"Idealism is what precedes experience; cynicism is what follows. "David T. Wolf

I think I mentioned that I had received an invitation to attend a reception in downtown Toulouse for the US Ambassador to France for this last Friday. It was a formal event that I would just as soon pass up for the one huge reason that I am, well, huge and I would have had to go out and buy a formal dress that fit my current size and that I would wear only once, it seemed like a waste of money.

Anyway, everybody I spoke to was like ‘you have to go’ and ‘wow what a great opportunity’ so I vacillated for days between yes and no. I even had S block out the time in his schedule. Then I came up with a brilliant idea; let’s find out who this guy is. So in true Missy fashion I googled the guy to see what I could find out about his Excellency Craig R. Stapleton.

The first article I found was this one which I admit is a bit biased but informative none the less. It turns out that he’s a Bush crony that only got the ‘prestigious and highly coveted ambassadorship to France’ because he (A) Garnered the most cash in private contributions toward the re-election campaign and (B) Is married to GW’s cousin Dorothy who is also a huge Bush contributor.

The State Department Bio makes him sound so much more respectable, but only because it omits the more unsavory aspects of his political and familial ties.

Now maybe I’m really naïve, but I thought ambassadors were supposed to be altruistic and peace minded people with service to their country utmost in mind. Someone to actually help patch up the current relationship between France and the US, you know what I mean. But no, this is not a man of diplomacy, wisdom and discourse to follow in the rich tradition of other former ambassadors to France like Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson and James Monroe. No instead, this is just a rich real estate fat cat who garnered himself a cushy job in Paris for a few years by giving, and getting all his friends to give, big cash to the republican party and specifically the Bush re-election campaign. I was so disappointed. Needless to say, we didn’t go to the reception.

But you haven’t even heard the real kicker yet, one of the sites I found lists him as a Democrat. I’m pretty sure there are substantial grounds for blacklisting him from the party.

Driving…Snow…

I’d been home most of the day; the weather for the last few days has just been pure crap; nothing but cold and rain. But then around noon I looked out the window to the west and there were these very dark heavy clouds, they were headed this way and they looked like snow. Snow! I can just tell from the look of the clouds. Suddenly I’m energized, time to get out and drive. I love driving in snow, especially that first snow of the season.

I go out to the car, pop in a Christmas music CD and start driving, I head for the center of town where the Christmas decorations are already hung and lit. It’s Saturday so of course traffic is madness with all the Saturday shopping going on and also the start of the holiday shopping season. As I drive aimlessly the clouds are getting closer and darker and more ominous and I just feel more giddy and excited.

Then it happens, the clouds have finally arrived over head and it starts to just pour down….rain…yeah rain…Oh yeah, it never snows here.

I head home and stop at the grocery store for fois gras and a baguette. If it would just sleet a little I could sustain the mood, but no just more cold pouring rain. Oh well, maybe in a few weeks. At least the fois gras is good. Have I mentioned that I love fois gras.

…………………………

In other news, I received an invitation in the mail today to a reception in down town Toulouse to meet the US Ambassador to France. I knew it was coming, I had been asked by the US Consul in Toulouse for my home address. It’s cause I’m on the AIT board. How cool is that, I get to meet important people. Well, I would get to meet important people, except that…see this is a formal event and I won’t go out and buy a 200€ dress to fit over my current size, that I will only ever wear once, for a one night event. But it was cool to get the fabulous invite.

…………………………..

OH MY GOD IT’S SNOWING!!! Don’t worry I’m not getting back into the car.

Mocking Potential

Saturday night was the AIT/FEU Thanksgiving dinner dance. (Americans In Toulouse/France-Etats Unis) (France-Etats Unis is another club in Toulouse, this one made up of mostly French people who actually want to meet Americans and practice their English on them.)

We haven’t attended an AIT event in a very long time, but since I’m on the board now it seemed like something I should probably attend. Mind, the idea of a ‘traditional’ American Thanksgiving prepared in a French restaurant was just too hard to refuse, I mean think of all the mocking potential.

First of all, I’m not much of a social butterfly, I mean you know me, I love a great conversation with someone who actually has something to say, but socializing just for the sake of meeting people – most of whom I would not actually choose to speak with on a normal day – just not something I enjoy or am good at. So usually when we attend these events we find a nice place to sit in a quiet corner and enjoy our meal, maybe a little dancing and some people watching.

Not so Saturday night, now I don’t want to compare it to a Hollywood entrance or anything, but when word started to circulate that Missy Walters had arrived, people were coming at me from everywhere. Since I’m the membership coordinator, I’m usually one of the first contacts that people have with the club; the first name they hear. New members wanted to introduce themselves face to face, old members wanted to lodge complaints face to face, total strangers wanted to know how to join and discuss what AIT activities they might enjoy and some total strangers just wanted to touch ‘the belly’ and ask when I was due, weirdos. I ended up with a pocket-ful of cards and slips of paper with people’s e-mail addresses and notes about what they wanted.

The French restaurateur I believe was appalled by the fact that the meal would not open with a salad and would not be served in courses. So instead of doing it the American way he tailored the event to make us more civilized. As we sat down (at 9:00 pm, mind we’d been there since 7:30) our aperitif glasses were taken away and a salad was set down before us. It was your typical French salad, greens accompanied by two large slabs of fois gras. We Americans all became very silent and a bit frightened at that point and began to look around for the moron who might actually have asked for fois gras or served it at their Thanksgiving table. But it turned out to be the restaurateurs’ sole idea. Mind I love fois gras, but we all began to wonder what the next ‘course’ would bring; no family style service here. When our actual thanksgiving dinner plates arrived they were arranged in the traditional French artistic style. Two thick slices of turkey breast covered in a thin white sauce that I suppose was meant to be gravy, and several ‘molded’ side items.

There was a perfectly round disk of sliced sweet potato (one disk), a muffin tin sized mold of something that mildly resembled stuffing, except that it was crunchy and dry but not too far off the mark in the taste department, an oblong mold of something white and very light in texture that no one ever identified and a tablespoon sized bit of cranberry sauce.

Cranberry sauce is a very expensive import, you can get it in some of the mega stores, and you get a 4oz glass jar for about $2.50, so it was served sparingly.

There were these very hard and dry bricks of what we all agreed must be cornbread, but served without any honey or butter to un-brick them.

I ate my entire salad and fois gras, fois gras is very filling thank goodness, and so I was able to get away with just nibbling at the turkey course.

The white molded stuff was distinctly flavorless, I thought maybe it was like a mashed potato mousse or something, someone else suggested it was cauliflower, someone else said celery, one man said he knew that it was a regional French vegetable that resembled a beet. Anyway, we all at least tried it, but no one finished it since we were unable to establish what it actually was.

The restaurant owner, unsure what wine to serve with this horrid collection of things, provided us with a nice red and a chilled white and plenty of ice water, which was a real treat. (Ice water is never served in France, even McDonalds only puts two or three little cubes in their cokes, the French don’t do ice.)

The next course was the dessert. The pumpkin pie was served swimming in cream (not whipped) and a slab of chocolate mouse or cake or something. Dessert isn’t dessert without chocolate. The man across from me commented that it was a pie and it was made of pumpkin, but it definitely was NOT pumpkin pie. He was right.

Anyway the evening was completed with a DJ that played nothing but French and/or American Disco all night; you can see what a party it really was. The only true upside was that we didn’t have to endure any football games.

Le Flic

Civil unrest, riots, fires and violence; the news over the last few days is chock full of this stuff.

On Sunday S and I took one of our patented Sunday picnics. We pick a small town - people are always telling us ‘Oh, you just have to go to [insert name of small village] it is just the most beautiful little village in France’, and yes all these small towns are quite charming - and we visit it. Then we find a nice overlook outside of town and have a picnic.

The town, this time, was Cordes sur Ciel. Which means ,‘Cordes in the sky’. Which is supposed to be a comment on how close it is to the heavens or something. Anyway it’s on a hilltop north and west of Albi.

It was a cute little medieval village built on the top of a not very tall hill. Full of its own history much of it having to do with the Count of Toulouse and having been one of the first bastides in the Languedoc region. It was basically a medieval city founded to encourage growth. The sovereignty built the center of town and surrounding lands and shops were given to individuals who promised to build up agriculture and commerce for that town and therefore also for the kingdom; a way of creating instant roots for the kingdom. Of course this initial founding is followed by years of religious wars, royal wranglings and of course plagues; things that seem to be a part of most of the medieval cities of this region.

Anyway, the town was charming and the surrounding lands are vineyards for the Gaillac wine region. We ended up having our picnic inside the van as the weather here has finally turned cooler. I think it was 48° outside when we ate at around 1 p.m. S found us a nice hilltop with a view of vineyards and freshly planted wheat fields. We enjoyed some tomato salads with mozzarella (my favorite) and bread and wine (I had water). It was a fabulous outing.

The oddness was in the drive, it was only a short drive from Toulouse, maybe an hour and in that time we saw 5 Gendarme patrols pulling vehicles over for inspection. Now, they looked just like the patrol that pulled me over to inspect my paperwork that one time, but they were looking for something specific. I daresay they were looking for North African/Arabic/Muslim looking men driving vehicles that could be concealing materials used in the making of fire bombs.

