Leaving the house at 8:30 to pick S up at the airport at 9:45 this morning. He’ll have time to get home, switch the contents of his suitcase for summer wear (It’s summer in Johannesburg now), take a nap, and do a bit of work before I take him back to the airport this afternoon for his flight out.
I get outside and start the car and it sounds like one of the squirrels is dead or still sleeping or, at the very least, seriously ill. The little Peugeot starts and drives with not so much of a Corvette roar and purr as with a tuberculin cough and rattle, a sound so pathetic that you know its days are numbered. You just have to love diesel engines.
Driving to the airport under a perfectly and unbelievably clear vault of French blue sky. Instead of feeling happy at this sudden clearing of weather I’m feeling damn near murderous. S will be back one day and it would be the sunny one. Days of gloom and he gets back to this. Not fair I tell you.
This time of morning the traffic is backed up for blocks before the circles. I must navigate 4 circles on my way to the highway. When traffic is this heavy though, they are a nightmare. I look ahead of me to see what the big hold up is and notice big wide yellow signs that say ‘CONVOI EXCEPTIONNEL’ oh yeah you guessed it, WIDE LOAD. Some genius is trying to navigate a double wide mobile home through morning rush hour traffic and around these stupid, ridiculous circles. It’s ok, at least now I have plenty of time to open a window and enjoy the lovely, almost warm, weather.
Walking out of the airport with S and he looks up and says. “Wow, it’s gorgeous!” Yeah, whatever.
Got S home and fed and settled. I’m pacing now because today at 3 I get to meet a new AIT member, Andrea, who will be introducing me to my language exchange partner, Michelle. God I hate stuff like this. Meeting new people. My stomach is in complete turmoil and I’m seriously regretting having eaten lunch.
Andrea arrives at 3:00 on the dot and I like her on sight. She’s my height with short dark hair, very tan and has a look in her eye that I instantly recognize as sarcastic wit. Yes, just my type of woman. We get into her shiny blue Peugeot cc cabriolet and she says, “Well since your American I can start peppering you with my rude American questions.” The French don’t do that, they don’t ask stuff like ‘How long have you lived here’, ‘What does your husband do’ (big no no, like asking how much money you make), ‘How old are you’, ‘Do you have any children’ etc. etc. etc.
We drive through our little burg toward Michelle’s house, chatting away. The more we talk the more I like her. I tell her that my husband is a ‘corn pimp’ (as he was dubbed years ago by my brothers) and she says her husband is ‘into ants’. That’s all she says about him, but it’s obviously a lucrative job that has garnered them assignments in many places, including Cameroon, D.C., Paris and now here. She is originally from Michigan. They have been abroad for almost 20 years
Michelle lives in a neighborhood that can only be described, in my new brit vocab, as ‘a little bit dodgy’. Her little duplex apartment is about the size of my garage. She lives there with her husband, 4 sons, 3 dogs (2 of them quite large), a hamster and an aquarium full of tropical fish (no Nemo). As we walk through the front door we have to navigate the already narrow entry hall which is congested with the detritus of boyhood and an ironing area piled with clothes in all stages of pressing. The barking of two large dogs can be heard, but Michelle has locked them into the bathroom.
We enter the tiny little living room and as I sit down on a lime green futon, that had seen better days in the 80’s, a small brown bullet leaps into my lap. It’s Oscar and he looks up at me from my lap with the limpid brown adoring eyes that only small dogs seem to be able to muster. ‘Pet me please and I’ll be your friend for life’ those eyes say and of course I do. Oscar melts into my lap with a contented sigh and doesn’t move from there for the rest of my visit, except to prompt me with a nudge of his head when my hand stops moving over his long and doggy smelling mop. Ahh, pet therapy.
Michelle is Lebanese and grew up speaking French as her primary language. She and her husband currently work as life guards at the public pool down the street from me and she is in the process of getting the French equivalent of a teaching credential.
(A side note here. Almost every town, no matter how small, has a public swimming pool.)
She will teach at the elementary school level and her English has to be graduate level and (I kid you not) she has to have an oxford accent. Michelle’s biggest concern is passing the verbal portion of her examination in which they give her a paragraph on a topic and she must speak on that topic for about 20 minutes. I tell her I can help her with the conversational parts, but the oxford accent is beyond me. I offer Alabama southern (‘Lawd’ knows I do southern well) but she doesn’t understand what I mean or why Andrea is suddenly laughing hysterically. One of those you had to be there (or from there) things I guess.
We chat in English and then they chat in French and I try to follow them. When I look blank they translate bits for me
We talked about the peculiarities of driving in France. French schools don’t have drivers’ ed. programs. You have to pay big bucks at a driving school for this privilege and Andrea says it’s quite the racket. This got us off on road signs and we began to pepper Michelle with questions on their meaning. There is one particularly funny sign whose meaning is obvious but we had to ask. The sign is a bright yellow diamond shape outlined with red and containing a big red exclamation point in the middle. No translation needed.
We discussed the weather and I was informed that it will rain most of the fall. Then through the winter it’s usually sunny. Also was warned to be prepared that the wind will blow 80% of the time to varying degrees. Yippee! (Sarcasm? Me?)
Michelle and I exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet on Monday at my house for coffee around 4. Two of her sons attend the elementary school across the street and this will give us an hour before school is out. I told her that unlike in France, where you absolutely do not drop in uninvited, she could feel free to knock on my door anytime as I’m usually home. We’ll see if she can make herself do that.
Andrea drove me home and promised to be in touch more regularly as soon as the tennis season is over. Tennis season?
Got home in time to load S up into the car and drive back to Blagnac.
………
The mailman has delivered another care package from my good friends at Amazon.com. It contains some books and some things for S’s Christmas stocking. One of those things, unfortunately, will not make it to Christmas. I hold it and turn it over in my hand, set it down and walk away, even go so far as to hide it with his other presents only to go and snatch it back out. I have no will power, I rip off the plastic wrap and security stickers and pop “Pirates of the Caribbean” into the DVD while I settle into my comfy bed to snack and be with Johnny for the night. Shh, don’t tell S.
Friday, December 05, 2003
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Playing Catch-Up
Got S off to the airport on Monday morning at 5:30 it was dark, cold and raining. (Yes still raining! And yes Rich, I’m whining about the weather again!) It has rained every day since S left, not just the drizzly, sprinkles of previous weeks but pouring rain. It really is making me depressed. It reminds me a lot of when I first moved to IL from California and how depressed I was that first (and second and third and....7th) winter there. It seemed to always be overcast. This time is only different in that there's no one here to complain to. Haven’t been able to go for walks but since I have the car I’ve been out and about for errands and stuff but hard to wander in search of JD when it won’t stop raining. Finally just to get out for a little fun I went for a drive this afternoon and ended up stopping at a little cafe, not because I wanted coffee really but because it was just too cute to pass up. I sat and read a bit under a giant umbrella. I’m sure the other patrons thought I was completely nuts sitting out there in the cold and damp, while they sat inside in radiated warmth. I assumed that that was why people were looking at me, anyway, when I caught some stares being directed my way. Then after catching a few open mouthed, round eyed, ‘oh my god’ stares, I suddenly realized what they were looking at. My hair was beginning to puff up to an unbelievable size. I decided to down my coffee shot, dig out the bookmark, put my hood up and as nonchalantly as possible, head to my car and home before I frightened the other patrons any further.
Here is an odd thing. I think I’ve mentioned that my garage roof has a leak in it. Well, as much as it has rained over the last four days, the garage floor has stayed dry. Completely dry. It’s baffling and a bit frightening to tell the truth. A good heavy mist and I've got a puddle near the washer and drier. But no, completely dry. I’m worried that the water is dammed up up there and when the dam bursts the garage will be flooded. Making note to self not to go to garage for a while.
Well let's see, what have you missed…Oh, yes, the Thanksgiving holiday meal. Well despite all the whining and complaining about lack of tradiontal food itmes it turned out not to be too bad. I would rather have had traditional, but what we ended up with was pretty good.
For Thanksgiving dinner we went to L’Escarbille, a lovely place a few minutes east of us and sort of in the country. This was our second visit. I loved it the first time but S had to be convinced to return. You see the first time we were there, S became very ill.
