I shouldn't go out and do things when I have SO many things to do.

'What things?' you might ask, 'would you have to do, being displaced from your monstrous load of possessions and little circle of friends and most of your earthly purpose and responsibility?' Well, I'm one of those people whose cursed with messy habits but the need to have everything clean before I start anything. I'm one of those people who has nine hundred 'projects' because I really love starting books, letters, sewing garments, journal entries and knitting scarves. I'm one of those people who feels life is empty without finishing those projects and checking them off a list. I'm also one of those people who says 'I'm going to sew five dresses, finish two books and write seven emails today. But first let me drink a cup of tea and watch an episode of Pushing Daisies because I have so much time today.' Yep, story of my life. So after wasting lots of time I devote a few minutes to mentally flogging myself for my laziness. Then I start over and do it again.

Thats why I need much less time to waste. Thats why I have plans to start volunteering here. So we'll see how that goes.

But it is a little odd to have a real routine and sort of everyday-ness to being here. It's kind of cool. And it's also literally cool, finally. There was a really long time there were it would be pleasantly nippy in the morning and then turn into one of those days where you're wearing boots, leggings and a sweater and everyone else is dressed for the beach. When I picked up the kids today after three cool days I know it's starting to get really cool.

School is good but we focus on grammar far too much. We really need to just talk. It's hard though because most of us know English and some of the girls can't hardly speak any French. French with a Portugese accent is killer.

Aaaannd...

2009-10-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

...technical difficulties. It tells me it's uploaded the picture but it obviously hasn't. I find text only to be pretty boring. Sorry folks. My pictures are interesting enough to add something to a post but not interesting enough for facebook.

But I hope to be a little more consistent in posting....and emailing. Sorry.

Mal a la Gorge

2009-10-02T13:42:00.000-07:00

I woke up late on Monday morning to the sound of childrens voices as usual. I almost always wake up during the morning prep for school. However on Monday I heard these voices long past the time that everyone should have been gone to school. After emerging from my room into the world of the living I saw Jade curled up on the couch in front of the TV. She was very sick and needed to stay home from school. The doctor said she had strep throat and told her to stay home all week. On Tuesday Anne had to unexpectedly go out of town for a couple of days. FX was already out of town. Feeling the responsibilities grow I immediately began a sneezing routine that turned my head into a bombing ground. There were some predictable disputes over who got to sleep in mommy and daddys bed since they were gone and then high giggle volumes and then after several lectures from me there came the knock at my door with two teary pairs of eyes telling me they couldn't sleep without mommy and daddy there. In the end they all fell asleep much later than recommended. I drove them to school in the morning having many controversies with the GPS on the way there as well as laments over the lack of discipline with which Parisiens drive. Carting all the kids to American school was a very French experience as many mothers elbowed their way through packed halls, even carrying their strollers up the stairs just to deliver their kids to the right classroom. Fortunately most of the teachers were really American and I had the comforting privilege of talking to some motherly treachers who were probably from Texas. When I told Jades teacher that she would not be attending that week she said "Aw, bless her heart," and handing me a note to parents, "here you hun."

I'm getting the hang of driving. I even sort of ignore the few lane lines but I still use my blinker. It doesn't hurt that I'm drivng a tiny little car that tells me when I've arrived at one centimeter from the car behind me. I can now say that parallel parking does not intimidate me. Finally. Buses however, do.

On the night when the kids got no sleep I slept very well....until 2:47 when I awoke from a disturbingly vivid dream that came in many scenarios all indicating that my throat had a patch at the back of my mouth that had been lit on fire and sand papered. It was one of those feelings that you have probably had before but you can't beleive that you have ever lived through this much pain and are not sure f you'll make it this time. When I had drunk some water and lain back down I got to take note of the unique sensory experience of a mere sore throat turning into a head cold a runny nose and a cough in about as long as it takes to read this. I didn't go back to sleep. At all.

After dropping the kids off at American school and bringing Jade home by way of many U-turns, I gave myself a pep talk to get the nerve up to go to the pharmacy and face the complex vocabulary of sickness and medicine. I wasn't worried about it really, I had Jade and I had the magic words.