The torchings began in Toulouse, and a few small surrounding cities, on Friday night and have continued for about 4 nights. The rioting is small scale and confined to one of the southern neighborhoods, which as you might guess is the tenement area to which all of the North African/Arab/Muslim/disenfranchised/angry youths have been relegated. News says that to date 140 cars have been torched in town and several bins near government buildings have also been set on fire. Thus far the police have managed to use tear gas to effectively disperse crowds and keep the violence contained.

Today I read some recent interviews with some of the arrested youths that have appeared in ‘La Depeche’. These kids describe plans to draw police into the tenement complexes and then ambush them with fire bombs. These are kids of 19, 16 and even 8 years of age who say they have nothing so therefore have nothing to lose. Local officials feel that these kids are just out to imitate what they’re seeing on TV that is happening in Paris. Whatever their reasons they seem quite determined.

I drove into town today to meet someone for lunch and there are Gendarmes everywhere. There is one group stopping vehicles coming into our little town. Nothing has happened here locally and I suppose they want to keep it that way. But in the heart of Toulouse there are patrols at major intersections and even at some minor intersections that lead to neighborhoods that are predominantly Arabic.

So to answer all of your questions, we are fine. The newspaper interviewed the mayor of Toulouse who assures everyone that things are under control and that they expect to see an end to violence soon. Religious leaders are taking responsibility for these youths and measures are being put in place to settle disputes ‘honorably’ though what that means is anybody’s guess. It’s a very long term problem that has been going on for years and will continue for years to come, for a variety of reasons; each only serving to add another complication to an already complicated issue.

You know I've heard, in the past two years, many people refer to this group as 'Arabs', said much in the same way people of the 50's and 60's would have said the word 'nigger'. It's really sad, this country does not believe in affirmative action type laws because it would then be reverse discrimination in the hiring process, so therefore these groups have no protection or legal rights to jobs.

We had tea in this adorable little teashop off one of the main streets in town once, a while back, and it was run by an Arab gentlemen who told us of being harassed by the cops all the time, pulled over because he drove too nice a car for an ‘Arab’, being stopped on his way home because he didn't fit in the neighborhood he was driving in. He even had to pull some tricks to buy a house in the neighborhood he bought in. By the time the neighbors and seller realized who had really bought the house it was too late to back out. But over the years the neighbors have not accepted him and his family, but have at least let them be.

Yes, these people have a genuine beef, but the answers are hard. No one can really see a solution that is going to fix all of the issues. The French simply do not like the North African/Arab/Muslim people and I think that it's primarily a religious thing. The French are predominantly Catholic and have little understanding, patience or empathy for the dress/beliefs/lifestyle of these foreigners in their midst. Not to mention the whole nationalistic/this-is-our-country-so-learn-our-language-and-start-to-look-like-us issue that any US minority will tell you they also encounter.

The origins of the problem go way way back but now the problem has been and will continue to be aggravated by the EU opening borders. As more of the newer EU member countries are Eastern European and therefore predominantly Muslim and they're coming to Western Europe to find jobs these clashes will grow worse. Add in that unemployment among the French is 13 to 15% in parts (over 20% for Muslims) no one is willing to give a perfectly good 'French job' to a foreigner no matter how qualified they are.

So there you have it, my thumbnail analysis of a problem so vast that no amount of burning or rioting will fix it, and one that the French are perfectly willing to keep ignoring once this unpleasantness settles down.

’Thar she blows!’…again.

So, I’m watching the ABC Nightly News last night – the Monday night news, as we get our internet news one day behind – and I listened to a story that, well, that poor S was sorry I’d heard I’m sure, because it set me to ranting. I’ve waited until this morning to write about it, however, so I would have a chance to organize my thoughts and cool off.

The gist of the story was that black New Orleanians are complaining that Mexicans are ‘swooping’ in and taking all the Katrina cleanup jobs. ::Gasps:: No!

Yeah, it seems that Mexicans are coming in in droves and stealing good jobs from under the noses of poor and destitute blacks. And the Mayor of New Orleans, for one, thinks that the government should be bussing those blacks that were originally displaced by Katrina, back into New Orleans so that they can do some of these jobs.

Now, let me first state that the Mexicans coming into New Orleans do not appear to be needing the government to bus them in for these jobs. No they seem to be arriving MIRACULOUSLY on their own. Yup, under their own steam and initiative they saw where the jobs were and they have arrived from all over the damn country to do these jobs. No government arranged transportation, no one spelling it out for them ‘Hmmm, Katrina, disaster, rebuilding…hey, that sounds like they might need people down south to work, let’s go check it out’. Nope they figured it out all on their own AND figured out how to get themselves down there, it’s amazing isn’t it, they provided their own damned transportation too. However, all those black folks seem to need big billboard sized sign posts pointing to the jobs, oh, and transportation from Uncle Sam.

Let’s face it, they are belly aching about someone doing and getting paid to do jobs that they DON'T WANT to do, just to have one more ‘poor pitiful us’ thing to bitch at white people (and Mexicans) for. Yes, these are shit jobs, basically shoveling shit and other debris from streets and houses, rebuilding homes and businesses, hard physical labor, back breaking sweaty work, possibly hazardous to your health work, sun up to sun down work…you get my point… it’s just too much like work to be worth it.

Oh, and one more little thing, no one has provided them with apartments or trailers or housing of any kind, no these men are living in tents. Yeah, they brought their own housing too. These are people who actually WANT to work.

Will whoever is nearest please reach over and give those folks one almighty BITCH SLAP for me.

Thanks, I feel a bit better.

Beaujolais Nouveau

At one minute past midnight on the third Thursday of each November, from little villages and towns like Romanèche-Thorins in Burgundy, over a million cases of Beaujolais Nouveau begin their journey through a sleeping France to Paris for immediate shipment to all parts of the world. Banners proclaim the good news: Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé ! “The New Beaujolais has arrived!” One of the most frivolous and animated rituals in the wine world has begun.

By the time it is over, more than 65 million bottles, nearly half of the region’s total annual production, will be distributed and drunk around the world. It has become a worldwide race to be the first to serve this new wine of the harvest. In doing so, it has been carried by motorcycle, balloon, truck, helicopter, and in the past by Concorde jet, elephant, runners and rickshaws (never by messenger pigeon though) to get it to its final destination. It is amazing to realize that just weeks before this wine was a cluster of grapes in a grower’s vineyard.

Half the fun is of course knowing that on the same night, in homes, cafes, restaurants, pubs, bars and bistros around the world the same celebration is taking place.

Well, maybe not as much celebrating going on the world over as in France, but you get the idea. In Toulouse almost the entire downtown is closed off to motor traffic and bars and restaurant, all over the vast network of narrow streets and ally-ways, open their doors for an all night drink-fest. Now if you think red wine can pack a wallop of a next day hangover, imagine the hangover from wine so new it practically tastes green. Yeah, boy let the party begin.

This year the event falls on November 17th and the drinking begins at midnight. I give you plenty of advance notice and invite you all down to participate, since I cannot drink, it will amuse me to taunt you the next day. It’s always all about me, isn’t it…

I’m sure Dante outlined a circle for you…

“This is going to be a big boy” the doctor says, smiling sweetly as he puts away his tape measure.

I can’t think fast enough in French to retort ‘Hey, unless you’re giving birth to this baby, keep those types of happy comments to yourself buddy’. So instead I must satisfy myself with giving him my best ‘We are not amused’ glare. This only makes him chuckle and I mentally Google Dante’s Divine Comedy and search for just the circle of hell in which he will spend eternity…

It is becoming increasingly difficult to slide behind the wheel of my car comfortably, not to mention the contortions I must go through to get back out. The real bummer is that if I scoot the seat back just one notch I can get in and out much easier, but I cannot drive because my feet can’t reach the friggin pedals. God it sucks to be short.

As I was dressing the other morning I was thinking back to my first pregnancy 20++ years ago and remember how thankful I was not to be pregnant in the height of a desert summer. Mind I gave birth at the end of May and we had probably been enduring temps well into the 90’s and higher since mid April, but still it could have been so much worse. I could have had to endure the worst of the June – August heat in my ‘big as a house’ state.

Then I found myself once again grateful for the good timing of this pregnancy. As it is I find it hard to breathe now and cannot imagine enduring heat and high humidity at 8 and nine months pregnant while carrying around an alien that insists on kicking and growing up in to my diaphragm, making breathing freely an ever increasing treat.

However, as I was mulling these thoughts over the other morning and trying various contortions to reach my feet so I could put my socks on, I was struck by this thought, that in the past few winters I have become increasingly fond of wearing tights to keep warm in the cold outdoor breezes. The visual of what contortions it would take to accomplish that feat were frightening. I’ll just be cold thanks.

Finally, I leave you with this amusing visual:

S comes home at the end of the work day to find a disturbing trail of debris strewn across the floors of the house. A pencil, an unopened piece of mail, several paper towels, assorted bits of laundry (clean and dirty) and other odd mementos of a day spent tidying up the house. As he picks up each piece of flotsam and follows the trail he eventually comes upon me sitting on the bed watching the Gilmore Girls on DVD.

He holds up the armful of items and asks in a puzzled tone ‘what happened here?’

‘Stuff I dropped during the day and couldn’t bend far enough over to pick back up’ I say shrugging.

Yuck it up folks…

I take issue...

So my question is this. In The Da Vinci Code (which I love and have read 3 times) I find one glaring and rather insulting error. See, the book discusses the true nature of the Holy Grail and the fictitious group sworn to protect it, the Priory of Sion. As we read the book we find that the Sacred Feminine is a large part of what the Priory honors and protects. So my question is this, why is it that in the book the four Sénéchaux, including the Grand Master himself, are all men? Why are there no women privy to the great secret when the Priory claims to worship and protect the secrets of the true grail? Is Dan Brown implying that women can’t be trusted to keep a secret?

