It's Starting To Annoy Me

Trash that is!



We've had intermittent trash pick up and mail delivery since the first few days of the "reform rebellion" in France. The reform, which is about to be signed into law, is set to change the retirement age from 60 to 62, in a country where workers already work 35 hours per week. So, we're being punished by those who want to retire at 60. It seems small but the trash is accumulating at a rapid rate. I've even seen guardiennes from one building dropping trash off in another's pile. It's war!



I am getting afraid to open my windows, it's going to get icky out there. Rats, just in time for Halloween, will start to feel welcome.

Double Success

Finding pumpkins and getting the "Carte de Sejour" all in one morning.


The most dreaded day of the year is the day that we have to go to the Prefecture de Police to renew our "carte de sejour" which is a temporary residence permit. I prepare obsessively, yet our experience has always been difficult. There is always some subtle thing that is missing. And, if not, the "foncitionnaire" (civil servant) has the right to request just about anything they want from us. We usually leave the office exhausted and dejected.

The normal preparation and review took place during the last week. Hundreds of copies were made. Files were organized. Spreadsheets were done and then re-done. We always think we're in good shape.

Today, we were worried about the transportation strike, so we got up even earlier than usual, dressed, grabbed the huge stack of paperwork and left. No problems on the metro. No newspaper, but that's normal during a strike. We got to the office at the Prefecture. Terry got two seats (premium, since standing for an hour or more is not fun) while I waited in line several people back while a woman was arguing vigorously and rapidly in french. Trying, unsuccessfully to break a rule, I'm sure.

We waited and waited. There is one woman, guichet #5, who has consistently given us a hard time. We were hoping to get another person.

It's hot inside. It's raining outside. More and more people come in. Finally an American couple with a lawyer come in, demand that we vacate the seat next to us (our stuff was on it rather than the floor). Then, they proceeded to speak, very loudly. Then man was sitting next to me and had oozed into my seat. I pushed back a little but he just didn't fit in the assigned seat.


We waited and waited. What are they doing down there? Torturing others. Maybe they'll get it out of their systems by the time our numbers are called... We can only hope. Eventually one of our numbers is called. We both sit down opposite a woman who starts working on Terry's file. Abruptly, she looks up and tells me to go across the way to meet with her associate, the "difficult" one. Think positively, smile, I say to myself. Maybe she doesn't remember me, but I certainly remember her.

What does all this have to do with pumpkins?



We got out of there pretty quickly this year, each holding our receipt for the renewed "carte de sejour". They really didn't give us any trouble at all, didn't reject anything, didn't make us jump through any hoops, provide any explanations.

Out we went into the rain. Right opposite the "Prefecture" is the flower market at Cite. Prime shopping for pumpkins. The first market we went to had nothing. The second one had a nice big one for Euro 3. When I only had a Euro 20 note, she promptly only gave me Euro 16 in change, then insisted that it cost Euro 4 instead. Small price to pay. Then next shop had even more -- small pumpkins, gourds, Indian corn! I'm rich in "harvest" decorations and we got our "carte de sejour" renewed. Double success.

The Pumpkin Search

This is my 2008 pumpkin

Every year, it's the same thing. I start out on October 1, invigorated and ready to find pumpkins for my Fall decorations.

It is now October 17th and I don't have one. That's why I had to use the picture of my 2008 pumpkin in this post.

In the US, the pumpkins start to show up in the stores at the end of August. In September, it is easy to buy them, along with candy and costumes. Not so in France. Pumpkins are to be eaten. I can buy a nice slice of pumpkin in the grocery store, but not a whole one. A whole one is huge and really doesn't look like the normal, orange pumpkins in the US. It's more of a large, pumpkin-shaped squash. So, I've been happily eating pumpkin in soup, steamed and baked pumpkin for more than a month. I eat it because I like it, I think it is very high in nutrients and it is filling while being low in calories.

So, why can't I find one to put on my table? I don't even want to carve it for Halloween, I want to keep it through Thanksgiving as part of my "harvest" scenery.

Every year I find the pumpkin in a different spot. Every year, I go to all the places I've found a pumpkin in the past, but the same store never has pumpkins twice. I have no idea why this happens. I saw some pumpkins at a florist a couple of weeks ago, but by the time I got back, they were gone. They were good ones, too. American-looking, orange, big and misshapen.

Tuesday I'm hitting the flower, plant and bird market at Cite. That's my last hope! Wish me luck.

Where Do All These Leaves Go?

We know where they all come from -- the trees -- which will soon be bare for months and months.



The gardeners can't keep up with the falling leaves. They are everywhere. Luckily it's not raining or the ground would be a natural compost heap. Dogs love the smell, I can see them, walking, nose down, enjoying the smells of Autumn. Crunch, scrape, crackle, I walk through them every day, crushing them when they are dry enough. I think they are beautiful, but they have to go!



No, this is not a haystack, it's a leaf bin. This is actually a metal wire cage that the gardeners fill up with leaves. I think they burn them, but I'm not sure. This one is filled to the brim, so I know they have to do something with them. We'll smell it if they burn them, a lovely smell, not like burning wood but still fresh.



And, here's another load coming. They need heavy machines to keep up with the workload that nature leave us every year.

Why Is Everyone Speaking English To Me?

I have good days in French (the language) and bad days. I think everyone learning a new language goes through this. I think I'm making steady progress toward fluency.

Some days, though, the rest of the world doesn't see it that way. Today was one of those days.

There are days when I encounter a french person who wants to practice their English, that's fine. Sometimes when someone starts to talk to me and I reply, all those American-English accented words tumble out. I'm sure they can understand me, since I can understand french people speaking English quite easily. But, they insist on speaking in English.

Today my downstairs neighbor caught me in the hall because he thought he got our tax bill by mistake. When I answered him that it wasn't ours, he started speaking about it in English, as if I hadn't understood what he said in french even though we'd finished the conversation. He got half way through the sentence and got stuck (a familiar feeling). So, I finished in french with him. When he answered it was again in English. Hmmm!

The grocery store was on the list of chores. They know me there and know that I am English speaking. Today I asked a question and the woman answered in french and then decided to try to translate it into English for me. Very cute, but not necessary.

Tail between my legs, English thoughts coursing through my brain, I'm at home now.

Our Street Light

Here's the street light. This photo was taken last Spring.




It's GONE! Here's the guy in the bucket -- too bad you can't see his face, he certainly could see mine (through the window)

There has been an on-going project on our street to replace the street lights. It started last Spring. I took the first photo of our street light, just in case they somehow (!) messed it up, I wanted photographic proof.

New street lights with bright yellow bulbs were installed up and down the street during the summer. Our old, white light remained right outside our window, unlit. We didn't know what to think and it seemed like the project was completed. Still, we were happy, the bothersome light right outside our window was dark.

Surprise, surprise. Last week the unimaginable happened. A guy in a little bucket, suspended on a mechanical arm was hoisted up the side of the building and the light was removed.

Of course, the guy showed up right outside our bedroom window when I was in the middle of changing clothes. Stark naked, I looked up and there was a guy in a bucket looking right in at me. A small price to pay for removal of a bothersome street light.