"Bonjour, j'ai mal a la gorge. J'a besoin de medicament. Est-ce que vous avez cepacol?"

chirp, chirp

The young attractive pharmacist that Agathe had pointed out to me on day two of my stay in Paris looked at me for a moment and then leaned down to rest his elbows on the counter and gave me an intense gaze. Disregarding my request and glancing at Jade he said, "Comment?"(What?)

Suddenly I wasn't so sure of what I needed to say, surely those were intelligible words enough, why didn't he just get me cepacol? I knew they didn't recommend medicine at American pharmacies but the little green illuminated cross that apeared at every corner and someplace in between all over France meant something different. These were like demi-doctors, they give you what you need, all three of my French teachers had told me this in many clear words. Like many other unhelpful stares I'd experienced before I found this one uncomfortable and unnerving. I repeated my request with many ums and uhs and looked to Jade hoping she would help me clear this up. It's happened before that in times of great need the accompanying child has suddenly become MIA; I glance between them and an unforgiving stare that only a tourist in France or a hispanic in the US can understand and they have taken on a shyness that they don't possess giving me a look that says something like, "yeah, why DON'T you get what they're saying?"

Before Jade could jump in to rescure me(as if she were going to or something) this pharmacist said the French equivalent of "don't help her, she needs to speak in French, this is France." Thats exactly what he said. Then turning back to me with that total lack of regard for personal space that I find particularly distasteful under such circumstances he asked,

"Tu es Italienne? Espagnole? Allemande? Anglaise?--"

"Je parle Anglais." I jumped in, "J'ai mal a la gorge," I added for good measure and momentarily considered for the millionth time the peculiar effect limited vocabulary has on the expression of personality.

He clicked his tongue and gave a little mock sigh, "Je ne parle Anglais."Of course you don't, you only parle jerk.

If in that moment I'd had the words I would have said, "that's why I'm speaking French." But instead I said "cepacol". For some reason he decided to take this as a really bad pronounciation of "si possible"(if possible).

"Non," I said emphatically, I did NOT mean 'if possible', I meant 'give me some medicine right now', "le nom de le medicament est cepacol!" It really is, I checked when I got home. He smiled and raised his eyebrows looking to Jade and giving his head a slight shake. I turned to Jade and said that I needed a lozenge or a cough drop or something for a sore throat.

"I understood." I looked at him in disbelief. Or I should say I looked at him and confirmed everything I already thought about Parisien salespersons.

In the end I left with something that was not what I wanted and another lecture in English about the importance of speaking French in France....after I'd been speaking in French and they'd refused to understand and had flaunted their English skills....again.

I make these people sound really bad, and I haven't even told about the fight that the cashier and delivery guy had at the grocery store today, it's everyday stuff. Customer service is just not something they do here. Well, it is but it's not some sort of company inforced thing, it just depends on the person behind the counter. There are plenty of nice people it's just a different kind of manners here. Anne told me today that I was very American since I never reply to the 'how are you?' with anything but positive. I don't know why we are like that but I've always considered it kind of rude to say you aren't good when someone asks. I also think it's rude to let your massive bag assault people as you walk down the street without so much as a sorry or excuse me. But it's just one of those things.

On another note, I started French classes(finally) and so far really like it. I should probably be doing my homework right now. It's an 8:00 class, sixteen girls and one boy. It's really diverse group, and even though many of them speak English there is only one other girl who is a native Enlgish speaker. It's interesting to have the only common language to all of us be French when none of us are native speakers. It also lends a lot of comfort and security to the situation that is completely lacking in the real life scenario.

So thats my little story for today.

"There's a party for peasants, you should go"

2009-09-22T06:03:00.001-07:00

Pictures aren't working out for me now, I'll put some up soon.

You could say I'm master of imprudent footwear decisions. I never anticpated this much walking. You think walking isn't bad but when you can't take off your shoes that are rubbing off new layers of flesh with every step and you are miles from home walking becomes something it wasn't before.