Just one of those random thoughts that woke me in the middle of the night…

Oh, yeah, now I remember!

Ok, ok, so we’re back in good old France. There were several ‘home sweet home’ moments upon our arrival, some less pleasant than others. Lets see it started with…

…Our arrival… when we found that once again the water heater/heater was no longer working. See, that means that after 15 hours of airports and flying there was no nice welcoming hot shower to enjoy and the temp inside the house was a balmy 64 degrees. We spent about half an hour trying to re-light the pilot to no avail and ended up just turning on the oven and burners to at least warm the kitchen and office. We wound up boiling water for quick baths, just to get the travel germs off of us.

Then of course was the inevitable refrigerator moment when I opened said fridge to find nothing, well nothing except some very chunky milk and cream and some tomatoes that had reverted back to a green color that seemed to be growing hair. Of course we arrived home on a SUNDAY which you know means that nothing was open to rectify the empty bad refrigerator problem. There was however a conveniently located and OPEN Shell gas station where we were able to purchase some emergency supplies i.e. bread and milk.

But of all the weird unpleasantness, the bug carcasses were probably the most bizarre. Apparently the spider spray that I use is very strong and lasts a good long time and the fact that no one was home for several weeks to sweep up the carcasses means that they were just piled up against the walls, in corners and hanging about the ceiling. Yeah, the house was one big bug tomb…I guess that that’s a bit of a grim description.

On the other hand, I had forgotten certain pleasant aspects of life in France. First of all I love how polite and courteous drivers are. No one is in such a big fat hurry that they’d just as soon run you off the road than give up one car length to let you in. I’d forgotten how cut throat California driving could be.

The pregnancy thing was an especially pleasant surprise to return to; where as in the US if you even look like you might be considering hinting that you might need special treatment or assistance due to your condition, people give you that ‘Hey you got yourself pregnant so deal with it’ look. In France people bend over backward for pregnant women, from special parking and grocery check out lines to some of the nicest most chivalrous men you’ve ever met.

I was in the grocery store on Monday trying to restock the house, when I found myself in the soda aisle looking for Pepsi – And let me say that if shelf real estate is any indicator of market share, Pepsi is floundering big time and even I can’t save them. In the pop aisle the Coke is stacked four shelves high and about a meter and a half wide, where as the Pepsi has two upper shelves and only the width of a six pack. (Well eight pack really; Pepsi in a desperate bid to get their product out there, is packaging their cans in eight packs, buy 6 get two free.) As I reach up for my pop, mind I don’t have to lift my arms higher than my shoulders, a man springs up next to me, lifts the pop off the shelf and deposits it into my cart with a smile. I have the same experience in the bottled water aisle, where I was trying to decide whether to buy the 6 pack of 1 liter bottles or the six pack of 1.5 liter bottles. Before I’d formulated a decision there was a nice man to ask if I needed help putting the bottles in my cart.

I can feel feminists all over the country flinching at this very moment, but I’ll tell you, it’s nice to see chivalry at its finest.

It’s good to be home for many other reasons too. Well this is enough for now, I have a pile of mail to get through and bills to pay and I must contact the insurance company about repairs to the house. The roof was fixed in our absence. (Yes imagine that, the landlord actually discovered that there was indeed a leak in our roof!) Now the repairs to paint, plaster and wallpaper must begin so we can began buying baby furniture and setting up the baby room. The initial repair estimate has come in at 5,200.00€, will have to look and see what our deductible is on that.

I also must get busy sweeping up bug bodies – eeewww.

Just like girlfriends and wives…

So I’ve been in Illinois for 10 days. Spending time with J and the Ya-ya’s and doing a tiny bit of shopping. (Man you can drop quite a chunk of cash at those baby stores! They have such cuuute clothes!)

So anyway, I’ve been driving ‘The Beast’ around all week and been very careful of how far and how long I drive. I filled it up the other day and it cost me $105! So, yeah, careful planning and multitasking when running errands.

So last night I went to start ‘The Beast’ and it made a weird jack-hammery sound but didn’t start. Lights and radio came on but not the truck. I was sure it was the starter or alternator. So I’m thinking ‘Great, I leave for Calif on Monday, tomorrow is Sunday and now I have truck trouble.’

I waited for 11pm so I could wake S up at 6am and ask him what he thought I should do. His diagnosis was that it was the battery and he advised getting a jump start and then going out to buy a new battery.

So this morning I called AAA and asked them to come out and jump start the truck.

Now AAA is a fabulous service, but let’s face it, you don’t call AAA if you’re in a hurry. I called them at 9 a.m. and they said they’d have someone out within the hour, they just didn't say withing which hour. Well you know how AAA hours can be very elastic. They finally arrived in the 11:00 hour at 11:40 to be precise.

The tow truck driver was a funny little fellow, sort of short and balding with that ‘deliverance’ look to his face. You know the look I mean? The one they invented that bumper sticker for, you know the bumper sticker that reads 'You! Out of the gene pool!'

When he gets out of his truck and comes over to mine, he runs his hand loving along the length of the whole truck and says, ‘This is a sweet truck.’

‘Yeah, I like it.’ I say, bracing for what I know will come next.

‘Is this the 4 wheel drive?’ he asks to open the question and answer session I’ve become familiar with.

‘Yes it is.’ I answer, thinking, would you (or could you) buy a beast this big and not have it be 4 wheel drive?

The questioning continues with ‘Is this the heavy duty? Did you get the tow package? What size engine does it have? How much horse power? What kind of mileage do you get? …’

Now, although over time I’ve become accustomed to the questions and have even learned the answers to some of them, I really just want to reply ‘Look, I just drive the thing, I didn’t build it nor do I maintain it. Do I look like a guy to you?’

Anyway, the guy drags out the longest set of jumper cables I’ve ever seen in my life, and hooks up the two trucks to them. My truck starts up right away and he advises me to leave it running. (duh!) Then, however, I end up spending an addition 10 minutes with the tow guy in a bizarre conversation about truck maintenance.

‘Your truck is in great shape for being a 2000, you can really tell that someone takes care of it.’

‘Yeah, well my husband is very meticulous that way.’ I reply, watching as the word ‘meticulous’ bounces around his head and gets spit right back out with no meaning attached to it.

‘Yeah, well some people just don’t take care of their cars. You have to put something into them if you want them to keep running, machines aren’t meant to run on their own all the time without any care. I tell people that all the time, you can’t expect your car to run forever if you don’t take care of it. I mean you couldn’t just go on all day without food or sleep could you, no you need care and your car should be treated the same way. Just like if you have a girl or a wife if you ignore them all the time, they’ll just leave and then your stuck. You gotta take care of your car just like girlfriends and wives…’

Did I say it was a conversation? It was a more like a rambling monologue. But the man was a sage I tell you.

Compare and Contrast

S needed to get the oil changed in the van today so I accompanied him to the oil change place. When he asked how long it would be the attendant told him ‘une bonne heure’, a good hour. So with over an hour to kill we went off to a baby store to see what we were up against.

We found these gorgeous little bedroom sets, crib that converts to a toddler bed, changing table with removable top to become a regular bureau and a matching wardrobe, they seemed well made and they’d only set us back about 2000€!!! For that amount of money the boy should be able to take his furniture to college with him. On the other hand, compare that to the Ikea crib and changing table set for about 200€, at that price we could also splurge for the little table and chairs set that match.

In the stroller/car seat department we found a great stroller with a pram insert for the newborn baby (they use prams a lot here). It also came with all sorts of foul weather coverings, diaper back pack and a baby carrier that snaps into it too with a base for the carrier to snap into the car for an infant car seat. It comes in two color schemes and all this can be ours for the low low price of 549€!!! We’re talking about spending almost $700 for a stroller!!! Ok, stroller and infant car seat, but still…

They also had those fabulous three wheel jogging strollers. I’m kind of partial to them they do look so sporty, and on the bright side they’re not as expensive (by French standards). Sean liked these too and said they were more macho and he could see himself pushing one of those around.

In comparison, we saw a stroller we liked on the Babies R Us web site that is a stroller with the baby car seat that snaps into it and two car seat bases and a diaper bag for $199! We were hoping to get one here to avoid having to give up a suitcase to bring one back with us. We could check it as baggage on the plane. Aside from that one small down side there is the addition disadvantage that when we get it here we’ll have to pay an additional $100 at customs in import taxes. I guess saving $400 is worth the hassle...

As a third option, and it looks like this may be the way we go. There’s an American woman here in Toulouse who is returning to the states and is selling all her baby stuff. She has a couple of strollers for sale that are about 4 or 5 years old, but are what we were looking at today. She’s selling them for 200€. She also has a pack-n-play for sale and a set of baby monitors among many other things. We’ll look at them tomorrow on our way out to pick up Emily and Peter from the airport.

…………………………

On a personal compare and contrast note…

I used to always joke, back when I was allowed servings of alcohol and caffeine, that I was careful to balance my stimulant/depressant intake. Enough alcohol to get a nice buzz, balanced with enough caffeine to keep me from falling asleep.

