Watercolors

We were sitting on the beach in Cap Ferrat and made "beach friends" with the only other American within ear-shot. She was recently graduated from college and had the luck to work (as a "stagiere") in Cap Ferrat for two months. She was keeping a journal with small watercolors in a notebook.

I've always wanted to try watercolor, but since I'm barely learning to draw, it seemed like a big step. So, I bought a child's watercolor set, a small pad of paper and a brush. I've done a few things, nothing took long, but they are colorful.

Each time I try something, the watercolors seem to move by themselves, so they teach me something. Here are two from my small collection. More from Paris.


Scanning these was much harder than painting them, but I now know how to do it.

The Euro

The price of the Euro is killing us.

When we bought our first apartment seven years ago this month, the rate of exchange was .98. Basically 1 to 1. For every Euro spent, we spent $1. It was easy to figure out and the price of things made sense.

A lot has changed in seven years. While the exchange rate isn't at an all-time high of over $1.60, it is now in the $1.43 range. We have been waiting for the rate to drop before exchanging money and wiring it over to our French account, but we're running out of time (and Euros).

There was one second in the spring when the rate was $1.24. We sent a small amount of money, betting that it would stay in this range. We were wrong. My Euro 2.20 coffee will cost me $3.15. Maybe this is OK because tax and tip are included. But this is about 3 oz. of coffee when I can get a medium coffee (which is huge) at Starbucks for $1.95. I won't continue this mental exercise, I'll get too upset.

It's tax time in France and we will owe Taxe Habitation and Taxe Fonciere in addition to our normal homeowner's association bills, and the day-to-day cost of living expenses like food. I'm whining, I know.

From my perspective, it seems that when the US economy is in trouble, the Euro drops against the dollar and then the inverse is true. As the stock market rises, the Euro rises against the dollar. I'm not an economist, this is only my observation.

Feeling poor and frugal, we'll be wiring the dollars to our account as Euros, thinking about the good old days of an exchange rate of 1 to 1.

The Shooting Star

When you see a shooting star, does something special happen? Or is it just a momentary thrill?

I live in two places that both have a lot of light pollution. Maybe I don’t look up enough. I’ve never seen one before and wouldn’t have known what it was.

Last night I was having dinner outdoors with my sister in La Costa. All of a sudden I looked up and there it was. I remarked immediately to my sister by saying, “maybe it’s fireworks or a star” and she read my mind and told me that I’d just seen a shooting star.

It was quite spectacular. It was low in the sky, just above the tree line in the distance and it was yellow. It was moving away from us and had a beautiful sparkly tail. As fast as I saw it, it was gone.

I’ll remember this moment because I was with my sister, sitting outside on a warm, beautiful California summer evening, talking and sharing a cheese plate and a glass of wine (each).

Mistaken Deja Vu?

Hard to imagine that I'm using french words to describe something that happened to me today in California. Sometimes I know a word in french that I don't know in English. Rucher is one of them. I have to fumble to think of the word apiary.

Today I experienced what I think could be called mistaken deja vu. I felt I'd been there before and I was incorrect. Can this happen?

My sister and I were driving to our cousin's house this afternoon. I had her address and had been to her house once before (isn't this deja vu?). Even though I have no sense of direction, my mental GPS got us to the right street but we couldn't find the address. I really felt that we were in the right place, that I'd been there before, which, if I'd been correct, would have been true.

Up and down the street we went. We were enjoying ourselves, the neighborhood is very nice and we were a little early so we drove around for awhile, looking for her special front door. I knew we were close.

After several trips up and down the street not finding the house, we decided to call to get directions. It turned out were on the right street but across a canyon from her house. So, we weren't even close. With the directions and my sister's expert navigation skills, we made our correction and pulled up in front of her house five minutes later.

When I saw the front door, and my cousin's smiling face, I knew immediately that I had experienced mistaken deja vu in the other neighborhood.

When was I there before, if ever, I'll never know. Perhaps I'd gotten lost in that neighborhood before.

A Tangle of Cables

I'm leaving town tomorrow for a visit with my Mom and my sister for a few days.

For a weekend trip, I can live with just my iPHONE since I can get email, internet, music and have a simple camera. But, I can't write a long email and I can't search the internet very well. I can't access my files. For a longer trip, I have to take more electronic gear.

My iPHONE, laptop, Kindle and camera are going with me. Plus a couple of flash drives. Everything on this list except the flash drives needs to be charged. Four cables for four devices. I keep them all in the same place, in a tangled mess in a desk drawer. Some are long and some are short. They all have different ends to them which is how I can tell them apart.