I went to go walk along the Seine today. I like to do that if it's sunny. Somehow I always end up getting there around lunch time. Lunchtime is a bad time to go because you run the risk of being accosted by men on their lunch break. As I walked by a trio of construction workers one called out, "Bonjour mademoiselle, est-ce que vous cherchez travaille?(are you looking for work?)" Um, nope. Theres a whole new element when these things go across languages. I generally say I don't understand which immediately makes them address me in English with things like "I want to know where it is you go, may I walk with you?" "NON!"

While sitting and reading today a road construction crew came to loiter under a bridge and harrass the passing joggers. As one of them approached me I prepared my withering gaze.

"Bonjour mademoiselle, madame, mademoiselle......" and he went off on a long and complex speech that was completely lost on me.

"Je ne parle pas Francais," I said, he replied that he didn't speak English but that everyone should speak French when they came to France. I tried to look like I didn't understand him.

"Je parle Anglais." I said knowing that he didn't. He began to explain that he knew I spoke French because I wasn't a tourist, tourists don't read books on the Seine by themselves, and plus, I had clearly just spoken Fench to him.

"Je suis Americaine" I said hoping to discourage him, "Je ne comprend pas." He offered to help me meet people at bars. As he said this another man came up on a bicycle. Immediately the first man asked him if he spoke English, "Yes", he said "and there is a huge party down that way for all the peasants, they are throwing milk on the ground for all the poor people, it is the place to be." They carried on in this way, talking to me and eachother while I made great efforts to read my book.

"You should not be reading this stupid book, you should go to the party....It is a sin not speak French when in Paris......when you go to America tell everyone you know that we are not stupid, we are nice, we speak English very fast.....I speak English very fast....he wants to know if you want to meet people in bars....'no merci'....anything so that we will leave you with your book, huh?" "Yes." Eventually they wandered far enough away for me to make an escape.

On Sunday I went to an English secondhand bookstore called "Shakespeare and Co.". It's exactly the sort of place that Paris is full of, adorable, quaint, so famous several movie have been made about or in it, stinky and absolutely packed with tourists. It was cool but a little too overrun. I was tempted to buy lots of books but made it out without any thing vowng to get to the library at the earliest possible chance.

As another episode in my 'getting lost in Paris' narrative, allow me to offer a story of greatly missunderstood train routes. I rarely use trains. There are a few reasons why I don't use them but the main reason is that there are less of them and they make less stops and generally are unuseful to me personally. The other reason is that they aren't the metro, therefore they are a mystery I have little desire to solve. Buses, trams and the velo all have this in common with trains. Just to get your bearings: the train is faster and bigger than the metro. It generally stops at metro stops but stops much less allowing it to get from point a to point b much quicker. Paris navi-go cards have three levels, zones 1 through 3. I have a second zone card that allows me to use all the metros. Since trains go over the entire country they have zones so you scan your card before boarding and after exiting. The nearest train station to me, though also a metro stop, does not allow me to board the train. But anyway, because I don't use them, I don't really know how to use them. But some people, especially those living further out in the suburbs, use them alot. Even though all metros run on a grid, trains don't and so rather than having directions or names or anything sensible they have endings. Each train goes to an ending but be careful, some trains go in circles and most run on a track that forks several times. And also, some times the trains, though stopping in the same place as the metro, have a different name for their stop. So, to get on with my story, I was out with a friend of mine, Hannah, who is also American and who lives in the suburbs of Paris. She seemed to have some insight into the mystical interworkings of the Paris train system and even though I had misgivings about our direction we hopped onto the train. One other thing about trains, they have lots of far apart stops but sometimes they don't stop at all of them so you have to look at hte list of stops to make sure it will stop at your stop. As soon as the train picked up speed I was pretty sure we were not heading deeper into Paris but towards the outskirts. Once it was evident that we were not going the right direction it also became evident that we were now no where near Paris. We zoomed by stop after stop through trees and by lakes. Anxiously we joked that we had accdentally boarded a direct to Nice. It was kind of funny but also not. Finally we stopped and managed to turn around going straight back to Chatelet. The train we got on to go back was a stopping train, it stopped about fifteen times before we reached our destination. I don't think I'll be using trains much more.