Our first visit to L’Escarbille was one of our “lets try a new place” visits. It’s actually a very large airy place with terraces in front and back for summer dinning. This time of year though the glass doors are all closed and radiators are gurgling away. On our previous visit I had ordered a whole breast of grilled duck and S ordered some sort of fish. Really, he should have known better since we know that meat of any kind is served practically raw here. (In France even if you ask for your meat to be ‘bien cuit’ [well done] it will be nothing past medium rare. That’s as done as gets.) Well, when S got his fish it was practically raw, but S being the trooper that he is, ate it anyway. Before desert had arrived, though, he excused himself. He was gone so long I began to get worried. When he finally returned he was as white as sheet and asked me if I could forgo coffee so we could leave.
Anyway, under those circumstances, S was not to keen on returning to the scene of the crime. I however, was still harboring memories of delicious food and deserts. I managed to convince S that it was just the fish and that he should order the duck this time and he agreed to try again.
We started with an aperitif of Chivas Regal, don’t ask me why, I always say no to the aperitif, but I just went ahead. Then a wonderful green salad topped with fois gras, it was absolutely heavenly (except for the wedge of cheese that was too salty and too smoked for my taste) We had the grilled breast of duck with some seasoned potatos. The duck was tender and wonderful. It’s like having filet mignon. Have I mentioned how much I love duck? Desert was flan, for me, not as good as mine. Flavor a bit bland but texture was perfect. S had an incredible desert. France is big on ice cream and sorbets for desert for reasons I don’t comprehend. S had a desert titled ‘Manzanilla’, it was three scoops of apple sorbet with chunks of apple in it, soaked in Manzanilla which is an apple liqueur. It was very good.
With dinner we had a ‘new’ Beaujolais. The third Tuesday of November is when the new wines are introduced and available in restaurants and stores. You’ll see the signs in every restaurant. It really is a big deal. Let’s be clear though, we are talking about NEW wine. Really new wine…as in this year’s harvest. I cannot understand what the draw is really. The wine is just slightly redder than Welch’s grape juice and literally tastes green. Everywhere you dine during the next 3 or so weeks, it is pressed on you, you just HAVE to have it. Really, my advice is, don’t. I’m not sure what the draw is. Is it an indication of what the mature wine will taste like? Can a wine connoisseur get a sense of how good this vintage will be? I say let them taste it and let us enjoy the good stuff.
Am currently enjoying a wonderful snack that Z introduced me to. Barbecue potato chips dipped in lemon juice. Have gone through 3 bags of chips in 5 days in this manner. Can’t seem to stop. When teeth start to ache I will blame Z.
Alright then, how about a new feature in my posts. We’ll call it something catchy like…
What I’ve read over the last couple of weeks:
'Big Fish' by Daniel Wallace. Don’t bother. Fast and easy read but pointless.
'The Five People You Meet In Heaven' by Mitch Albom (Tuesdays With Morrie) Ok, but a bit sappy. No new insights into life after death or why regret is useless. But an interesting theory to be read with a box of Kleenex.
'Fortune’s Daughter' by Alice Hoffman. True Alice Hoffman, not as good as “Practical Magic” but not a bad story. A few heartbreaking parts, but in general I liked it. She writes real characters with real flaws.
'I Don’t Know How She Does It' by Allison Pearson. A good and humorous book for every working mom that juggles more than any man ever could! Well I guess he could but the constant bitching and look-at-me-I-fixed-a-meal grandstanding would seal his death. I love her writing though because she’s British and I’m thinking of starting to use words like ‘stodgy’, ‘winkle’, ‘chummy’ and ‘wellies’(and oh, so many others) in my everyday conversation. There’s this lovely quote about being a working mom ( she has arrived home from business and is ‘distressing’ store bought mince pies so that they look homemade for her daughters ‘school carol concert'): ‘Women used to have time to make mince pies and had to fake orgasms. Now we can manage the orgasms, but have to fake the mince pies. And they call this progress’
'The Red Tent' by Anita Diamant. Good story, very biblical only in setting and that it's written about biblical people but good story about women and what makes them all sisters. The Red Tent is of course where women were sent during that time of the month.
Started 'Cry, The Beloved Country' by Alan Paton. Tough to wade through in parts but it's a classic. I'll let you know.
I would like to add that these reviews are solely my opinion and do not represent the opinions of the management. (?) I'm tired, so cut me some slack ok.
P.S. Learning from recent experience I'd like to ask a favor, in the event that any of you ship any packages to us here in France please be sure that you label the box 'Gift' or 'No Commercial Value'. If you insure it for a value or state a value on the box and do not include those words, we will have to pay a customs duty upon receipt. The customs duty is about 30% of the stated value of the shipment, so please DON'T forget. If you use Fedex or UPS (but please don't) look for a box on the form that says 'gift' or 'no commercial value'. Just send it regular mail, it'll take about 4 weeks to arrive but it'll save you tons of money.
P.P.S. Well, as you can see the page has a new bolder look and now I can also add photos. Here is one taken by S on the day we toured the castles in the rain. It’s one of my favorites that he took of the castle at Peyrepertuse.
Here is an odd thing. I think I’ve mentioned that my garage roof has a leak in it. Well, as much as it has rained over the last four days, the garage floor has stayed dry. Completely dry. It’s baffling and a bit frightening to tell the truth. A good heavy mist and I've got a puddle near the washer and drier. But no, completely dry. I’m worried that the water is dammed up up there and when the dam bursts the garage will be flooded. Making note to self not to go to garage for a while.
Well let's see, what have you missed…Oh, yes, the Thanksgiving holiday meal. Well despite all the whining and complaining about lack of tradiontal food itmes it turned out not to be too bad. I would rather have had traditional, but what we ended up with was pretty good.
For Thanksgiving dinner we went to L’Escarbille, a lovely place a few minutes east of us and sort of in the country. This was our second visit. I loved it the first time but S had to be convinced to return. You see the first time we were there, S became very ill.
Our first visit to L’Escarbille was one of our “lets try a new place” visits. It’s actually a very large airy place with terraces in front and back for summer dinning. This time of year though the glass doors are all closed and radiators are gurgling away. On our previous visit I had ordered a whole breast of grilled duck and S ordered some sort of fish. Really, he should have known better since we know that meat of any kind is served practically raw here. (In France even if you ask for your meat to be ‘bien cuit’ [well done] it will be nothing past medium rare. That’s as done as gets.) Well, when S got his fish it was practically raw, but S being the trooper that he is, ate it anyway. Before desert had arrived, though, he excused himself. He was gone so long I began to get worried. When he finally returned he was as white as sheet and asked me if I could forgo coffee so we could leave.
Anyway, under those circumstances, S was not to keen on returning to the scene of the crime. I however, was still harboring memories of delicious food and deserts. I managed to convince S that it was just the fish and that he should order the duck this time and he agreed to try again.
We started with an aperitif of Chivas Regal, don’t ask me why, I always say no to the aperitif, but I just went ahead. Then a wonderful green salad topped with fois gras, it was absolutely heavenly (except for the wedge of cheese that was too salty and too smoked for my taste) We had the grilled breast of duck with some seasoned potatos. The duck was tender and wonderful. It’s like having filet mignon. Have I mentioned how much I love duck? Desert was flan, for me, not as good as mine. Flavor a bit bland but texture was perfect. S had an incredible desert. France is big on ice cream and sorbets for desert for reasons I don’t comprehend. S had a desert titled ‘Manzanilla’, it was three scoops of apple sorbet with chunks of apple in it, soaked in Manzanilla which is an apple liqueur. It was very good.
With dinner we had a ‘new’ Beaujolais. The third Tuesday of November is when the new wines are introduced and available in restaurants and stores. You’ll see the signs in every restaurant. It really is a big deal. Let’s be clear though, we are talking about NEW wine. Really new wine…as in this year’s harvest. I cannot understand what the draw is really. The wine is just slightly redder than Welch’s grape juice and literally tastes green. Everywhere you dine during the next 3 or so weeks, it is pressed on you, you just HAVE to have it. Really, my advice is, don’t. I’m not sure what the draw is. Is it an indication of what the mature wine will taste like? Can a wine connoisseur get a sense of how good this vintage will be? I say let them taste it and let us enjoy the good stuff.
Am currently enjoying a wonderful snack that Z introduced me to. Barbecue potato chips dipped in lemon juice. Have gone through 3 bags of chips in 5 days in this manner. Can’t seem to stop. When teeth start to ache I will blame Z.
