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.

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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.

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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’.

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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

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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?