"It is necessary that you sit"

2009-09-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

Jardin du Luxembourg
Sacre Coeur- Montmartre district(sewing store area)

I've just finished cleaning up my room; organising all my clothes and fabric and papers and all that sort of stuff. I have more paper than anything else. Funny how being here in this foreign country seems to generate a lot of paper. There have been papers to be legal in the country, birth certificates, passport copies and all sorts of things. Then there is the paper from getting a bank account and now from registering for school. I finally got all signed up for class and I'm really excited to start. I enrolled in classes heavy on group discussion becuase I hear French constantly day in and day out but I don't speak hardly any. I had a real sense of accomplishment after taking the placement test, choosing the courses, enrolling and paying all in french. And by the way, I'm sorry if I miss capitalization from time to time, the French never capitalize anything.

I anticipated a sort of mildly bad day today for some reason. The kids, though good natured, can be very difficult at times and often fight and generally wear me out a drive me crazy by not listening. But today was an improvement and I think it is because I'm more comfortable with the authority and can see better what works. I helped all of them with their homework, made them snack, did laundry, played games for a couple of hours with my three plus two girls from downstairs before making dinner and getting them to bed on time. It was very efficient and satisfying.

I'm starting to find some of the places I like and Hillsong church has been a real blessing. On Sunday I went with a couple girls from church to the Jardin de Luxembourg and Les Halles. We also went to Starbucks. I actually haven't made it into any cafes yet. Theres a great boulangerie with the most beautiful culinary creations right around the block but it's always kind of crowded. Maybe I'll take Agathe and let her show me the ropes. Ordering in general goes like this "Moi, je prend un...." For some reason there is a lot of "moi, je" in French dialogue. It doesn't translate to English very well, "me, I like this", "me, I'm an athlete"....There are lots of things that make for awkward translating - like the subjunctive. Subjunctive is fairly rare in English but it is plentiful in French. They are constantly prefacing advice and orders with "Il faut que tu", which means something like "it is necessary that you" although 'faut' is a form of the verb 'faire' which means to do or to make. So constantly people are saying to their children or friends what sounds to me like "it is necessary that you sit", "it is necessary that you wash your hands." It's very odd for me to think of incorporating this into my own dialogue when all I'm inclined to say is "sit", "wash your hands". Not only that, "il faut que" has a very obscene sound to in when spoken in a fluent manner.

So theres a little lecture on the French language, hope you aren't too bored with it.

Maybe I'll have someting more entertaining in the future but I'm usually only entertaining if I'm frustrated and right now I'm pretty peachy.

My typical day

2009-09-10T11:36:00.000-07:00

Jade, wating for the bibliotheque to open

Noe, Agathe and Jade
So on a normal day I have it really easy. The kids get up at about 7:30 and bustle around until they leave at about 8:10. I just listen to them whether I've gotten up or not. There is always a lot of running and rushed french and squeaky floors. At this time my shutters are closed but I've already been awakened by the 12x magnified noise of trash cans being drug across uneven concrete. It's magnified because it's right outside my window and down a floor in the courtyard. Like everything else, our building is seven stories high. We live on 'le premiere etage' which means...not the first floor. The first floor is the 'rez de chausee' which means ground level. It's one of those things that if you look at it from our perspective it makes no sense but if you think about it it kind of does make sense in an odd way. To them an 'etage' or story is something that occurs above the ground. But anyway, someone pulls those trashcans, or dustbins as they say over here, across the ground and it becomes like the pigeon - so loud you can't ignore it. This pigeon, in case I haven't mentioned it, lives in the courtyard and coos. Pigeon cooing is no big deal but this thing sounds like a great horned owl, or a pteridactyl or something massive. Anyway, I thought that pigeons had to be either nocturnal or daytimey(whatever the word is for that) but turns out they don't sleep at all, they coo day and night in a relentless clamor that I treat kind of like I treat french, just zone it out. I don't really just zone out but I'm not going to try to break my brain to comprehend everything, you just can't do it. If it's your own language you can semi listen and semi think about other things because you know the words so well that you can anticipate them or even sort of store them without digging in the recesses of your mind trying to find the meaning or catalog a new one.