Alright then, how about a new feature in my posts. We’ll call it something catchy like…
What I’ve read over the last couple of weeks:
'Big Fish' by Daniel Wallace. Don’t bother. Fast and easy read but pointless.
'The Five People You Meet In Heaven' by Mitch Albom (Tuesdays With Morrie) Ok, but a bit sappy. No new insights into life after death or why regret is useless. But an interesting theory to be read with a box of Kleenex.
'Fortune’s Daughter' by Alice Hoffman. True Alice Hoffman, not as good as “Practical Magic” but not a bad story. A few heartbreaking parts, but in general I liked it. She writes real characters with real flaws.
'I Don’t Know How She Does It' by Allison Pearson. A good and humorous book for every working mom that juggles more than any man ever could! Well I guess he could but the constant bitching and look-at-me-I-fixed-a-meal grandstanding would seal his death. I love her writing though because she’s British and I’m thinking of starting to use words like ‘stodgy’, ‘winkle’, ‘chummy’ and ‘wellies’(and oh, so many others) in my everyday conversation. There’s this lovely quote about being a working mom ( she has arrived home from business and is ‘distressing’ store bought mince pies so that they look homemade for her daughters ‘school carol concert'): ‘Women used to have time to make mince pies and had to fake orgasms. Now we can manage the orgasms, but have to fake the mince pies. And they call this progress’
'The Red Tent' by Anita Diamant. Good story, very biblical only in setting and that it's written about biblical people but good story about women and what makes them all sisters. The Red Tent is of course where women were sent during that time of the month.
Started 'Cry, The Beloved Country' by Alan Paton. Tough to wade through in parts but it's a classic. I'll let you know.
I would like to add that these reviews are solely my opinion and do not represent the opinions of the management. (?) I'm tired, so cut me some slack ok.
P.S. Learning from recent experience I'd like to ask a favor, in the event that any of you ship any packages to us here in France please be sure that you label the box 'Gift' or 'No Commercial Value'. If you insure it for a value or state a value on the box and do not include those words, we will have to pay a customs duty upon receipt. The customs duty is about 30% of the stated value of the shipment, so please DON'T forget. If you use Fedex or UPS (but please don't) look for a box on the form that says 'gift' or 'no commercial value'. Just send it regular mail, it'll take about 4 weeks to arrive but it'll save you tons of money.
P.P.S. Well, as you can see the page has a new bolder look and now I can also add photos. Here is one taken by S on the day we toured the castles in the rain. It’s one of my favorites that he took of the castle at Peyrepertuse.
The Nice Folks At Blogger!
Well have managed to wheedle a freeby from my friend Kimmy at Blogger for a little while until they make me start paying. I am now able to upload photos to my Blog. So here is the first one. Enjoy! This is a house near the 'Pt. Neuf' it faces the Garonne. I promise an update to my Blog soon.
Thursday, November 27, 2003
Happy Thanksgiving All!
Rainy and windy here today. Hang on, isn't that the same forecast I've been reporting for weeks now...::checks previous Blogs::...wait, it is! Isn't that FASCINATING
Ok, bitter moment over. How are all of you?!
Here, well let's see. No turkey, but did find some boneless skinless turkey breasts, but somehow not quite the same. Cannot find a sweet potato to save my soul (Not even canned). They have words for Yam and Sweet Potato, just not the actual tubers. This is really depressing since they are my favorite Thanksgiving fair. (To be served alongside a heaping serving of potato salad just as my Aunt Becky taught me.) Not a cranberry product in sight, no juice or sauce or berries but I know they have them because at a restaurant the other day my dessert was garnished with a cranberry. Thought I had brought a can of cranberry sauce with me, but it's MIA. And stuffing well, forget about it. I never made my own anyway and there's no boxed stuff here. Asked for a recipe from LaVerne but never heard back.
Not that it really matters anyway as it is obviously not a holiday here. S is off to work at his regular hour and I'm here, talking to you all. We will do a nice dinner out tonight though, or tomorrow depending on how late S is getting back from the coast tonight.
S is getting ready to leave me alone for two weeks. He leaves Monday 12/1 for Lyon and returns for a few hours on Friday 12/5 only to leave for South Africa that evening and not return until 12/15. Good news is I'll have the car, so who's coming out to keep me company? Have I mentioned that Johnny Depp lives in the south of France? Any takers? Fine be that way.
(For those who have expressed concern, please know that the U.S. and M'Co. have issued travel restrictions to Turkey so S will not be returning to Istanbul any time in the near future.)
Because of S's frequent travel I'm seriously considering getting a dog, a nice big dog. The French love their dogs as I've mentioned before, so it could go to restaurants and shopping with me. It could leave its own little sidewalk deposits all over town! How fun would that be! I'd get a cat but let's face it, they're only company when they want to be. And in the middle of the night when you are in need of a good menacing, rumbling growl and some sharp, saliva-dripping, long white fangs, cats are hiding under the bed hoping you'll do the honors.
I've mentioned this to S and we are currently in negotiations. In the past when I've wanted a dog, the question is always, "Who has time, and dogs need lots of attention, space and time". Well, I suddenly have lots of time and we have plenty of space and I can pay attention, I really can. The AIT Guidbook's section on pets says that they are not too difficult to bring over or take back. Of course the cost of transporting your pet is not mentioned and there is no way I would leave a pet behind after two years. So it's a dilemma. And then of course who'll watch it when we go places. And when I spend a month away this summer who will feed it and walk it during the day when S is at work. Etc..etc.. Ok, thanks, just needed to talk my way through that and now I'm done. (Until next time the puppy urge strikes me) If I mention wanting a dog again someone please direct me back to this entry. Thanks.
P.S. Someone please tell Shannon B. that I lied, there are Pepsi products in France, she can come on over any time. You have to look for them in the store because for some bizarre reason that I'll never understand they are not as popular as Coke products, but they are there. Diet Pepsi is called Pepsi Max. Thanks.
That is all.
Ok, bitter moment over. How are all of you?!
Here, well let's see. No turkey, but did find some boneless skinless turkey breasts, but somehow not quite the same. Cannot find a sweet potato to save my soul (Not even canned). They have words for Yam and Sweet Potato, just not the actual tubers. This is really depressing since they are my favorite Thanksgiving fair. (To be served alongside a heaping serving of potato salad just as my Aunt Becky taught me.) Not a cranberry product in sight, no juice or sauce or berries but I know they have them because at a restaurant the other day my dessert was garnished with a cranberry. Thought I had brought a can of cranberry sauce with me, but it's MIA. And stuffing well, forget about it. I never made my own anyway and there's no boxed stuff here. Asked for a recipe from LaVerne but never heard back.
Not that it really matters anyway as it is obviously not a holiday here. S is off to work at his regular hour and I'm here, talking to you all. We will do a nice dinner out tonight though, or tomorrow depending on how late S is getting back from the coast tonight.
S is getting ready to leave me alone for two weeks. He leaves Monday 12/1 for Lyon and returns for a few hours on Friday 12/5 only to leave for South Africa that evening and not return until 12/15. Good news is I'll have the car, so who's coming out to keep me company? Have I mentioned that Johnny Depp lives in the south of France? Any takers? Fine be that way.
(For those who have expressed concern, please know that the U.S. and M'Co. have issued travel restrictions to Turkey so S will not be returning to Istanbul any time in the near future.)
Because of S's frequent travel I'm seriously considering getting a dog, a nice big dog. The French love their dogs as I've mentioned before, so it could go to restaurants and shopping with me. It could leave its own little sidewalk deposits all over town! How fun would that be! I'd get a cat but let's face it, they're only company when they want to be. And in the middle of the night when you are in need of a good menacing, rumbling growl and some sharp, saliva-dripping, long white fangs, cats are hiding under the bed hoping you'll do the honors.
I've mentioned this to S and we are currently in negotiations. In the past when I've wanted a dog, the question is always, "Who has time, and dogs need lots of attention, space and time". Well, I suddenly have lots of time and we have plenty of space and I can pay attention, I really can. The AIT Guidbook's section on pets says that they are not too difficult to bring over or take back. Of course the cost of transporting your pet is not mentioned and there is no way I would leave a pet behind after two years. So it's a dilemma. And then of course who'll watch it when we go places. And when I spend a month away this summer who will feed it and walk it during the day when S is at work. Etc..etc.. Ok, thanks, just needed to talk my way through that and now I'm done. (Until next time the puppy urge strikes me) If I mention wanting a dog again someone please direct me back to this entry. Thanks.