These days the balancing act is a bit different. With all the vitamins and supplements I’m taking, I have to be very careful what I eat. It turns out that pre-natal vitamins contain large quantities of iron and calcium (among other things) these items tend to do unspeakable things to the digestion, especially pregnant digestion that is already not at its best. So I find that I must balance all the goodness of my vitamins with substantial amounts of fiber and water. Timing and quantities are important. If I happen to short myself in the fiber/water department I spend the whole next day feeling like I ate an entire wheel of Wisconsin’s finest cheddar.

Not a pleasant thought I realize but I’m into sharing today.

"In a dream you are never eighty."-Anne Sexton…But close to it?

When I first started working at the Montessori school in California I had, in my group of 12 kids, 2 brothers. We’ll call these two Derek and Dylan.

Now, first of all, Derek and Dylan couldn’t have been picked out of a line-up as brothers even if there were only one other person in it. Derek was 4, tall for his age, blond and blind as a bat without his glasses. Dylan was 2, of short stocky build, had no neck and dark hair. But unbeknownst to me, there was another issue of which I would soon become painfully and embarrassingly aware.

That fateful day stands out starkly and brightly in my memory. I remember it like it was just yesterday………………..

We were out in the courtyard doing a bit of gardening, me and a group of 8 or 10 kids; just enjoying some late summer/early fall weather. Some kids were weeding, some were dead heading the rose bushes and the younger ones were watering the container plants with teeny tiny plastic watering cans. Of course the younger ones were sloshing water mostly on each other and themselves, but we were all having a really good time.

Well near the end of the day this gentleman comes out the back door into our little beehive of activity. He was a cross between Colonel Sanders, a cowboy and a hippie. With long white hair down to his shoulders, a Colonel Sanders mustache and beard and a dark blue tie dyed head band. He was wearing a dark blue plaid cowboy shirt complete with mother-of-pearl snaps down the front, jeans with a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate and fabulous cowboy boots with shiny silver toe tips. This man was not as odd looking as it sounds, he had a presence about him and was rather attractive for an old dude.

Anyway, he comes over to me and says ‘Hi, I’m here to get Derek and Dylan.’

‘Oh, ok’ I say as I turn to Derek and say ‘Derek honey can you go dry off your brother and get your stuff together, your grand-pa is here for you’ the words are just out of my mouth when I hear a soft cough behind me and the old dude says, ‘Actually I’m their dad’………………..

Yeah, exactly………………..

Ok so fast forward 20+ years and here’s my dream………………..

I get to the school to pick up my little darling and I approach the new classroom aid who is probably about 15 and so fresh out of school that not just behind her ears is wet. I walk up to her and say ‘Hi, I’m here to pick up Junior Walters’ and she turns to my child and says ‘Junior, get your things together honey, grand-ma’s here for you’………………..

I’m just saying, it could happen and it would just be karma at its best…………………

Oh, and by the way, that man was not really Derek and Dylan’s father. As it turns out, they’re mom told me years later, she had been artificially inseminated. For Derek she had selected donor sperm from a man with a high IQ and for Dylan she had selected donor sperm from an athlete. So I guess karmic-ly speaking my punishment is not fitting. Life is not fair.

Noctuidae Moths

We’re cleaning up after dinner. Bringing dishes and food in from the patio, in the quickly falling darkness. As we finish we stop in the office to chat a bit with the back doors all hanging open. Johan, a co-worker and friend of S’s from South Africa (well, from Hungary now as he’s just been re-assigned) is staying with us for a few days. Johan is standing nearest the door between the office and garage and he pauses mid conversation and cocks his head, ‘Is there something in your garage?’ he asks, listening. We all stop to listen and I can hear something but can’t really make out what the sound is. ‘Well we’ve had dogs wander into the garage before and several times a neighborhood cat or two, maybe one of the cats is back for a visit.’ I suggest not really hearing anything anymore. S and Johan go out into the garage and turn on the light. I hear S say, ‘It’s a giant moth!’ Now we all know how I feel about bugs so I shout out, ‘Well close the door before it comes in here’. They both ignore me and continue to watch the moth in the garage. After a while they come inside and S says, ‘That moth is the size of a hummingbird.’ Still I assume exaggeration and don’t bother to go look; I’ve seen big moths before and don’t really need to see another one. I hate moths, though not as much as I hate spiders; I hate the unpredictable way they thrash around in the air when looking for an exit and how they leave that powdery stuff behind when you smack them. In the night I fleetingly think of the giant moth in the garage and think, ‘I wonder if it was a bat and not a moth.’ In the morning when S gets out of bed to go drive Johan to the airport I sleepily mention my suspicion to S who says ‘No, it’s a moth.’ Yet, still I’m not really alarmed or worried and I’m only mildly curious. So later in the morning after S has returned from the airport and we’ve had breakfast, I ask if the moth is still in the garage, he says yes it’s out there but it’s sleeping. Rolling my eyes I say ‘Ok, show me the moth.’ We go into the garage and he tells me to look up at the ceiling beam, ‘see the tip of its wing hanging down; right there in the middle of the beam? That’s where it is.’ I see the rounded tip of a moth wing hanging down from the other side of the beam and mentally picture the rest of the wing and say ‘I’ve seen bigger.’ I start to walk back into the house and S says, ‘Go look on the other side of the beam.’ I tromp over to the other side of the garage, mentally rolling my eyes the whole way and look up. Seriously the thing did not move but I squealed and jumped back anyway. The thing was the size of a hummingbird and it definitely was a moth. I ran in the house for cover. I then made S take a picture of the hideous mutant and then asked him to be sure the thing left the garage (preferable dead) before he leaves for Brazil on Sunday. Here is a photo of our friend. It was a full 3 inches long. I know 3 inches doesn’t sound like much but get a ruler and see if a 3 inch moth wouldn’t scare the pants of off you!

”On the bat's back I do flyAfter summer merrily.”

We were sitting out back after having just enjoyed a fabulous dinner prepared by our neighbors Ann and Gilles. It was that time of evening, around 10pm, when it’s not yet absolutely dark, but the sun has set; the dusk having just slipped into twilight and the breeze beginning to finally cool after another scorcher of a day. I was drinking my umpteenth Perrier and contemplating my umpteenth trip to the potty, when I looked out over the orchard and saw a small brown winged creature swooping into a tree.

I assumed it to be a small owl beginning it’s nights hunting, but on second look out toward the trees I noticed dozens more of these brown winged things and realized they were bats.

Not scary screeching black ‘Batman Begins’ bats, but small graceful brown bats. They were flying, swooping and diving into the trees. I don’t know much about bats and didn’t get a good enough view of them in the almost total dark to see what type of bat they might be, so I don’t know if they were diving into the trees for the shriveled and desiccated remains of cherries or for the bugs that might be drawn to the little black and shriveled ex-fruit.

They were amazing to watch though, gracefully and silently flying in and out of branches. At one point one of them flew right towards the back of Gilles head and at the last moment made a 90° turn back up into the sky, Gilles remaining ignorant of his near miss with something small brown and silent. It was even more amazing that within about 20 minutes in that quickly fading twilight they were gone again. On their way to greener pastures (dried icky cherries can’t be much of a meal) or they had never been there to feed in the first place; just to visit and move on. I was sad to watch them all slowly disappear; they seemed so peaceful and friendly.

Say it isn’t so!!!

Sorry all, Harry Potter arrived on Saturday, a full week earlier than I’d expected (bless Amazon.com), and I’m currently on my second reading. Last year I cried when Syrius died, but this, this is worse. I’m still in shock! I’ve never cried so hard reading one of these books. It’s all too much, I kept reading between the lines hoping for an out, hoping for a glimmer of hope that it had been a mistake, but no. It’s all I’ve really been able to do anyway, it’s just too hot to go anywhere or do anything too ambitious. ……………………….. Ok, so someone sent me this Link in response to the rabbit question, it explains everything quite clearly. …………………………

While J was in town we did a whirlwind 4 day weekend in Paris. We were finally able to visit Giverny and we also tried to take J to Versailles, but unknown to us we were there on the day of the Live 8 concert and couldn’t get within a mile of the place. We also did a quick Normandy tour and visited the American military cemetery as well as a quick visit to Mont St-Michel. So below I have a few photos of the trip. …………………………

The interior of the Musée D'Orsay, it's just a short walk from the Louvre and though only about a tenth its size, I liked it better. They house a fabulous collection of impressionist art. It's also a really cool looking building.

Monet's garden at Giverny. Looks just like the paintings doesn't it. Though the walkways that wind around the large garden are roped off making it hard to get around in the crowds of hundreds of milling tourists.

One of many photos that we took at the American Military Cemetery at Colleville-sur-Mer. It contains the graves of over 9000 american soldiers killed in action. The cemetery overlooks Omaha Beach. There is also a wall inscribed with the names of 1557 soldiers missing in action. The cemetery is beautiful and immaculately maintained. It's quite eerie to walk among the crosses and Stars of David.

Mont St-Michel is one of the most popular tourist sites in France, so get there and tour the Abbey early before the crowds arrive or visit in early spring. The Mont receives over 3 million visitors a year and is quite the tourist trap, however, it really is a site to see and the views from the abbey are really something.

View from the cloister of Mont St-Michel. No it's not really wide open like that, thee's a Plexiglas sheet to keep people from plummeting to their deaths on the rocks below.

The Rabbit Died?

First just for fun I submit the following, regarding the most recent London bombings. It's stolen from a London friends blog who stole it from a friends blog who…..well, you get it.