But anyway, once I get up for real, which is anytime between six and nine, I usually shower, check my email and generally bum around before tidying up the visible portion of my space. One thing the kids do do is make their beds. Therefore my bed must never be unmade. But my stuff is sort of messily spread about. I don't have much stuff but I also don't have much space. After breakfast I do whatever I want until 3:55 pm at which time I take a brisk walk down to the kids school, fight my way through the nannies and au pairs and moms and baguettes(seriously, they pick them up before they get their kids, they are dangerous weapons baguettes) and strollers and finally locate my kids. Then I half lead half follow them home listening to their constant french chatter. We have snack, do homework and then play until shower time. I kind of yell and bustle around makng sure they are ACTUALLY taking their showers at the same time as making a dinner. After dinner we clean up and I'm off(8:00). Then I go to my room and watch Doctor Who at painfully low quality and eat peanut butter out of the jar and drink Earl Grey with milk and honey.

When stressed or unhappy or out of routine or experiencing lack of mexican food or tired or just eating less, I lose weight. Once, worried that I had skipped lunch (which I most definitley hadn't, skipping meals isn't really possible for me), Anne said "I don't want to send you home to your parents and they find you skinnier than before." I kind of laughed but then the next day I put on my dress. This dress was really, really tight last time I wore it and I was swimming in it the other day. So I feel like I did when I got back from Thailand, skinny but kind of out of a wardrobe. The only difference is that when I got back from Thailand I was home so I had all my clothes at hand. Here my wardrobe is limited. So again today I put on a skirt, too big. Well, that sewing machine will come in handy I suppose.

But I did make some salsa! And it was really good. And tomorrow we have fajitas...or something along those lines.

So anyway, in that vast portion of the day where I can do whatever I want I had great plans today. I planned first to go the France-Langue and take my french assessment and then go up to Sacre Cour in Montmartre (a famous landmark from the movie Amelie, which, incidentally, Anne worked on the marketing of), buy some wool or suiting at Marche Saint-Pierre and then go down and walk along the Seine near Notre Dame. Well, my first problem that I noticed while passing Place de Bagatelle was that I didn't have my navi-go pass. Fortunately I had some tickets but I was really annoyed with myself. Then I realized I didn't have my trusty red cardigan that was kind of like insurance; I wanted it just in case I needed it but if I didn't need it it would turn into an annoying burden. Fortunately I didn't need it. Then almost to the metro I realized I was missing all the necessary peices of identification and money and references and regstration papers and pretty much just my whole stack of important stuff so I couldn't go to the school to take my test. Finally after boarding the metro at lunch hour, stuffed between suits and heels and fighting to grasp the pole, I decided to just go the Seine and enjoy the day.

I love the Seine, I love the boats and the water and the bridges and the quiet walk ways beneath the road, the dogs and the lunchers. I just love it all. The buildings aren't so bad themselves.

I had a belated birthday cake with candles this evening. The kids are hilarious sometimes...and definitely sometimes not too.

Hey Look! It's The Sartorialist and Garance Dore!

2009-09-05T13:23:00.000-07:00

Yep. The blogs of these two are at the top of my bookmarks. I visit both of their sites roughly everyday( I don't do RSS feed...I don't like the layout). Dana saw the update first on The Sartorialist about the book signing. Of course I was totally excited. It's one of those times that it pays off to be in a big city. I didn't know that Garance Dore would be there. Aren't they a cute couple?

After mentioning that I'd recently arrived in Paris to stay for a year he asked where I was from. I told him Kansas City. "Kansas City....Nebraska?" Uuh, yeah, something like that. It's not his geography that we love him for.