P.S. Someone please tell Shannon B. that I lied, there are Pepsi products in France, she can come on over any time. You have to look for them in the store because for some bizarre reason that I'll never understand they are not as popular as Coke products, but they are there. Diet Pepsi is called Pepsi Max. Thanks.
That is all.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Musings
On Thursday morning I was up pre-dawn to drive S to the airport for a commuter flight to Lyon. Lots of people (Mostly men getting dropped of for commuter flights that early, though most going to Paris) This meant I had the car for a whole day and was miffed that nothing was open at 5:30 am and I had to waste 3 ½ hours of car time waiting for stuff to open. The trip to the airport takes only about 15 to 20 minutes at that un-godly hour of the morning.
Idiom
« J’ai le patate ce matin » A French idiom that means roughly “I ate my Wheaties this morning” or “I’m having a good morning” or “I feel good today”. Those sentiments basically. However, it literally translates to “I have the potato this morning”. So seize your potato and seize the day!
Ice
When you get water or soda at a restaurant, it’s cold but there is no ice in it. If you drive through McDonalds because you just HAVE TO HAVE a fountain pop, you’ll get a total of three ice cubes. I think that maybe gold is somehow used or involved in the ice making process here.
Tortoise Trouble
Merging speedily on the highway on Thursday, on my way to explore the mall, and just happened to glance over to the median and saw a tortoise there. My questions are these: How the heck did he get there? With all this traffic whizzing by, how the heck did he get to the middle? Is he alive? How long has he been there? Or perhaps he was born there and has never left. Does he wait until nightfall to make his crossings when there’s less traffic? Can a tortoise survive being run over by a car? How fast does a tortoise have to cross three lanes of traffic all traveling at at least 130km/hr to not be killed?
Personal Space
The French seem to have no concept of personal space; ok, they have a much different concept of personal space than we do. (Not as bad as the Japanese who seem to actually hire people to push and cram them and then hold them into the bullet trains so the doors will close.) It’s bad enough that some of them are hygiene deficient but then they stand behind you in line at the IKEA, or grocery store or yes especially the post office and they stand RIGHT behind you. They are literally breathing down your neck. I was in line at IKEA on Thursday when I suddenly felt someone’s very close presence behind me. I turned around to investigate and practically kissed the woman behind me. She smiled at me in a puzzled fashion but seemed not to sense anything WRONG with the situation. I scooted forward and she scooted forward. I inched forward and she inched forward. I couldn’t get away from her. Finally, I feigned adjustment of my backpack purse and walloped her as I casually tossed it back onto my shoulder. She stepped back an inch but I could still hear her breathing.
Passing Protocol
In France it is illegal to pass from the right lane. On the highway you turn on your left turn signal, move carefully into the left lane, pass the car on your right, turn on your right turn signal and pull back into the right lane.
If, however, you plan to pass more than one car, say a line of 3 or 4 slow moving cars or trucks. You must leave your left turn signal going the entire time that you are in that lane so others will know that you do not intend to pull back to the right any time soon. This all seems very orderly and straight forward, and it, for the most part, is.
My dilemma is this. The major highway that girdles Toulouse is three lanes. So you would assume that the lanes would be ‘fast’, ‘too fast’ and ‘insanely fast’, moving from right to left. But does that mean that technically we are all to ride all the way to the right. Is it ok to be a ‘left lane bandit’ in the center lane? Do the turn signal rules still apply? Do the turn signals have a second speed for passing in the ‘insanely fast’ lane and then you turn them down to regular speed for staying in the ‘too fast’ lane?
Lane Ownership
The highways have little dotted white lines to delineate separate lanes. As all highways do. However here they seem to be not so much a rule as a suggestion. If you are undecided as to which lane you want or need to occupy it seems to be ok to drive in one with one tire hanging over into the neighboring lane just in case.
Old Bags
I think I’ve mentioned this before. When you shop at the big grocery stores they do not provide you with grocery bags. You must bring your own bags, (or load all your groceries back into your cart and then put them in your car that way) and not only that, but you must bag your own groceries. This is true of all markets. You bag your own groceries. Oddly enough this is not such a bad thing if the store is very busy. When it is bad is when the store is not busy and you have a large order. By the time you have finished unloading your cart the cashier has almost finished ringing you through, and then you have to run over and pay for groceries while trying to bag everything at the same time and pray that the cashier doesn’t feel the need to make idle chit-chat.
Guardrails
Some of the streets through many of these towns are basically old cart tracks that were paved. Meaning that the road used to be largely traveled by foot or cart traffic and then was later paved to accommodate modern vehicles. This being the case, the road is quite narrow. Meaning that there is barely enough room for one car and sidewalk (pedestrian) traffic. This means of course that as you travel through town there are many one way streets. Many of these streets have ornate guardrails at the edges of the sidewalk; I assumed they were there to keep pedestrians safe from the speeding lunatics. In reality, however, those guardrails are up to prevent people from parking on the sidewalk. All over town, if the road is not wide enough to accommodate traffic and parking and there are no guardrails, people park on the sidewalks. No violation, it is OK to park on the sidewalk. If they don’t want you parking on the sidewalk they put up those lovely guardrails. No guardrail? Help yourself.
Daily Bread
You see it in French movies or documentaries about France. It’s a common site. A person walking down the street with a long baguette in their hands. Nothing protecting the bread just a small square of tissue wrapped around the middle so you can hold on to it. And they have to have fresh bread every day. The only things open on Sundays are the bakeries so that people can get their daily bread. But why daily bread purchases? Because if you don’t finish the baguette on the day of purchase it is unfit for human consumption the next day. There is nothing like a fresh warm baguette, but eat it while it’s fresh, because the next day all it is fit for is batting practice. Perhaps a deal could be made with major league baseball for practice bats.
Dernier Sortie Avant Péage
This road sign means, ‘last exit before the toll road’. This means that when you see this sign you should seriously think about whether or not you have any change in your purse and if you don’t, take that exit!
Boar update
S of course did not completely believe me about the boars in the yard. I have to admit that I had some trouble believing it myself the next morning, so I did a little research. It turns out that wild boars are actually wide spread throughout Europe and that they are actually hunted and eaten. There has been, over the past five or six years, a problem with ‘fast-breeding’ boars. Though the major problem is mostly in the east it seems to be spreading. Animal Planet had a bit to say about it and they include a photo of baby boars. The end of the article has some basic facts about the mammals and what they eat. So there you are I’m not crazy. (Though some of you may not accept this as conclusive proof.)
Where there’s smoke there’s fire?
Everyone in France smokes. I have considered taking it up myself just to fit in. But our topic today is this: The French grow little, if any, tobacco. This means that their cigarettes are mostly imported. Mostly imported from the US! Why do they not see this as a plot by Americans to kill off the French? Or have I watched Conspiracy Theory too many times.
Commuters the World Over
I made the 1 hour and 15 minute commute to pick S up at the airport on Thursday night. There were about 10 of us waiting on our side of the glass wall that keeps us from going to the arrival gates. The airport is mostly silent and few people are milling about. The arrivals monitor tells me that S’s flight is on time and will arrive at 7:35 from Lyon. It also shows that there will be 2 flights arriving from Paris, one shortly before and one shortly after S’s flight.
From where I’m standing I can see two sets of escalators. One set of escalators (The up and down flanking a set of stairs for those health nuts) veers off slightly to the left and the other set veers of sharply to the right. S should arrive through the one on the left labeled ‘Port 2’.
At precisely 7:35 people begin to come down from ‘Port 1’, at first I don’t notice anything peculiar since I know it’s not S’s flight and am thus not paying much attention. However as the commuters begin to come through the doors in the glass partition some oddities emerge. 90% of the commuters are men, almost all in dark suites and coats, carrying briefcases in one hand and cell phones pressed to their ears with the other. There are two people who are obviously leisure travelers. You can tell because they are wearing colorful clothing and mostly because when they emerge from the doors they walk toward the baggage claim carrousel. All the others head straight for the exits. About this time people begin emerging from the left side. Same phenomena, in fact it could be a tape loop of the right hand exodus. I look for S and spot him (coming down the stairs of course) just as a fresh wave of passengers start to emerge from Port 1. It’s all very subdued, some still talking shop with fellow passengers; all heading for the exits in an orderly fashion. It reminded me of that scene near the end of The Thomas Crown Affair where all the hundreds of men in bowler hats are all over the museum and you see them in the stairwells and hallways. Like a bunch of movie set extras. Each one looking pretty much the same as the last. Thank goodness that S is so tall.