Breaking News Londoners 'peeved' by continued bombings, Australians all out for 190. As London is hit by the second wave of bombings in two weeks, the Government has raised the terror warning level from 'miffed' to 'peeved'. Whilst many people commented with respect at the stoical attitude of Londoners to the first wave of attacks, Londoners are losing their traditional reserve and may soon require the terror level warning to be raised to 'irritated' or even 'a bit cross'. A government spokesmen commented upon the seriousness of the situation. "London has not been a bit cross since the height of the Blitz in 1940 when supplies of tea ran out for almost three weeks", said a representative of the Security Services. "It is as a mark of the seriousness with which Londoners are taking the situation that we have recently been forced to recategorise suicide bombers from 'tiresome' to 'a bloody nuisance', and the last time we had a 'bloody nuisance' warning level was during the great fire of 1666." On the streets, Londoners reacted with uncharacteristic anger to news of the latest attacks, with some members of the public reacting with harsh language to the news that they might be delayed on their homeward trips by up to twenty minutes. "It really is the absolute limit," said Reginald Boggis, 42, of East Ham. "These terrorists. Not content with blowing things up, they then have to spoil the day for everyone. That's just irritating, that is. If they wanted to get things changed, they should write an angry letter to Points of View. That's what my wife and I always do." Tony Blair is expected to make political capital out of the situation as soon as his focus groups report on the mood of the nation. In other news, Britain reeled today at the news Australia were all out for 190 runs in the first test. "Good heavens!", said cricket fan Stan Higginbottom. "We showed the Aussies, what for, eh? What's that? More terrorists? Well, that's bloody typical, isn't it?" ..............................

Our neighbors, Ann and Gilles, are expecting their second child. Yes the sweet and adorable Miss Carla will soon have a sibling. Yes, her reign of terror will soon come to an incomprehensible end. When I think about what awaits her highness in the wake of a new baby in the house I could almost feel sorry for her. What a rude awakening for a child who has been the only child for 4 years now. Yet, in a way I'm gleefully anticipating the show. Ann was one of the first people to know of our news. Actually after S was apprised of my suspicions, I phoned Mags to see if, and where, I could get my hands on a 'pee on a stick' test. When all suspicions had been confirmed, I had a chat with Ann about who her doctor was and where I should go. Ann was quite excited about the news and informed me that this had happened because I had been foolish enough to touch her expanding belly. That's what happens you know, pregnancy is catching if you touch a pregnant woman's belly. I asked her why she hadn't warned me as I reached for her belly and she said she thought I knew what I was doing. How could I have known? I'm not French! ..............................

It fell to poor, wonderful Mags to call and make an appointment for me for the doctor. The AIT guidebook lists English speaking doctors of every field. There were about 8 doctors listed under obstetrics and gynecology who spoke English and one of them belonged to the same clinic that Ann had recommended. The clinic, by great coincidence, also happened to be near Mags' house so that's how that decision was made. Mags called and asked for an appointment with Dr. Alec Finkeltin. When the receptionist heard how old I was she insisted that I come in right away, I was able to get an appointment that week. I found that to be just a bit disturbing, though internet research on the subject of 42 year old pregnant women is even more frightening. When J and I arrived at the huge clinic, J was in town then and let me say that I wouldn't have made it through the following weeks without her help, I was unpleasantly surprised to find that my doctor would not be Finkeltin. My case had been assigned to Dr. Jean-Baptiste Benevent who, oh by the way, speaks no English. This, however, was the least of the surprises that awaited me on that visit. In France the doctor does everything, meaning he doesn't have a nurse. I was ushered into his office, where I sat at his desk while he entered my history and all other pertinent information into his computer. This actually went better than I'd expected, since we were able to understand each other with little difficulty. The most bizarre portion of the visit was the exam and here ladies you'll understand how odd this was in comparison. He ushered me into a closet sized examining room adjacent to his office that is jam packed with all of the obstetrical gadgets you can imagine. The first oddity I noticed was no stirrups, and you know that that would stand out. He asked me to remove my clothes as he busied himself gathering and preparing things for the exam. No leaving the room, no paper gown, now paper sheet, no supervising nurse, nothing, just remove your clothes and hop up on the table while he waits. I had been warned about the French lack of modesty or prudishness, I guess, in their view, but it still was a bit of a shock. Quick exam and then I was asked to dress while he gathered things up and then back to his office. He did literally everything. After the exam he scheduled my next few appointments for me, asked me for a check for 50€ and gave me a receipt. It was fast and efficient and required no third parties. ..............................

Poor J, I'm sure that this was not how she imagined spending her European vacation (scusi, scusi). But she didn't seem to mind. She was happy just not having to work or study or be anywhere. If it hadn't been for her the garden would be completely dead and I probably wouldn't have gotten out of bed all day. Between the nausea and fatigue, I was not good company, but she amused herself with books and the internet and going for walks. She is a real trooper. I thought of how Miss Carla would feel about the intrusion of a new baby after 4 years of being an only child, but somehow don't think J will suffer in the same way after 22 years of being an only child. Not the same dynamic I wager. ..............................

Well there you have it, an update of what you missed while I was busy with J and being nauseous and tired and unmotivated and pretty much all around nuts. The sonogram on the 20th has confirmed me to be nearly 3 months along with what so far appears a healthy baby *****. (Won't say because there are some of you who still insist on being surprised)(Nut cases the lot of you!) Starting to feel better and join the land of the living. Am blogging not out of motivation really as much as fear of those of you who have sent me thinly veiled threats via e-mail. (Shame on you don't you feel bad now!) Does anyone know where the expression came from or what it means? The title of the blog I mean. Though not something that is used much anymore, but I remember it from movies and vaguely from an episode of M*A*S*H*. Well that's enough for now, I'm late for a nap.

Jean Naté

Ok, show of hands, who remembers Jean Naté body splash? I remember visiting my grandmother’s house and my aunt had Jean Naté body splash. I still remember that great feeling of cooling when you put it on. We lived in the desert and as desert rat kids we played outside all day in the 115° summer sun (110° in the shade) without so much as a second thought. Sure, lessons on heat stroke and staying hydrated were a part of our in-born survival skills (along with heading for doorways during an earthquake), but we didn’t seem to notice the heat. There is nothing I remember more fondly, however, than being sweaty and hot and going into my aunts bedroom and drenching myself in her Jean Naté. It was a quick cool off that served the dual purpose of cooling me and masking the odor of hot sweaty puppy, which seems to be the universal smell of all hot children, with the cooling and refreshing scent of citrus. Funny how something that had to be so bad for your skin, I mean it had to be basically citrus scented alcohol, could feel so good. My poor aunt, she must have had to stock 3 or 4 bottles at a time to keep me in coolness, but she never said anything. I used to love to eat her Ultra Bright toothpaste too, couldn’t get enough of the flavor, but that’s another story. Do they still make those products?

I think of this today because it’s so stinkin’ hot and an oscillating fan just doesn’t do it for coolness when it’s darned near 100° outside and over 80° inside no matter how dark I keep it. And I’m getting sick of sitting in the dark all day. So I was fondly remembering how impervious I was to heat in those desert years how refreshing that citrusy splash was. When I go home these days I stay in San Diego, I have to be threatened with bodily injury – and even then I weigh the cost – to make me go to the desert. Ah, but at least that was a dry heat.

……………………….

We were invited to Carla’s end of the year school program. You know I can’t pass up a group of 3 & 4 year olds singing and dancing. Of course the weather all week had been hot. Highs in the 90’s all week, but what the heck I’d take a bottle of cold water with me and suffer through, after all, it’s for the kids.

J came with me and so did Barbara (J’s roommate) who is visiting us for the week on the last leg of her European summer vacation. (Hmmm, should ask her how Amsterdam was. ‘scusi, scusi’)

We arrived in time to join a crowd of proud parents and grandparents all trying to fit into the only patch of shade in the courtyard were the performance was to take place. Kids were rounded up and dragged from their parents to line up in three rows. Introductions were made and then the singing began. It was a typical little kid concert were only one third of the kids actually sang while the rest either stood in terrified silence, waved at their parents, made faces or just chatted amongst themselves. There were the usual types, the show-off who sang loudly and proudly making sure to make eye contact with everyone, the crier who stood there blubbering during the ENTIRE performance, the class clown who made faces and inappropriate gestures to the embarrassment of his parents and of course the wanderer who just walked away from the group following his own investigative agenda in the crowd. There was a song about a cat, a song about the 5 senses and a song about listening, I could be wrong since they were in French and I could barely hear them, but I watched their hand movements carefully and I think I may be right.

The singing was followed by a couple of dance numbers that were so absolutely adorable you couldn’t help but be won over by even the little class monster. The second dance was something like the hokey pokey. Clap your hands, slap your thighs, grab your partners hand and spin in a circle. Clap your hands, slap your thighs, link elbows with your partner and spin in a circle. Clap your hands…….grab your partners neck and spin…. grab your partners shoulders…, grab your partners waste…, grab your partners butt…. Oh yeah, I swear it was like a junior high slow dance with kids dancing in a slow circle with their little hands down on their partners butts. The French were not nearly as amused as us three Americans were. It was hard not to just let go and have a good laugh, but I didn’t want to insult anyone, and explaining how it was funny would have just proven all over again to the French how prudish and repressed Americans are.