And the book is wonderful.

As a side note: I'm not much of a peanut butter eater at home but Paris has really brought that side of me out. I ate a jar that is something like 10 oz (I'm still pretty lousy with conversions. "It's going to be 26 degrees today." Me: "Oh my gosh! Your kidding!......wait, celsius, yeah") in only one week. I did this with the help of no one, not even bread. I kind of might maybe like to eat it by itslef when I'm trying to watch Doctor Who with an internet speed of es cargo (also known as 13 mb/s).

So on that happy thought, have a lovely day, or whatever time it is for you guys.

Getting Lost in Paris: Fun? I think not.

2009-09-03T00:45:00.000-07:00

Translation: "Have you found my guitar? Call me." Sorry buddy.

Over the past few days I've been fairly busy working or doing various activities. Everything was running smoothly, I wasn't getting too homesick or overwhelmed by the idea of being here for a year. Then yesterday happened. It started bad and got worse. The thing is, it really wasn't much different than any other day. I had the whole day off so I was going to go by the school, enroll, walk around a little, maybe shop, and then head over to Montmartre, pick up some sewing supplies, etc. The first hitch was lack of internet. Just so you know, in a foreign country you MUST have internet to know what to do; you need some peanut butter, you map the buses to the nearest peanut butter location(the nearest is in the US in case you were wondering); you want to go the museum, you find the stop on the map and the metro stop online; you want a movie, you go crazy because they are three times the price. But here's the thing, I wanted internet so I spent a whole lot of time just trying to find the hotspots. When I finally figured out how to get to the school I ended up walking most of the way there after being repeatedly denied access to the metro by the navigue pass scanner. Once I had walked far beyond the correct street(and carrying my laptop in hopes of finding one of these hotspots) and nearly ended up crossing the river a second time, I found the school. The moment I walked in they told me I did not need to be there until the 10th. Okay, thank you for answering the phone one of the twelve times I called.

So then I went to find the hotspot. It turned out to be a McDonalds. Not wanting to commit travel suicide I avoided it, walking to the next hotspot which turned out to be a little bar. Bars are not something I really have a lot of experience in, especially in France....and I'm still not 21. As I'm walking along I notice something familiar about the street. I had been lost there on Monday...oh dear. So I finally reconciled myself to the mcDonalds. It was jam packed and after forcing my way in I found that the only way to order was to say "Beeg Mahk". Turns out they did have internet but no outlet. So after a little while I decided to go to Montmartre where the tourists are heavy(who wears a shirt that says "I heart Paris" when they are actually IN Paris?) and the patience light.

I find that when you know the words in French they like to pretend you were speaking in English, but when you don't know and really need their help they just kind of look at you blankly.

I bought a few things at a notions store. One of my purchases, an average size spool of cream colored thread---10 euros. Ten euros, thats sixteen dollars. Honestly I have never paid more than three or four. I was about to have a fit, "Dix euro? Ce qoui!" The girl looked at me coldly as if to say "what? you don't have ten euros?" Yeah, I have ten euros but I'm going to buy five sweaters made in China and support a third world family for a month on it. Geez people, since when did sewing become like golf, a hobby of the rich and privileged.

Next I stopped to find some patterns. "Le Simplicity sept trois un zero" I said, in perfectly understandable French. "What size?" she responded, in less understandible English. "Thirty-eight" I replied, defeatedly. "Thats size 10, American" she added patronisingly, "I know." Give me some credit. When someone speaks English to me I don't go and try to respond in French on them.

When I went to a Wednesday night meeting with some people for church I made some grave bus navigating mistakes and ended up walking a mile or so to get there. Fortunately it was well worth it and someone drove me home. So I'm really looking forward to church on Sunday. At church there's no sign of the French rudeness that really gets on my nerves. Everyone is happy to see you and interested in how you are doing. It's really wonderful.