Idiom
« J’ai le patate ce matin » A French idiom that means roughly “I ate my Wheaties this morning” or “I’m having a good morning” or “I feel good today”. Those sentiments basically. However, it literally translates to “I have the potato this morning”. So seize your potato and seize the day!
Ice
When you get water or soda at a restaurant, it’s cold but there is no ice in it. If you drive through McDonalds because you just HAVE TO HAVE a fountain pop, you’ll get a total of three ice cubes. I think that maybe gold is somehow used or involved in the ice making process here.
Tortoise Trouble
Merging speedily on the highway on Thursday, on my way to explore the mall, and just happened to glance over to the median and saw a tortoise there. My questions are these: How the heck did he get there? With all this traffic whizzing by, how the heck did he get to the middle? Is he alive? How long has he been there? Or perhaps he was born there and has never left. Does he wait until nightfall to make his crossings when there’s less traffic? Can a tortoise survive being run over by a car? How fast does a tortoise have to cross three lanes of traffic all traveling at at least 130km/hr to not be killed?
Personal Space
The French seem to have no concept of personal space; ok, they have a much different concept of personal space than we do. (Not as bad as the Japanese who seem to actually hire people to push and cram them and then hold them into the bullet trains so the doors will close.) It’s bad enough that some of them are hygiene deficient but then they stand behind you in line at the IKEA, or grocery store or yes especially the post office and they stand RIGHT behind you. They are literally breathing down your neck. I was in line at IKEA on Thursday when I suddenly felt someone’s very close presence behind me. I turned around to investigate and practically kissed the woman behind me. She smiled at me in a puzzled fashion but seemed not to sense anything WRONG with the situation. I scooted forward and she scooted forward. I inched forward and she inched forward. I couldn’t get away from her. Finally, I feigned adjustment of my backpack purse and walloped her as I casually tossed it back onto my shoulder. She stepped back an inch but I could still hear her breathing.
Passing Protocol
In France it is illegal to pass from the right lane. On the highway you turn on your left turn signal, move carefully into the left lane, pass the car on your right, turn on your right turn signal and pull back into the right lane.
If, however, you plan to pass more than one car, say a line of 3 or 4 slow moving cars or trucks. You must leave your left turn signal going the entire time that you are in that lane so others will know that you do not intend to pull back to the right any time soon. This all seems very orderly and straight forward, and it, for the most part, is.
My dilemma is this. The major highway that girdles Toulouse is three lanes. So you would assume that the lanes would be ‘fast’, ‘too fast’ and ‘insanely fast’, moving from right to left. But does that mean that technically we are all to ride all the way to the right. Is it ok to be a ‘left lane bandit’ in the center lane? Do the turn signal rules still apply? Do the turn signals have a second speed for passing in the ‘insanely fast’ lane and then you turn them down to regular speed for staying in the ‘too fast’ lane?
Lane Ownership
The highways have little dotted white lines to delineate separate lanes. As all highways do. However here they seem to be not so much a rule as a suggestion. If you are undecided as to which lane you want or need to occupy it seems to be ok to drive in one with one tire hanging over into the neighboring lane just in case.
Old Bags
I think I’ve mentioned this before. When you shop at the big grocery stores they do not provide you with grocery bags. You must bring your own bags, (or load all your groceries back into your cart and then put them in your car that way) and not only that, but you must bag your own groceries. This is true of all markets. You bag your own groceries. Oddly enough this is not such a bad thing if the store is very busy. When it is bad is when the store is not busy and you have a large order. By the time you have finished unloading your cart the cashier has almost finished ringing you through, and then you have to run over and pay for groceries while trying to bag everything at the same time and pray that the cashier doesn’t feel the need to make idle chit-chat.
Guardrails
Some of the streets through many of these towns are basically old cart tracks that were paved. Meaning that the road used to be largely traveled by foot or cart traffic and then was later paved to accommodate modern vehicles. This being the case, the road is quite narrow. Meaning that there is barely enough room for one car and sidewalk (pedestrian) traffic. This means of course that as you travel through town there are many one way streets. Many of these streets have ornate guardrails at the edges of the sidewalk; I assumed they were there to keep pedestrians safe from the speeding lunatics. In reality, however, those guardrails are up to prevent people from parking on the sidewalk. All over town, if the road is not wide enough to accommodate traffic and parking and there are no guardrails, people park on the sidewalks. No violation, it is OK to park on the sidewalk. If they don’t want you parking on the sidewalk they put up those lovely guardrails. No guardrail? Help yourself.
Daily Bread
You see it in French movies or documentaries about France. It’s a common site. A person walking down the street with a long baguette in their hands. Nothing protecting the bread just a small square of tissue wrapped around the middle so you can hold on to it. And they have to have fresh bread every day. The only things open on Sundays are the bakeries so that people can get their daily bread. But why daily bread purchases? Because if you don’t finish the baguette on the day of purchase it is unfit for human consumption the next day. There is nothing like a fresh warm baguette, but eat it while it’s fresh, because the next day all it is fit for is batting practice. Perhaps a deal could be made with major league baseball for practice bats.
Dernier Sortie Avant Péage
This road sign means, ‘last exit before the toll road’. This means that when you see this sign you should seriously think about whether or not you have any change in your purse and if you don’t, take that exit!
Boar update
S of course did not completely believe me about the boars in the yard. I have to admit that I had some trouble believing it myself the next morning, so I did a little research. It turns out that wild boars are actually wide spread throughout Europe and that they are actually hunted and eaten. There has been, over the past five or six years, a problem with ‘fast-breeding’ boars. Though the major problem is mostly in the east it seems to be spreading. Animal Planet had a bit to say about it and they include a photo of baby boars. The end of the article has some basic facts about the mammals and what they eat. So there you are I’m not crazy. (Though some of you may not accept this as conclusive proof.)
Where there’s smoke there’s fire?
Everyone in France smokes. I have considered taking it up myself just to fit in. But our topic today is this: The French grow little, if any, tobacco. This means that their cigarettes are mostly imported. Mostly imported from the US! Why do they not see this as a plot by Americans to kill off the French? Or have I watched Conspiracy Theory too many times.
Commuters the World Over
I made the 1 hour and 15 minute commute to pick S up at the airport on Thursday night. There were about 10 of us waiting on our side of the glass wall that keeps us from going to the arrival gates. The airport is mostly silent and few people are milling about. The arrivals monitor tells me that S’s flight is on time and will arrive at 7:35 from Lyon. It also shows that there will be 2 flights arriving from Paris, one shortly before and one shortly after S’s flight.
From where I’m standing I can see two sets of escalators. One set of escalators (The up and down flanking a set of stairs for those health nuts) veers off slightly to the left and the other set veers of sharply to the right. S should arrive through the one on the left labeled ‘Port 2’.
At precisely 7:35 people begin to come down from ‘Port 1’, at first I don’t notice anything peculiar since I know it’s not S’s flight and am thus not paying much attention. However as the commuters begin to come through the doors in the glass partition some oddities emerge. 90% of the commuters are men, almost all in dark suites and coats, carrying briefcases in one hand and cell phones pressed to their ears with the other. There are two people who are obviously leisure travelers. You can tell because they are wearing colorful clothing and mostly because when they emerge from the doors they walk toward the baggage claim carrousel. All the others head straight for the exits. About this time people begin emerging from the left side. Same phenomena, in fact it could be a tape loop of the right hand exodus. I look for S and spot him (coming down the stairs of course) just as a fresh wave of passengers start to emerge from Port 1. It’s all very subdued, some still talking shop with fellow passengers; all heading for the exits in an orderly fashion. It reminded me of that scene near the end of The Thomas Crown Affair where all the hundreds of men in bowler hats are all over the museum and you see them in the stairwells and hallways. Like a bunch of movie set extras. Each one looking pretty much the same as the last. Thank goodness that S is so tall.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
Smart Car Indeed!