Anyway, at that point it began to rain big fat drops of rain even though there was only one little grey cloud in the sky. It was a sunny rain, and since it appeared to be just the one cloud, we all stayed where we were and the children kept dancing. Soon those big fat drops began to come down a bit more rapidly, and we still stayed. Well then it was a full on downpour and everyone ran for the school. All week long, nothing but hot sunshine and on the day that I’m watching 3 and 4 year old French kids grope each other it decides to rain. Life’s not fair.

…………………………

S is home this weekend and since I’ve not been up to taking J and Barbara any place fun, he’s dragging them to rubble. He’s quite the rubble expert. Yesterday they came home hot and exhausted and they had drunk all of the water they’d taken with them. They’re out again today and today is even hotter than yesterday without so much as one little fluffy cloud in the sky. I guess I better make a big jug of lemonade or something.

"Life is what happens, while you are busy making plans."

Where is Missy, where has she gone, you remember Missy, that adorable girl who used to keep us in stitches, swell writer, sharp of wit and sharper of tongue, cute little thing slight of build and a real sharp dresser… wait, that was someone else…never mind.

So I’m sure that you all are imagining days full of adventures and fun for J and I, after all what else could possibly be keeping me away from ‘The Precious’.

………………………..

J and I have been walking every day, usually twice a day. We walk around town and try to explore new paths each day.

The other day we were walking down a side street talking and minding our own business when a sight across the street suddenly quieted us and made our eyes snap back to the pavement in front of us. After walking on for a safe distance and when we could trust ourselves to speak without cracking up and being overheard, J mumbles out of the side of her mouth “Was that a man? And why was he wearing that house coat?”

“Was that a house coat?” The thing was a garish mix of red, black and white geometric shapes with a few silver shapes tossed in here in and there.

“I think it was.”

“Forget the house coat, did you see his feet?” My eyes had been drawn down the length of that garish dress to the hairy tree trunk legs that ended in bright fuzzy blue slippered feet.

The man needed a fashion tip or two, ‘cause those slippers were all wrong for that house coat.

…………………………

Last Sunday we were invited to celebrate the First Holy Communion of Mags youngest, Jean Baptiste. Mass was to be at 10:00 a.m. followed by a small lunch back at Mags apartment.

We were up at a decent hour and I lollygagged for a bit before hopping into the shower. I exited the shower to find that my mental clock was an hour off or that I had mistaken the time on the clock (those tricky hands on the no number clock faces) and that we would be too late for the actual church service.

Now some of you might argue that there is no such thing as mistakes and that my misreading of the half dozen clocks in the house (most of which are digital) was a subconscious attempt on my part to avoid having to make an actual appearance in a church…Those of you who know me will know that there was nothing subconscious about it.

We were forced therefore to forgo the Mass and go straight to Mags apartment where we arrived just in time for champagne and foie gras aperitifs. My timing is impeccable!

Mags place was stuffed to the gills with her ex-husbands family (all French) and Mags friends and family (mostly Irish, but all English speaking) The place was cut in two by the language and, um, social barriers, thank goodness for Paula, who was the only guest willing to cross the chasm for the sake of civility. The rest of us were content to be rude stay on our side and speak in English.

After initial introductions were made and plenty of champagne was poured, we settled in to lunch and conversation. After a couple of hours J says to me “I can’t keep up there are at least four languages being spoken.”

“Um, no honey, lay off the champagne, there are only two languages, French and English.”

“No, there’s French, French-English, Irish-English and American-English. Also what’s a ‘dirty knacker’ and should I be offended?”

…………………………

Last Wednesday night we attended a concert. I had managed to get my hands on three tickets for Joe Cocker about a month ago and I thought it would be a good time. J was unconvinced of the fun factor, since first of all she’d never heard of Joe Cocker and secondly that man on stage had to be at least 60 years old.

After a few songs, however, some of them began to sound familiar to her. The high points consisted of the singing of ‘Up Where We Belong’ and a horrid Jennifer Warrens stand-in that sang her parts with a bit of vibrato in her voice. Eeew! During the song the cute French whipped out there lighters to wave over their heads, the funny thing is that none of the lighters would stay lit due to the cranking air conditioning in the building (it was very warm in the arena), so one resourceful French person after the other simply flipped open their cell phones and began waving those wan lights over their heads.

The final bit of entertainment came when he sang ‘Unchain My Heart’ and the French rushed the stage a bit too late and were stuck up there trying to rock to a much slowed down version of ‘A Little Help From My Friends’.

…………………………

So no, no great travel adventures yet. We are enjoying quiet times together and I think that J is enjoying not having to get up for school or work or having to worry about homework. She misses Matt and Snickers, though not necessarily in that order…kidding Matt, just kidding.

That is all.

Don't look at me with that tone!

On Monday morning, not seconds after S left on a road trip, the hot water heater quit working. By the time J went to take a shower there wasn't even the merest suggestion of warmth in the water. Not being one to complain (or perhaps setting me up for the shock of my life...hmm) the girl said nothing to me. I luckily discovered the problem when I went to brush my teeth. A couple of phone calls and two days later the plumber finally showed up. Thank goodness cause things were getting a bit dodgy. My plumber, M. Bonnet is a man of indeterminate age, neither young nor old but rather good looking just the same. He knows me as M. Walters, the American from Castanet and speaks to me in the slow indulgent way you speak to young children or those whose brains have been scrambled. Most importantly, however, he tolerates and actually seems to understand my mangled French. He wears these square European type glasses that give him the look of a kindly and intelligent grandfather but when he smiles he looks like a teenage boy. I don't stare or drool or anything, but I fear that he may be begriming to believe that I'm purposely sabotaging the heating system just to see him. Today, after explaining the fix to this weeks problem to me, he asked me if I'd opened or closed a specific lever. I said I had not and he asked me again pretending to think that I had not understood him. When I assured him again that I never touch that particular lever he looked as if he didn't quite believe me but smiled that knowing indulgent smile at me. I hope I don't have to change plumbers. In other news...I'm posting a few pics for your enjoyment.

This is the current view from my bedroom window. The Cherries are not quite at their peek yet, but another day or two of temps like today and plenty of sunshine and they'll be great. Carla has been out picking and eating everything within her short little grasp and I've seen a neighbor or three out picking a few handfuls. This year we have a ladder so we'll be able to get to the good ones higher up in the tree. I guess we'll be retiring Mark's cherry picking tool this summer.

J arrived safe and sound and was immediately put to work constructing the furniture for her bedroom. That's her working hard behind the stack of Ikea drawers. She's a darned good little builder too. Next week she's going to start on some trellises for the garden.

A fine group touring Millennium Park in Chicago. We finally get a stranger to take the group shot and mom chooses that moment to look around. She hates having her picture taken.

And finally... This afternoon J and I decided to do a little shopping. We got in the car, and after I'd pulled the car out of the garage, I ran back into the house to get my forgotten sunglasses. I got back outside to find that J had jumped into the drivers seat. I told her to get out of the drivers seat and reminded her that my car has a manual transmission. She said she knew that but that she wanted to drive. After a brief power struggle I reluctantly went around and got into the passenger seat with much sighing and eye rolling in anticipation of the afternoon ahead of us. Well, she killed the engine twice before she managed to get the car moving. When we reached the gate at the end of the driveway she took it out of gear, put the break on and got out. That's all she wanted to do, just drive to the gate. 10 feet, wow, now that's some progress. Tomorrow she'll shoot for the actual edge of the street.

Fring- The noise made by a lightbulb that has just shone its last.

J: I'm so tired...

Me: I know honey but we're almost home, we just have to stop at the store for some essentials...milk, bread, eggs, cream, Pepsi...etc.

J: Can't we do it tomorrow?

Me: No everything is closed on Sundays.

J: Mom, tomorrow is Saturday

Me: No dear today is Saturday, tomorrow is Sunday.

J: What happened to Friday then...

What indeed...Off to bed for now.

That is all.

You live and learn. At any rate, you live.

So I made it to town. There was a small problem on the airplane when I somehow ended up being in charge of putting all the old peoples’ luggage in the over-head bin. I seemed to be surrounded by a group of octogenarians with very heavy carry-ons. Then when we landed and I stood on my seat to hand them all back their heavy bags and canes, some dude behind dropped his suitcase on my head. Not an auspicious beginning.

So far J and I have shopped a bit (ok more than a bit), eaten at CPK (twice) and vaguely stalked a UPS van (but that’s a story for another day). Of course since the third season of the Gilmore Girls just came out, there’ve been a lot of goofy Gilmore-isms tossed around too.

Now we are off to see…you know.

Later.

The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don't.

Well, I've spent half the day trying to find out if I can pack champagne in my luggage or not. The consensus was that if the cargo hold was pressurized the champagne would not explode, but if it's not, it will. So then I had to call the airline to find out this information. I really don't cherish the thought of having my new party dress soak up $80 of French champagne, but on the other hand, I really don't want to carry that much weight through three airports. So after being assured that it would be fine I went ahead and wrapped the bottles in thick foam padding and put them inside a heavy plastic bag in my suitcase. So if I lose the champagne at least I'll still have a cute dress to wear to the graduation. You have to have priorities.

The French are observing the Ascension today. Everything is closed, well except for a few select bakeries and flower shops. But everyone will 'fair le pont', make the bridge. It's very popular in most of Europe that when a holiday falls on a Thursday or Tuesday they go ahead and take the Friday or Monday off as well. I sort of like how serious these people are about their leisure time. I mean their priorities are in the right place; they work to live not live to work. On the other hand, their predilection for vacations could be the main reason they aren't the economic powerhouse that they could be. Socialists are an interesting group, but not without their problems.