All these devices are dual voltage so when I go to France, I just have to change the plug and I can charge them all using the same cables. So, the cables go with me everywhere.

I'm afraid to lose them, especially in France. Where would I get a replacement? So, I pack all the cables in my carry-on luggage along with all the devices.

I used to wonder why I always got picked for additional security screening at the airport. A middle-aged, nicely dressed white woman. I finally figured out that it's the cables. They probably look suspicious on the x-ray, perhaps like a primitive bomb.

It's a bomb, alright. A bomb of tangled up cables.

With all the technical achievement required to make these great devices, you'd think they could come up with a universal cable and plug system. It would save a lot of confusion, and the TSA could focus on the real terror threats.

H1N1

I haven't really spent too much time thinking about the swine flu until today. We had some interesting discussions at our conversation groups in Paris when it first hit the news. There were people that thought that you could get it from eating pork. If life were only that easy.

I was at the doctor's today and asked when they would have the flu shots for this new flu. The nurse told me that the shots will only be available from the health department (whatever that is, I have no idea) and doctors will not be giving them. They will be able to give the normal flu shots only.

What does this mean for us? Half the time, we catch something on the plane going to and from Paris. An 11+ hour flight next to a sick person is almost a sure-fire way to get a virus. I'm not paranoid but I hate to be sick and I am a very bad patient (meaning not very patient). A couple of times when I've flown next to a sick person, I've asked to be moved. Several times I've worn a mask when someone is violently ill near me. Perhaps with all this interest/fear in the "swine flu" I can complain in advance and get the person thrown off the plane. Not a popular move, but neither is getting on a plane when you're very sick.

We're prepared. Our doctors have given us Tamiflu and antibiotics. I have NyQuill, cough drops, and aspirin. The swine flu doesn't have a chance in Paris. We hope.

The Bard In The Garden

LA can't compete with Paris for cultural offerings. The things that are available in LA are usually far away from where we live, since the city is so spread out.

I would take the metro or a bus for an hour to attend a cultural event in Paris, but consider an hour's drive on the LA freeway system much too long to go to a museum, play or concert on a regular basis.

Evidently for me, proximity counts. So, when a flier fell out of my newspaper a few weeks ago advertising "The Bard In The Garden", a Shakespeare play in a nearby botanic garden, I immediately called for tickets. "Nearby garden" is still a 30+ minute drive, especially in Friday night traffic -- practically in our backyard!

I'd never been to the venue before, the South Coast Botanic Gardens in Palos Verdes so I was doubly excited to see "As You Like It" en plein air (outdoors).

I planned and packed a picnic dinner. We have a nice picnic basket that has everything needed for an elegant meal. We discussed what to wear. Do we dress for the theatre, albeit outside, or for the beach? A happy medium seemed to be the answer, with a sweater and blanket thrown in. We packed the car with our beach chairs and we were off.

I anticipated a crowd and worried that we would arrive late and not be able to see. We hit traffic and were later than we had planned. But, we weren't late at all and got a good spot for our night's activities. Other people filed in and set up their temporary camps as the sun set. It was quiet, calm, warm, relaxed.

The performance started. Just a bare stage with actors in everyday clothes. The performance was a modern production with songs and some new scenes. I'd read the play and studied a synopsis so I could easily follow the plot, picking out the new from the old. I enjoyed every minute of it.

The night air, the performance, the picnic. I guess LA has more to offer than I've given it credit for.

The Squat

Leave home for ten days and squatters will move in. Even though we locked the door, closed the drapes and the windows, it was obvious we were gone.

So when we came home from Cap Ferrat, the plants in my window boxes were a mess. I immediately started watering, pruning and nurturing them back to life. One plant in particular was very odd looking, even dead.

We'd had a long day, and as I was pulling the dead twigs from the planter, it took me awhile to realize that a bird had moved in to my planter box, building a nest.

Now I'm guilty. I pulled it apart before realizing! I quickly put it back together as best I could and unpacked.

About an hour later, perched on the ledge, a large pigeon was looking in at me. We made eye contact and she flew away with a whoosh. But, she was back. In an effort to ease my conscience, I put some offerings out there, crackers and bread. Eventually we went to bed.

In the morning, she was back, having re-made the nest. Sorry, but I have to open the windows, little bird, so if you can co-exist with me, I can enjoy seeing your babies. But it was not to be. When she realized that the apartment was inhabited, she moved on, leaving this nest.

Sunday Shopping?

It's in the news today, if the Senat approves this new law, more shops will be allowed to open on Sunday in Paris as well as some other parts (not all, of course) of France.

The "no shopping on Sunday" law has been in effect since 1906.