Would anyone really want to be driving a car Designed by Swatch and Engineered by Daimler Chrysler. You see these Smart Cars are everywhere you look here. This car is basically a two seater, not a family vehicle. They look fun, but basically you’re driving a glorified motorbike!
Yeah, boy that’s what I’m buying with the car money I’ve squirreled away! I wonder if they come with an airbag. Could an airbag possibly make any difference in a collision?
Yeah, boy that’s what I’m buying with the car money I’ve squirreled away! I wonder if they come with an airbag. Could an airbag possibly make any difference in a collision?
Monday, November 17, 2003
The Lord of the Flies
I was up last night, well really this morning as it was 00:35hr on Monday morning, to use the WC. As I was heading out of the WC I noticed light coming through the office window and remembered that I had closed the shutters when we’d come home from town, but I had apparently forgotten to latch them when I got in the house. I went over to the window and opened it. As I started to lean out to reach for the shutter I saw two rather large animals in the yard. They appeared to be identical in size and shape and my first thought was “great somebody’s dogs are out and they’re going to knock over my garbage can”. Then I noticed their girth and thought, “Either those are some really fat and low to the ground dogs or they’re…sheep”. Sheep, how cute, someone’s sheep have escaped and they’re grazing in my front yard. I lean out and reach for the shutter when the ‘sheep’ close ranks, butt to butt facing me and heads lowered. Then one of them begins this low porcine growl and I realize that they are BOARS.
Not bores, like your freshman English teacher. Not boors like the people you spend all your time avoiding at the company picnic. Boars as in brown bristly creatures, as in boar bristle brushes, as in Pumba in ‘The Lion King’ (Only not animated).
I sprint through the office across the hall and into the bedroom where I stage whisper ‘Are you asleep’ to S. Of course the man is asleep he’s buried as deep as he can get under the covers and he has a pillow over his head (as if anticipating my intrusion). He sits up slowly and mumbles something incoherent.
“Come here, you HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS”. He has to see it because if he doesn’t he won’t believe me in the morning.
He stumbles out of bed “Do I need my glasses?”
I want you to SEE …”Yes!”
I sprint back toward the window and turn to see that S has wandered sleepily into the WC.
“Not in there, come here to the window" I hiss.
He makes it to the window in time to see the two creatures trotting down our driveway and into the street.
“Bears” he mumbles groggily.
“Boars” I correct his already retreating sleepy back. I wonder if he ever even woke up. He won’t remember this in the morning.
I pull the shutter closed and latch it and then close the window. Thinking to myself “I’ve never seen anything like that”. It reminds me of “The Lord of the Flies”. Well except that we’re not young boys and we’re not trapped on a deserted island and, well, we haven’t pegged someone's head into the ground atop a spear (yet). Ok, not like “The Lord of the Flies” at all but for some reason it was the first thing that popped to mind. There were boars in that book weren’t there?
Where did they come from? Wild or Domestic? And what were they doing out there? Looking for truffles?
Not bores, like your freshman English teacher. Not boors like the people you spend all your time avoiding at the company picnic. Boars as in brown bristly creatures, as in boar bristle brushes, as in Pumba in ‘The Lion King’ (Only not animated).
I sprint through the office across the hall and into the bedroom where I stage whisper ‘Are you asleep’ to S. Of course the man is asleep he’s buried as deep as he can get under the covers and he has a pillow over his head (as if anticipating my intrusion). He sits up slowly and mumbles something incoherent.
“Come here, you HAVE GOT TO SEE THIS”. He has to see it because if he doesn’t he won’t believe me in the morning.
He stumbles out of bed “Do I need my glasses?”
I want you to SEE …”Yes!”
I sprint back toward the window and turn to see that S has wandered sleepily into the WC.
“Not in there, come here to the window" I hiss.
He makes it to the window in time to see the two creatures trotting down our driveway and into the street.
“Bears” he mumbles groggily.
“Boars” I correct his already retreating sleepy back. I wonder if he ever even woke up. He won’t remember this in the morning.
I pull the shutter closed and latch it and then close the window. Thinking to myself “I’ve never seen anything like that”. It reminds me of “The Lord of the Flies”. Well except that we’re not young boys and we’re not trapped on a deserted island and, well, we haven’t pegged someone's head into the ground atop a spear (yet). Ok, not like “The Lord of the Flies” at all but for some reason it was the first thing that popped to mind. There were boars in that book weren’t there?
Where did they come from? Wild or Domestic? And what were they doing out there? Looking for truffles?
Friday, November 14, 2003
Monkey Pants
Hey, my left eye is still twitching, it’s been twitching for over a week now, and I don’t know how to make it stop. Any ideas? Anyone? Anyone?
(Oz : The monkey's the only cookie animal that gets to wear clothes, you know that? So, I'm wondering, do the other cookie animals feel sorta ripped? Like, is the hippo going, "Hey, man, where are *my* pants? I have my hippo dignity!" and you know the monkey's just, (with a French accent) "I mock you with my monkey pants!" and there's a big coup in the zoo.
Willow: The monkey is French?
Oz: All monkeys are French. You didn't know that?)
(Hmm.. . I didn’t know that either.)
I bought some lisianthis today, purple of course. I put them in a vase near the window. (yes, lisianthis are flowers [Though Microsoft Word fails to find them in its dictionary]) What I failed to notice is that ‘near the window’ is also ‘near the radiator’. My lisianthis are looking a bit wilted in the baking heat of the radiator. I hope placing them in the freezer will help them recover. (Kidding)
Even on the lowest setting the radiators, um…radiate, yes radiate, baking heat. The radiators are so efficient that we turn them off at night or it gets too warm to sleep. Weird huh? I need them during the day while I sit here looking out my office window, but at night under that nice warm comforter it gets a bit TOO warm. I’m weird, I know this. Of course ::laughing wickedly:: it’s only getting down to 47 at night so it’s still rather warm, don’t you think? ::cackling wildly::
Ok, enough of that free association crap. No, I am not drunk! Honestly, a girl tries something fresh and new and everyone accuses her of being inebriated.
All right, the visit to Illinois was wonderful. I miss J already and I need my baby back. I was glad to visit with all of my wonderful and supportive friends and am facing a true depression wondering how the heck I’ll get through the next 8 to 10 months without my baby and my friends.
I finally picked up my Visa on Friday the 7th. (we were supposed to leave on Thursday, you’ll recall) I faced my elevator ride to the 37th floor with dignified and quiet stoicism. (Yes and a Xanax alright!) You all would have been so proud, S was proud. (Zeno would have been proud!) We were in and out of there in less than ten minutes. I’ll tell you the ride down would be a real ego boost if a bathroom scale were available in the little coffin. It moves down so quickly that I think I was ten pounds lighter for about 20 seconds there. If the building had been taller I think I might have achieved 0 gravity.
In their great benevolence and generosity (yeah right…dorks), M’Co., allowed us to fly business class on the return trip. It’s supposed to be like the big unveiling of ‘the new life’, since we are now OFFICIALLY in France. Whatever! Big Dorks! Make my life pure hell for a few months and one trip to France in Business class is supposed to do it for me! I’ll tell you what would make me happy, it would be to see those….umm, but I digress.
Yes, right, business class.
This meant that we got to ‘hang’ in the Air France “Lounge” for an hour and a half before our flight, where two nice women served us cookies and cheese and any beverage we wanted, while we sat in comfy chairs and surfed the web and chatted amiably with fellow fliers and got manicures and waited for our flight to the sounds of a string quartet and…. Ok, we sat, we had beers and we stole electricity to charge our computer batteries while we waited. When it was time to board the plane we were lead through a special door right to the walkway and boarded well ahead of (Mind you I say this because I’ve been in this category and will be in this category on every other flight except for our “Last Flight” back and it’s really how you feel in those cramped seats) the rest of ‘the cattle’. We were served champagne while we waited for the rest to find seats and stow carry-ons etc. (Count 1 beer, 1 glass of champagne) I of course immediately set to playing with everything my chubby little hands could reach. (Ok, my hands aren’t chubby but it makes a nice visual doesn’t it?) My own two tiny pillows, my own cute little blanket, the buttons on my chair that made it recline and one that made the foot rest come up and down. I got a little bathroom kit bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste, eye cover thingy, shoe horn (why?), comb, moist towlettes, sewing kit, razor and shave gel, two Tylenol, spare underpants, q-tips, loose change and a bathroom sink! Really! Ok, from the underpants on I made up, but the rest is true, I swear, I still have it all (except the Tylenol). In the arm rest on one side was my tray table and on the other side the armrest was hiding my own little personal TV screen. I could stretch my legs out and not touch the seat in front of me. Yeah, ok, I’m THAT short. Not really all that short though. S was in heaven with the leg room. While we waited other business passengers stowed gear and milled around drinking.