Well that's all from me from this end of the world, you may next hear from me from Illinois.

That is all.

It is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes.

Well, obviously 42 is, (aside from being my current age) ‘the answer to life, the universe and everything’! And all of you should know that, if you didn’t know this, then you should drop me a line and I’ll send you a copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

…………………………

I was struck by such a pang of homesickness just now that it made me feel almost physically ill. I am babysitting the adorable Miss Carla; having just promised her (with my fingers crossed - I know, how evil can I be, lying to a child) to call her in an hour and let her get up whether she'd slept or not. I of course hope that she'll fall asleep. I’m beginning to doubt the wisdom of this promise since 45 minutes into it she's already been asking 'ça y'est' (you can guess what that means.) at 5 minute intervals followed by ‘Je n'ai pas envie de dormir’. Lately ‘je n’ai pas envie..’ begins many of her sentences. ‘I don’t feel like…’ Ah the world of a four year old.

Anyway…

Something about the quality of light, the smell of slightly humid springtime air and the slightly warm feeling of obscured sun shining on my back from the window and I am suddenly homesick for San Diego. Homesick for some fresh June gloom beach air, homesick for a quick Starbucks latte out on the patio, homesick for the sights and sounds of PB or La Jolla or downtown. Mostly I think it’s just that 'I want to go home' sadness.

In the midst of laundry and packing to go to Illinois house for the graduation, I feel like that's not far enough. I just want to go home.

If it weren't for 'her royal highness' calling to me every 5 minutes I could really give into this deep blue funk.

Ah well, I guess I’ll let herself get out of bed and we’ll begin our long afternoon, which I know will end not at all well, when around 5:20 she’ll dissolve into cranky tears and tantrums. That ought to keep my mind far from the beach.

42

42

Alright, dish. I mean it, someone better give me some news! Reviews? Impressions? And if you haven't seen it yet, what are you waiting for?

Yeah, but the silver lining is just a diversion.

In other news…

The A380 flew on Wednesday. It actually made it off the runway to lots of cheering and clapping. Airbus never expressed a doubt as to whether it would fly or not. I did notice, however, that the 2 pilots and 4 technicians that made the maiden flight were wearing parachutes when they boarded the plane.

Nothing like confidence! I mean they were in possession of nothing like confidence.

…………………………

It was a gorgeous day outside on Tuesday; in fact this whole week is fabulous. 70° (Fahrenheit obviously), sunny, the back yard is green with patches of shade from all the trees… I was spending the afternoon outside on the back porch reading and sunning. It’s so relaxing, all of that green. However, several times during my private commune with nature a young man walked through the grove. He appeared to be looking around at the back of peoples houses. I found it a bit disturbing to have the human intrusion on my little piece of paradise not to mention that I had to make sure I wasn’t being too immodest in my search for maximum sun coverage.

Of course I, being the suspicious American that I am, kept staring at him when he’d pass by and was sure he was casing houses. I mean, yeah it's a grove of trees, and it's surrounded by a few houses, but it's far from being a public park or public thoroughfare. So what was he doing there? At one point after observing him in the back yard I came into the house and as I glanced out the front window I saw him coming back down the sidewalk in the other direction. It was sort of starting to creep me out.

Finally on his umpteenth pass behind the house, I made a point of sitting up and catching his eye; really trying to convey the ‘I’ve got my eye on you buddy’ message. My glare however was mistaken for an invitation and he came over to the porch.

This is the part where I felt like a complete shmuck. He and his girlfriend lost their two pet ferrets. They’d been loose since that morning. The guy seemed pretty distraught about it. I felt like a real heel for being so suspicious. I promised him that I’d keep an eye out for the two little creatures and let him know if I spotted them.

So far no sightings, it’s really put a cramp in my sunning cause every time I hear the slightest rustling I’m sure it’s a ferret; I spring up and start looking around. It’s not that I’m scared of the little creatures; I’d just like to help the guy out, especially after harboring such evil and suspicious thoughts about him. Isn’t guilt great?

…………………………

Now that the weather has finally warmed up, I’ve been throwing all the windows in the house open to air the place out and let some of the warmth into the house. One of the things about a brick house is that it definitely keeps the house cool. Sometimes the breeze carries in the scent of the nearby wisteria that’s in full bloom. All sorts of great spring smells come wafting in; clean fresh springtime air.

Unfortunately, the great spring breeze carries something else into the house…you guessed it, BUGS. God I hate bugs! The air is full of them, horse flies so big I call them elephant flies, small tiny little flies, box elder bugs, beetles in all shapes and sizes and of course the dreaded SPIDERS. It’s not fair to feel so torn about opening the windows in spring time. It’s a cruel, cruel joke and I’m preparing a letter of complaint to the almighty; she’s got some explaining to do.

…………………………

Rachel came for lunch today. I made a quiche and she brought a salad. We ate out on the ‘veranda’. It was heavenly. Good food, good company, great weather, it just doesn’t get much better than that.

What are you up to?

Coming soon to an airport near you.

On April 7th the Airbus A380 was moved from the Airbus super secret assembly hanger to the Airbus flight test facility at Toulouse-Blagnac airport.

That was enough to cause total pandemonium; yesterday however, the A380 was taken for a walk up down the test flight runway. That's all, just up and down the runway. This event filled the makeshift parking lots that Airbus created to keep people from stopping on the highway and still had people parking on the sides of the highway and eventually on the highway itself. The maiden flight is scheduled for Monday. Sometime Monday. If the weather is favorable. This means that people will be parked on every square inch of tarmac, grass and sidewalk near and around the airport that isn't guarded by railing. People will even fill the airport lots and pay for parking just to see this event. I myself may attempt to get to the centre commercial in Blagnac to park and watch the skies. Paul, my inside source at Airbus, did not however mention when the next flight date might be if, and trust me with April weather being what it's been this is highly likely, weather does not permit on Monday. I will have to try to contact him for that info so I'm not 'stalking' the A380 daily waiting for takeoff. Well anyway, if I manage to get anywhere near the airport on Monday and if the 380 flies and if I remember to bring my camera with me (photos above are stock from the Airbus website), I'll post photos of the historic event In other non-flight related news, spring is creeping toward summer here, but except for the flowering and leafing of trees you wouldn't really know it. The weather has failed to warm up much beyond the low 60's except for a day or two here and there. It's supposed to be in the 70's by now. On the bright side, the continued cold has prolonged the life of our tulips and they have been in bloom for weeks now. Here are some views from my bedroom window.

The view in early March.

The view on Monday just after the landlord mowed the 'back 40'. By the end of May there'll be cherries.

View from my office window.

Well, that's all I have for you today. I leave you with a funny. I love Non Sequitur.

I’m sorry, I can’t hear you, my shoes are too tight.

Yesterday I got pulled over. No, I was not speeding.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned the gendarmes at the roundabouts. I’ve gone past these groups of officers at the roundabouts and wondered what they were pulling people over for. Obviously if you are entering a traffic circle you can’t be going to fast, so what? Well, I suppose they can see if you’re wearing your seatbelt or not, or maybe they pull you over if you’re on your cell phone.

Being on your cell phone while driving is strictly against the law in France and using a hands free device is left up to the cops. So you may or may not be stopped and ticketed for using one, depending on how the cop feels about things on any given day.

Anyway, yesterday while going to the grocery store I came halfway around a circle to find a cop standing in the middle of the road waving me over to the side; me and the next four cars through the circle. So here was my chance to find out. I wasn’t speeding and I was wearing my seat belt (no really, I was), it wasn’t dark so he couldn’t be pulling me over cause I had a light out or anything.

(You are legally required by law in France to carry a spare light bulb for all of your vehicle lights, so if they notice one out they will pull you over to make you change it, and woa be to you if you don’t have a spare. They sell kits designed for each model at all the auto parts stores and hypermarkets.)

The nice man came over to my window and asked to see my papers. For some reason that I don’t understand, smartass Missy momentarily took over my mouth and blurted, ‘ça veut dire quoi?’. Which means, ‘what does that mean?’ or ‘what is that supposed to mean?’. I was just trying to ask ‘which papers’ or ‘what specifically do you need to see’. I didn’t mean to be snotty, it was just the first phrase that came to mind. Isn’t the nervous brain a funny thing? Luckily he didn’t seem to notice.

He asked for my carte gris, my certificate d’assurance and my permis de conduire or rather, license, registration and proof of insurance. That’s what they were checking for, pulling people over at random to check that all of their paperwork was in order.

Picture driving through your town when on any given day at any possible intersection there is a police van parked and 6 cops are standing in the middle of the road and pointing to cars and waving them over to the curb; a legal fishing expedition. Can you picture it?

Alright then ::insert trumpet fanfare or drum roll:: the long awaited book reviews!

Alright then, I apologize in advance for poor spelling and grammar, but I just couldn't go through it all with a fine tooth comb. So without further ado and in no particular order we start with…

A Short History Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson – Fascinating stuff! I liked most of it, though I have to admit there were places where I skipped pages at a time. I loved the whole evolution thing and the forming of the planets and the hysterical historical stories of measuring the world, narcissistic and self centered genius scientists, inventors who got screwed by life, accidental discoveries. Too many names and dates and places, but if you read it like a novel it’s really fascinating and enjoyable.