One last thing on French culture. I had this idea that an American might get along without the bisou(kiss on both cheeks), that it may not be entirely obligatory. Well I was wrong. You walk in a room and if you don't kiss every single person in the room as hello you've committed a little social crime. You leave, you kiss everyone again. Sometimes when you first meet someone you don't do it, you can shake hands. But last night someone came right up and kissed me before I had even met them. It's one of those personal space things. The bisou is opposite of American culture. We like our personal space, invasion is disliked and unconfortable. I mean, when we stand in lne we give the person in front a good two to ten feet of room. Here it's like everyone is breathing down your neck. That was the first thing I noticed getting in line to get on the plane to Paris. Some French guy came up and sat right on the back of my seat. Maybe it's because I'm from the midwest and not a big city but I say "excuse me" when I bump someone or pass close by them. Here it's eyes straight in front and no acknowledgement. But with the bisou, it's not like shaking hands, it's not semi optional, it's constant. It's still a little weird to me when it's two guys. They walk up to eachother to say hello and it's not a hug or a hand shake but a kiss on both cheeks. But it's cool....I still don't really initiate it.

French Parking and Dressmakers Heaven

2009-08-28T10:06:00.000-07:00

This car is right in front of the apartment. It's parked for real and it was there all day.
Hey Sullivans, look, it's TinTin in it's original french!

I had the morning off so I planned carefully. After trotting down to the bank to open an account. Let me stop there and say some more about this account. This bank, Societe Generale, is a European bank. For a person my age a savings account is free and the carte bleue, debit card essentially, is 4 euros per month, usable anywhere in Europe. I was told this in a tiny bank not one block from the apartment I live in, in an office accessible by a lillipution spiral staircase. So after that I walked to the closest metro station and took the metro line one to Charles de Gaulle. Metro line one is for the uppities of Paris, they keep it very nice. Metro line 2 is kind of for everyone else. I was the obvious minority once I got on line 2. Suddenly there were no walls on the side of the track or voices announcing each stop and also there was suddenly a myriad of questionable french to learn from the walls. I hopped out at the fabric center of the world. I'm not kidding, this place was several blocks SOLID fabric stores. Every kind of fabric and most several stories high. I immediately bought nine yards of summer color discounts at good prices per meter. This meter thing is new for me in sewing. Of course, everything is new for me, like watching cartoon network in french dubbing.

So after speding a fair amount of time ogling all the fabric I headed back. Since I was in the mode I decided to stop at the grocery store while I was out and see if I could find something to make guacamole with. The microscopic ethnic center of the store had tortillas a few small bags of chips and chile peppers. After giving up on lmost everything but the chips and avacado I headed back. Later in the afternoon I went with A to go grocery shopping. They deliver here. It's pretty sweet. Grocery shopping is relly interesting. All the cultural food things suddenly become this huge thing. I could hardly believe the wall of cheese, it was bigger than everything else. But I'll have a good time buying things to cook. I like to grocery shop, it's not too bad when someone else is paying and delivering. After we finished A asked me if i wanted to drive her car. Her car is everything posh and european. Not only does the idea of trying to parallel park make me quake, the actual driving kind of totally seems like a nightmare. There is nothing oganised or familiar in the way these people drive. They gas and brake constantly and come within inches of bikes, pedestrians and other cars. They park with five inches of space in the back and one in front; they park on the corners, yep, right on the corner where you walk across the street; they park facing echother. Each road looks like one way street and the lines between two directions of traffic are white just like the lines between two lanes. And lanes, they don't care about lanes, who uses lanes? So I'm little worried about all that loud and pushy driving. I'm anything but loud nd pushy when it comes to driving.

One thing about buying things is that all you have to know is this, "oui, merci. Au revoir." And numbers, fortunatly I know numbers, I even had to correct someone who gave me 12 extra euros for change. So now my top priority is a french press. As much as I like plain espresso a substantial cup of good coffee can't really be replaced.

Here's one funny little thing about the french. They don't learn to type so there is this universal two finger picking. It's everywhere, even the receptionist at the bank. I'm a terrible typist but here I kind of look like a keyboard superstar.