There was a funny little Indian man with a beautiful blanket around his shoulders. It looked like a Sari or like Sari fabric but it was very quilted looking too. He caught me looking at him and gave me the most unfriendly look. I stopped staring right away and went back to ‘chubby hand’ exploring. Geez, it’s not like I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open or anything, like some first-time-business-flier-country-bumpkin or something.
Anyway, the only other fun thing was that we were given dinner menus and when dinner was brought they put little table clothes down on our tray tables. It was just a bit over the top. Had some nice wine with dinner and then switched to water. Too late though, the damage was done. Began to have a headache right then, a headache that did not leave for 3 ½ days. Couldn’t sleep on the plane, pillows, blankets and reclining seats not withstanding, it was impossible to get comfortable in the suffocating heat of that space. I know ‘the cattle’ don’t get that kind of heat to sleep in and thank god for that. I got up and found a bucket of ice and a big bottle of Evian in the galley and proceeded to drink myself silly. Well silly because I would spend the last 2 hours of the flight going back and forth to the loo (WC…bathroom). Of course when I found the water and asked for the bucket of ice, the shivering, blanket wrapped flight attendant looked at me as if I was nuts so perhaps that should have been a big clue that all was not well in Missyville.
You know, between the 9 hours of flight time and losing 7 hours of clock time, you spend what amounts to a good portion of a whole day (night in our case) in travel. We left Illinois house at 2:00 pm on Monday and arrived at Castanet-Tolosan House (doesn’t quite work does it, perhaps I’ll just call it France-house instead) at 1:00 pm on Tuesday. How fair is that?
Of course we went to buy milk, eggs etc. only to find everything closed…on a Tuesday. No fresh food for us then. (Maybe there is still some icky UHT milk sitting on a shelf somewhere. It’ll do in a desperate pinch I guess) This thought crosses my aching brain as I’m swearing under my breath about the French and their goofy holidays. Of course come to find out, purely by luck, the French celebrate Veterans Day same as the US. I saw this on the AIT calendar while half heartedly going through the mail.
As luck would have it ‘Aunt Sally’ arrived on my doorstep the second I’d crossed the threshold just to add her two cents to my jet-lagged-hung-over-migraine. Found my little complimentary Tylenol right then.
I began to unpack on complete autopilot and willed myself to try to stay awake until at least 6 to try to get back on schedule. The large creature currently trying to batter its way out of my skull through my eye sockets wouldn’t have it though and at 3 o’clock I finally gave up and fell into bed. S took this as his cue to also collapse.
I awoke to total darkness and reached for my new little IKEA clock with the light switch in it and flicked it on. After a brief screaming session and battle with nausea I focused on the clock to see that it said 6. 6 am or pm? This is where unreality took over and really got spooky. Where am I? Is it day or night? What time did I lie down? How long have I slept? What the hell is that thing over there?? (Ok, getting carried away again it was just S) I made my aching brain focus enough to get out of bed and go into the office. It was 6 pm I had only been asleep for 3 hours.
I started to wander around and unpack things again with my head dragging along in a bucket next to me as I couldn’t bear to wear it any longer. Honestly the whole thing felt totally surreal through that headache. I realized that I had not eaten since breakfast right before we’d landed in Paris and that would have been around 9 am France time which was…who the hell knows what time, on what land mass….aaaagggghhh!! Ok, so focusing on food, I went into the kitchen to find fish sticks, a can of corn, a can of pears and some Pepsi. Dinner is served.
Yeah, you’re right. NAUSEA city on a plate. Ate, and went right back to bed, curled into a fetal position and tried to just hang on to my dinner (if you could call it that). Poor S, he had to work on Wednesday. He had meetings. I don’t remember him leaving. I got up around 1 or 2 pm and tried to eat again but was instantly nauseous again. I went to bed and that’s where S found me when he got back from work at 8. He’d brought some milk and other staples but I was done with food and the creature in my head that was still searching for an exit appeared to have grown. I do remember IM’ing La and maybe Ky or e-mailing but it was all a bit hazy. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus and I definitely could not eat.
On Thursday morning I was up at 3 am. I was awake so I read for a bit. I fixed S breakfast at 6 and then I went to bed and slept til 2pm when I was awakened by, yes, a French Telemarketer. I think I’ve been marked by the telemarketing demon, as someone who is just too much fun to torment. I’ve given up on adjusting to the time again. I’ll sleep when I’m sleepy and I’ll work when I’m awake. I’ll eventually settle into a pattern. Unfortunately without that old schedule-pinning-routine thing I may be in for some trouble. You see as I type this it is 2 am on Saturday morning and I’m wide awake. S is of course sleeping poor man, but me…well maybe it would be easier to just move to the time zone I’m living instead of trying to adjust to the time zone I’m in. So for now, love and kisses from Irkutsk.
(Oz : The monkey's the only cookie animal that gets to wear clothes, you know that? So, I'm wondering, do the other cookie animals feel sorta ripped? Like, is the hippo going, "Hey, man, where are *my* pants? I have my hippo dignity!" and you know the monkey's just, (with a French accent) "I mock you with my monkey pants!" and there's a big coup in the zoo.
Willow: The monkey is French?
Oz: All monkeys are French. You didn't know that?)
(Hmm.. . I didn’t know that either.)
I bought some lisianthis today, purple of course. I put them in a vase near the window. (yes, lisianthis are flowers [Though Microsoft Word fails to find them in its dictionary]) What I failed to notice is that ‘near the window’ is also ‘near the radiator’. My lisianthis are looking a bit wilted in the baking heat of the radiator. I hope placing them in the freezer will help them recover. (Kidding)
Even on the lowest setting the radiators, um…radiate, yes radiate, baking heat. The radiators are so efficient that we turn them off at night or it gets too warm to sleep. Weird huh? I need them during the day while I sit here looking out my office window, but at night under that nice warm comforter it gets a bit TOO warm. I’m weird, I know this. Of course ::laughing wickedly:: it’s only getting down to 47 at night so it’s still rather warm, don’t you think? ::cackling wildly::
Ok, enough of that free association crap. No, I am not drunk! Honestly, a girl tries something fresh and new and everyone accuses her of being inebriated.
All right, the visit to Illinois was wonderful. I miss J already and I need my baby back. I was glad to visit with all of my wonderful and supportive friends and am facing a true depression wondering how the heck I’ll get through the next 8 to 10 months without my baby and my friends.
I finally picked up my Visa on Friday the 7th. (we were supposed to leave on Thursday, you’ll recall) I faced my elevator ride to the 37th floor with dignified and quiet stoicism. (Yes and a Xanax alright!) You all would have been so proud, S was proud. (Zeno would have been proud!) We were in and out of there in less than ten minutes. I’ll tell you the ride down would be a real ego boost if a bathroom scale were available in the little coffin. It moves down so quickly that I think I was ten pounds lighter for about 20 seconds there. If the building had been taller I think I might have achieved 0 gravity.
In their great benevolence and generosity (yeah right…dorks), M’Co., allowed us to fly business class on the return trip. It’s supposed to be like the big unveiling of ‘the new life’, since we are now OFFICIALLY in France. Whatever! Big Dorks! Make my life pure hell for a few months and one trip to France in Business class is supposed to do it for me! I’ll tell you what would make me happy, it would be to see those….umm, but I digress.
Yes, right, business class.