A Very Long Engagement by Sebastien Japrisot, Linda Coverdale (Translator) – I read this one because it came out as a movie in France. The movie, looked great, but I wanted to read the book first since I would be forced to watch the 2+ hour movie in French. The book is wonderful. It’s a story of two young people who become engaged just before the young man is sent to war during world war one. Through a series of events he is presumed dead. The young woman refuses to believe he is dead and spends 16 years trying to track him down. The stories of the men involved in this misadventure and the savagery of war are so sad that I cried many times during the story, but each bit of every story peels away another layer and another lie. It’s a horrifically complicated story and each clue just leads to another mystery. If you can keep all the French names and places straight, you’ll love it. The movie comes out on DVD at the end of this month so I’ll see how the movie compares. After reading the book though, I’m certain the movie will be a much abridged version.

Next is a trilogy packaged as Tales of the Otori by Lian Hearn, these books are set in a magical feudal Japan constantly on the edge of war and ruled by clans. A place where marriages and kidnappings forge alliances and the average peasant just keeps getting screwed.

Book one is Across the Nightingale Floor where we meet our hero and heroin. The story starts with Takeo, our hero, as he returns from the forest to his village to find that everyone has been killed. He’s about to be next when he is rescued by a Lord with many secrets. In this book Takeo learns about his secret past and discovers his very powerful talents. He also meets the love of his life Kaede.

In book two Grass for His Pillow Takeo and Kaede are separated by their duties and promises to their separate clans. Takeo is initiated into a world that is his by birth. Though he has been made Lord of his adoptive fathers clan, the family of his birth father has laid claim to his powerful and unique talents. He is torn between honoring two different promises and in the end breaks with the ‘clan’ of his birth father after they try to have him killed. He reunites with Kaede who has undertaken the role of head of her fathers’ clan and uniting it with the clan that was willed to her by her aunt (?). She has to learn to be a strong woman in a society that places the value of women below that of livestock. In the end of this book Takeo and Kaede form a vision for a peaceful and united Japan.

In book three Brilliance of the Moon Takeo and Kaede are secretly married and together they form one of the greatest and largest alliances in Japan. If they can pull it off, their dream of a peaceful and united country will be realized. However, you can imagine that treachery lies at every turn and the lovers are separated as war ensues across the country. But each one has proven their leadership and with help from allies, the words of a prophecy for Takeo begin to come true.

All three books are absolute page turners and all of the characters are very well defined. There are issues of basic human rights and dignity, loyalty, the meaning of honor and charma. I recommend them all.

Next in line are three more books by a single author, though they are not a trilogy. Cornelia Funke has written three wonderful books for young people. The thing that they all share is that, I think, the endings are not your typical ‘all tied up in a big red bow’ happy endings. Some characters have happy endings, some not and some have no closure at the end of the story whatsoever. The stories are well written though and, as in real life, people don’t always do the right thing. I like them very much, though being a kid at heart, I was a bit dissatisfied with some of the inconclusive endings.

The first book, Inkheart, is my favorite because I love the premise of the story. Meggie’s dad Mo is a book binder by trade. He loves books and is also such a wonderful reader that when he reads out loud the story literally comes to life around you. Unfortunately, one day he unintentionally reads some very frightening characters out of a book. The trouble caused by his reading seems to have no end and the lives that are disrupted in this world and the made up one are many. I thoroughly enjoyed the story all the way until the end. The end, well, some of it didn’t make sense to me and if you’ve read it, let me know ‘cause I’d love to know your take on it. Maybe you can explain the justice of the ending to me.

The second book, Dragon Rider, is (and amozon.com agrees) for a bit younger kid, just the way it’s written. It’s magical like Inkheart but far more full of fairytale type characters. About a dragon named Firedrake who embarks on a quest to find a place called The Rim of Heaven where he and other dragons will be safe from the destruction of man. However, we don’t know if this place for sure exists even though a map exists to it. They are chased by your typical evil nemesis and seem to barely stay a step ahead of him. My least favorite of the three.

The third book, The Thief Lord, is the story of two orphaned boys who run away from their mean aunt. She wants to adopt the five year old, Bo, but not his older brother, 12 year old Prosper, who she intends to send away to boarding school. The boys run away to Venice because their mother (who we never find anything out about) has told them fabulous stories about the city. There they are taken in by a street gang of orphans and runaways. This group is supported by the Thief Lord. With a private eye on their trail the two boys and their friends plot a major robbery. A bit of magic complicates things and once again you’re left with a not to satisfactory ending. A story in which thieving and counterfeiting seem to pay and kids are far wiser and stronger than adults. Good story though.

Next I highly recommend Life Expectancy by Dean Koontz. In fact I recommend his latest few books (especially The Face and Odd Thomas), I love his mix of thriller with a bit of the supernatural, unlike his earlier books which were mostly thriller. In this book a prophecy is foretold for baby Jimmy by his dying grandfather, of 5 really bad days. His first bad day turns out to be the day of his birth and the day his grandfather dies. All of the others are tied together from those first events. The book is funny and suspenseful, I read it straight through in two days. The end had a bit too much ‘deus ex machina’ for me, but still a great read. Another reason to fear clowns.

SkinnyDip by Carl Hiaasen is the story of a woman who is thrown off of a cruise ship by her stupid scheming husband. She, of course, survives the attempt and decides to stay ‘dead’ until she can find out what in the heck motivated her dumb husband. Warning, not for kids; lots of adult humor and situations. The book however is incredibly funny and although the husband deserves everything he gets, due to his complete ineptness at killing people, near the end you almost feel sorry for him, almost. She on the other hand does a lot of soul searching about her motives in life and it has a ‘wrapped up in a big red bow’ happy ending. Sort of…Two enthusiastic toes up.

The Ground Beneath Her Feet by Salman Rushdie is the story of two ill fated rock ‘n rollers who live in a slightly different version of our current universe. They live in a world where our music is whispered into Ormus’s head by his dead twin and where Vina, the love of his life, breaths life into his songs, but keeps him at a distance. I will confess that I started this book 3 times and just had to slog through it to the end. The story is convoluted and full of Rusdie’s deep life lessons and twists of fate. It is a 500+ page tome that, though you may not enjoy, you’ll feel proud to have finished.

The City of Ember and its sequal The People of Sparks by Jeanne DuPrau are two more books for young people. The first book centers around a dying town that turns out to be an apocalyptic insurance policy that was built underground over 250 years before the story starts. The people of Ember have forgotten their past and don’t know how to save their dying city. Two young people, Lina and Doon find and decipher the instructions for the cities escape to the surface. In the second book the survivors of Ember descend upon the town of Sparks where everyone needs to learn a little tolerance and need to remember the lessons of the past that got them to where they are. A bit of fluffy light reading but good stories; I liked the first one better.

The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason – A book about a book. A book with a secret. The secret of the book turns out to be the location of many of the works of art saved from the famous ‘bonfire of the vanities’ but the book doesn’t give up its secret easily and people die for the secret. A young college student who’s father was obsessed with the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili (which is supposed to be a real book) is dragged into his dead fathers obsession by a fellow classmate. The riddling out of the secrets is very DaVinci Code and I enjoyed it. I wish a little more effort would have gone into the end, but if you can stick through the explanations of the riddles I think you’ll like it. Though it’s another almost 500 page tome, I’d read it before the Rushdie book.

The Dark Tower (The Dark Tower- Book VII) by Stephen King – The long awaited conclusion to his long tale is in some parts pure genius because he ties together some threads from some of his other stories. However, the contrivances to manage some of those threads neatly are disappointing; a far cry from the first three masterpieces in the series. However, it’s over now and I would recommend, that if you want to sleep peacefully at night, you read it, and stop at the first ending. When you get to the page where Stephen King says, ‘here is the second ending, but don’t read it’ I would follow his advice. Don’t read that second ending, it’s not worth the loss of sleep. Got you curious now don’t I, oh well, read it at your own risk. I’m disappointed that King wrote himself into the last two books, but in this book it makes a weird kind of sense. I call this book a limping finish to a race well started. Ah well.

I bought four books of absolute fluff at Borders because they were buy three get one free. Wedding Season by Darcy Cosper, Best Friends by Marth Moody, Weekend in Paris by Robyn Sisman, and Blessings: A Novel by Anna Quindlen. They were, in order of appearance, Fluff, Dark, Cute and Sad. I have them if you want to borrow them. Don’t spend the money.

The Broker by John Grisham – Typical Grisham, but feels like it was written too fast. Not enough detail, too contrived and completely unbelievable. I think the premise of the story was good; Washington power broker sprung from jail by a US intelligence agency so he can lead them to where the ‘bodies’ are buried. I wish he’d put more effort into it though. Sadly disappointing.

There are more but I’ll stop cause this is too long now and I’m tired of rehashing and trying to remember what all these books were about. It’s like having to write a book report for school. Well except that I didn’t have to include the copyright and publisher info. Currently I’m reading State of Fear by Michael Crichton, I’ve started it several times and just can’t get past the first hundred pages. A lot happens in those pages, but it’s so boring. I’ll let you know if I get through it. (Which of course I will, since I’m usually starved for reading material, but I don’t think I’m going to like it.) It’s a shame really cause I usually love his stuff.

Also reading Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell. Sarah Vowell of The Partly Cloudy Patriot.

And finally also reading Alice Hoffman’s new one The Ice Queen which is holding my attention the most so far.

Enough already! I’m off to have an ice cream and much needed nap.

That is all.