Broken French and loud birds

2009-08-26T00:05:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, on my first day alone with them, the kids grandmother came. She brought with her a very jet lagged four year old cousin of theirs. E, the kids grandmother speaks absolutely no English. Though I understand a bit of french my ability to speak and respond coherently is pretty low. Plus there's no guarantee I'll get what was said to me in the first place. However, all my efforts to get these kids under control are well supported by their grandmother. She gave me lots of advice and from familiar words I understood it to mean she thought they could use a little more firmness. I replied with the ubiquitous smile, nod, and "ouais, okay". I also brought the twins to a school prep activity. After they ran straight into the house yelling and to the hostess I half shouted across the room, "Bonjour, je m'appelle Angela. Je suis le nouvel au pair." She replaid with an "ah, Bonjour"......chirp, chirp. Geez lady, can't you tell when you've exhausted a girls vocabulary?

After dropping the twins off, Ag went with me to open a bank account. That wasn't too bad because I know the words for passport, visa, work contract and ID card. But it didn't happen becuase I didn't have everything I needed so I had to set an appointment with monsieur someone or other. All I hope is that he's a really good guesser or he speaks English otherwise it might be a really short meeting. "Vous comprennez?", "....uh, non."

After picking up the twins I deduced that they were to be brought back every afternoon this week. N got very upset insisting that it was mornings and afternoons. In an affort to make peace I said, "Don't you think she would have said 'tous les jour' if it was morning and afternoons instead of 'tous l'apres-midi'?" He looked at me blankly for a minute and then said "Tous LES apres-midi." Touche.

And today was my first time on the Metro. Ag and I went to her orthodontist appointment on the Champs elysees. We went up in the worlds smallest elevator. I'm not kidding, I have pictures it was probably not even two square feet. The waiting area was kind of odd. It was separated and the nurse kept coming in, opening the door to the tiny room, calling patients and then closing the door behind her. All I could think of was how the families with more than one kid coped with the elevator.

So for pictures it's a Normandie house in Deauville and N working on the castle turned pond.

Deauville and Riding Bikes in Bois de Boulogne

2009-08-24T12:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday around five pm we went out to ride bikes in Bois de Boulogne, a very big parc on the west side of Paris. I got to ride F's bike which was very nice so I enjoyed it a lot. The girls had problems with their bikes and were pouting most of the time so we didn't stay for very long. After riding around the parc for awhile we went to sit on the biggest tree I've ever seen. It's a huge Sycamore that has four trunks. Out of one of them comes a large branch that curves to about two and a half or three feet of the ground. We sat on that for awhile drinking apple juice.

The parc is very big and has lakes, trails, camping and gardens. I think I will visiting it quite often.

This morning we got ready for a "picque-nicque" and headed out. On the way out of Paris we stopped a couple of times. A did the Paris typical sidewalk parking job that really cracked me up. Not only do they do that but they park nose to nose. Smart cars are everywhere and they are so short that sometimes instead of parallel parking they just reverse between two cars, facing the road. J, N and I waited in the car for a little while. They showed me some childrens books. I asked them some questions about words using "Qu-est-ce que ce" instead of "what is". N looked at me and said "Maman said you didn't speak french, but you know a lot." I can definitly get along with that kid. J asks me questions like "AY-lo ladee how's it's going on?" and "do you know how to say ehllo in french?" It's pretty easy to impress someone with such low expectations. I don't predict the same grace from the people in the librairie and bucherie. But I can dream, right?

So anyway, the ride out to Deauville was lovely. We saw plenty of adorable Normandie farms and lots of dairy cows. It was raining when we got there so we are our ham and (strong) cheese sandwiches in the car before venturing onto the beach. The water wasn't so bad but the air was chilly. We played in the waves for awhile before playing monkey in the middle and a shell throwing contest. The tide started to come in so we made a castle with a moat that turned into a little pond.

It was a fun day. Tomorrow I start my semi routine work, dropping kids off and picking them up, opening a bank account (without the help of A!)as well as spending the day with a non-English speaker. So it shoould be a good day.