This meant that we got to ‘hang’ in the Air France “Lounge” for an hour and a half before our flight, where two nice women served us cookies and cheese and any beverage we wanted, while we sat in comfy chairs and surfed the web and chatted amiably with fellow fliers and got manicures and waited for our flight to the sounds of a string quartet and…. Ok, we sat, we had beers and we stole electricity to charge our computer batteries while we waited. When it was time to board the plane we were lead through a special door right to the walkway and boarded well ahead of (Mind you I say this because I’ve been in this category and will be in this category on every other flight except for our “Last Flight” back and it’s really how you feel in those cramped seats) the rest of ‘the cattle’. We were served champagne while we waited for the rest to find seats and stow carry-ons etc. (Count 1 beer, 1 glass of champagne) I of course immediately set to playing with everything my chubby little hands could reach. (Ok, my hands aren’t chubby but it makes a nice visual doesn’t it?) My own two tiny pillows, my own cute little blanket, the buttons on my chair that made it recline and one that made the foot rest come up and down. I got a little bathroom kit bag with a toothbrush, toothpaste, eye cover thingy, shoe horn (why?), comb, moist towlettes, sewing kit, razor and shave gel, two Tylenol, spare underpants, q-tips, loose change and a bathroom sink! Really! Ok, from the underpants on I made up, but the rest is true, I swear, I still have it all (except the Tylenol). In the arm rest on one side was my tray table and on the other side the armrest was hiding my own little personal TV screen. I could stretch my legs out and not touch the seat in front of me. Yeah, ok, I’m THAT short. Not really all that short though. S was in heaven with the leg room. While we waited other business passengers stowed gear and milled around drinking.
There was a funny little Indian man with a beautiful blanket around his shoulders. It looked like a Sari or like Sari fabric but it was very quilted looking too. He caught me looking at him and gave me the most unfriendly look. I stopped staring right away and went back to ‘chubby hand’ exploring. Geez, it’s not like I was staring at him with my mouth hanging open or anything, like some first-time-business-flier-country-bumpkin or something.
Anyway, the only other fun thing was that we were given dinner menus and when dinner was brought they put little table clothes down on our tray tables. It was just a bit over the top. Had some nice wine with dinner and then switched to water. Too late though, the damage was done. Began to have a headache right then, a headache that did not leave for 3 ½ days. Couldn’t sleep on the plane, pillows, blankets and reclining seats not withstanding, it was impossible to get comfortable in the suffocating heat of that space. I know ‘the cattle’ don’t get that kind of heat to sleep in and thank god for that. I got up and found a bucket of ice and a big bottle of Evian in the galley and proceeded to drink myself silly. Well silly because I would spend the last 2 hours of the flight going back and forth to the loo (WC…bathroom). Of course when I found the water and asked for the bucket of ice, the shivering, blanket wrapped flight attendant looked at me as if I was nuts so perhaps that should have been a big clue that all was not well in Missyville.
You know, between the 9 hours of flight time and losing 7 hours of clock time, you spend what amounts to a good portion of a whole day (night in our case) in travel. We left Illinois house at 2:00 pm on Monday and arrived at Castanet-Tolosan House (doesn’t quite work does it, perhaps I’ll just call it France-house instead) at 1:00 pm on Tuesday. How fair is that?
Of course we went to buy milk, eggs etc. only to find everything closed…on a Tuesday. No fresh food for us then. (Maybe there is still some icky UHT milk sitting on a shelf somewhere. It’ll do in a desperate pinch I guess) This thought crosses my aching brain as I’m swearing under my breath about the French and their goofy holidays. Of course come to find out, purely by luck, the French celebrate Veterans Day same as the US. I saw this on the AIT calendar while half heartedly going through the mail.
As luck would have it ‘Aunt Sally’ arrived on my doorstep the second I’d crossed the threshold just to add her two cents to my jet-lagged-hung-over-migraine. Found my little complimentary Tylenol right then.
I began to unpack on complete autopilot and willed myself to try to stay awake until at least 6 to try to get back on schedule. The large creature currently trying to batter its way out of my skull through my eye sockets wouldn’t have it though and at 3 o’clock I finally gave up and fell into bed. S took this as his cue to also collapse.
I awoke to total darkness and reached for my new little IKEA clock with the light switch in it and flicked it on. After a brief screaming session and battle with nausea I focused on the clock to see that it said 6. 6 am or pm? This is where unreality took over and really got spooky. Where am I? Is it day or night? What time did I lie down? How long have I slept? What the hell is that thing over there?? (Ok, getting carried away again it was just S) I made my aching brain focus enough to get out of bed and go into the office. It was 6 pm I had only been asleep for 3 hours.
I started to wander around and unpack things again with my head dragging along in a bucket next to me as I couldn’t bear to wear it any longer. Honestly the whole thing felt totally surreal through that headache. I realized that I had not eaten since breakfast right before we’d landed in Paris and that would have been around 9 am France time which was…who the hell knows what time, on what land mass….aaaagggghhh!! Ok, so focusing on food, I went into the kitchen to find fish sticks, a can of corn, a can of pears and some Pepsi. Dinner is served.
Yeah, you’re right. NAUSEA city on a plate. Ate, and went right back to bed, curled into a fetal position and tried to just hang on to my dinner (if you could call it that). Poor S, he had to work on Wednesday. He had meetings. I don’t remember him leaving. I got up around 1 or 2 pm and tried to eat again but was instantly nauseous again. I went to bed and that’s where S found me when he got back from work at 8. He’d brought some milk and other staples but I was done with food and the creature in my head that was still searching for an exit appeared to have grown. I do remember IM’ing La and maybe Ky or e-mailing but it was all a bit hazy. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus and I definitely could not eat.
On Thursday morning I was up at 3 am. I was awake so I read for a bit. I fixed S breakfast at 6 and then I went to bed and slept til 2pm when I was awakened by, yes, a French Telemarketer. I think I’ve been marked by the telemarketing demon, as someone who is just too much fun to torment. I’ve given up on adjusting to the time again. I’ll sleep when I’m sleepy and I’ll work when I’m awake. I’ll eventually settle into a pattern. Unfortunately without that old schedule-pinning-routine thing I may be in for some trouble. You see as I type this it is 2 am on Saturday morning and I’m wide awake. S is of course sleeping poor man, but me…well maybe it would be easier to just move to the time zone I’m living instead of trying to adjust to the time zone I’m in. So for now, love and kisses from Irkutsk.
Thursday, November 06, 2003
Wolf!!
Feeling rather like the boy that cried wolf once again. Supposed to be gone but am still here with no end in sight. The French have done a spectacular job of screwing things up. Now my visa is ready but it appears to be lost in the mail. S's Visa made the trip from France to Chicago in a speedy eight days. Mine is now on day 16. So we’ve cancelled our return flight and are stuck in Limbo until it arrives.
Have said goodbye to everyone in Illinois so will now proceed to hide out in Illinois-house until we leave. Hate explaining it all to people and hearing “When are you guys heading back?” So I’ve decided to not leave the house again. Cannot be seen in public. Will just sit here on the queen sized air mattress from hell and hide out. Completed my shopping and even packed…it’s a cruel joke.
Have said goodbye to everyone in Illinois so will now proceed to hide out in Illinois-house until we leave. Hate explaining it all to people and hearing “When are you guys heading back?” So I’ve decided to not leave the house again. Cannot be seen in public. Will just sit here on the queen sized air mattress from hell and hide out. Completed my shopping and even packed…it’s a cruel joke.
Saturday, November 01, 2003
Eureka!! or Return of the Prodigal Sock
Shortly before I left for France I bought 6 pairs of my favorite socks. When I arrived in France, however, I could only locate 5 ½ pairs. Since I was setting up the house from scratch, I felt sure that it couldn’t have wandered too far. After all, it came with me, and it could only be in a few places. Still after 2 months, there was one partnerless sock in my drawer. (I’m so anal that it really drove me nuts to have a partnerless sock in the drawer, but I couldn’t throw it out either, in case the other one came back)
Well, today I found it. It was on the drier, here in Illinois-house. Apparently at some point before I left the little thing became separated from its partner. It valiantly made its way to the drier where it felt sure someone would notice it and at last one of the ‘children’ found it. The thoughtful child placed it ON the drier to await the discovery of its partner.
I have put it in my suitcase and promised it a very warm reception when we reach France and its lonely other half.
Well, today I found it. It was on the drier, here in Illinois-house. Apparently at some point before I left the little thing became separated from its partner. It valiantly made its way to the drier where it felt sure someone would notice it and at last one of the ‘children’ found it. The thoughtful child placed it ON the drier to await the discovery of its partner.
I have put it in my suitcase and promised it a very warm reception when we reach France and its lonely other half.
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