It seems that many people are against this new law. I hear from French friends that Sunday is a day of rest, for family and church. But, it passed the Assembly Nationale last week and will surely pass in the Senat after three days of debate.

Some stores have been able to work around the law, or simply stay open and pay the fine for breaking the law. It is expected to encourage spending. I can honestly say I'll do my part.

Every Saturday that we're in Paris, I wake up with an electric feeling. It's the busiest shopping day of the week because people work Monday through Friday and the shops are closed on Sunday.

My strategy, to get out early and buy enough for Saturday through Monday has worked. If I'm ever caught at Monoprix at 5 PM (or, God forbid, later) on Saturday, I consider buying from the local alimentation for a couple of days. The lines extend down every aisle, people are jostling for position, cutting in line and it is general chaos.

There are some stores that are open on Sunday morning, but they are all far away. The stores on rue Cler are open on Sunday morning, normally an easy trip on the 82 bus except that the 82 bus doesn't stop in our neighborhood on Sundays, evidently a street nearby is designated as pedestrian only on Sunday. My other choice is Champion in our old neighborhood on rue de Seine. I could walk or take the 58 bus. The bus runs every 30 minutes on Sunday morning, so if it's not too cold or too hot I can wait. But the store is packed, it is confusing, a last resort.

Even though I don't have a really good market nearby, if they were open, I would go. Then, I could spend my Saturday as I please, perhaps a day of rest for me.

Dinner at 9...

The hotter it gets and the lighter it is outside, the later we have dinner.

Darkness has always been a que that it's time to start cooking dinner. In the middle of summer in Paris, it is not dark until 10 or 11, so this is no good, I've got to look at the clock. And, it's hot outside, so it's not inviting to cook. No bar-b-que here, of course.

So, we've been having dinner between 8 and 9 these days. I can see how the French get into this habit.

In California, it's normal to eat dinner around 7 PM. Sometimes earlier if you can manage. If you make a reservation at a restaurant (even the nicest restaurant) for 8 PM, you end up being the last table seated. Every other table is finishing and paying the bill. The watiers are eyeing you, hoping you'll eat quickly and leave.

In France it's just the opposite. If we arrive at 8 PM, we are often the first people in the restaurant. When we're finishing up, even if it's 10 or 10:30, people are still arriving, looking fresh and ready for dinner. Even the local pizza place, which is really casual, doesn't open until 7 PM.

With the summer heat, we started choosing restaurants for the air conditioning rather than the food or service. Even though people are sitting outside, it's not very pleasant to eat with the sun beating down on your head while you're eating. We found one restaurant that seems to be the "early bird" place in Paris -- Bistrot de Breteuil. It is a nice place with a prix fixe meal. When we got there at 8, the place was packed. Not many tourists but a lot of seniors. I think they all arrived at 7, which in French terms is early. We had a nice meal and the tables vacated by the early crowd were replaced with the later crowd, so all was well.

Now that we're back in the US, I notice that we are eating earlier and earlier. Back in the rhythm of the place I guess. I've even gotten the bar-b-que ("grill" to my sister) going and have been consuming lots of turkey and chicken (to be detailed in another post). Bye to veal for the summer, hello to the turkey and dinner at 6:30 PM until September.

Heat Wave

A week-long heat wave is making life difficult.

Our previous apartment on rue de Seine was on the top floor and it had a very big skylight. So, when it was hot, the apartment became unbearably hot. We figured out how to cool the apartment down. We bought a room air conditioner, put the hot air vent out the window and covered the partially open window with a sheet to keep the hot air from coming in. It worked pretty well.

At night, we boosted our chances for cool air by putting a fan in front of the air conditioner and sending the cool air to our bedroom. It wasn't very nice to look at and the room was dark most of the time, but at least we were relatively cool.

On rue Madame, we are on a lower floor and we have more windows. Often all we have to do is open the windows to let the cool breezes through. But, this heat wave, combined with the long days of summer has got us running in circles trying to stay ahead of the heat.

The temperature has been hovering around 90 degrees for almost a week. The sun shines in the front of the apartment in the daytime hours and then it hits the back windows mid-afternoon. Normally, we're happy to see the sun, but now it's the enemy. We're leaving our shutters closed to keep the sun out.

The fans are going all the time, moving the air around seems to make it seem cooler. We've tried to leave the windows open if there's a breeze and close them when it's still.

So far, we've been pretty successful in staying moderately cool.

St Jean Cap Ferrat

Compare my new painting.




It's hard to describe paradise. And, of course, paradise is different for everyone.

The warm, sunny days, the pine trees lining the coast, the incredible array of plants and flowers are a magical combination for me.

It's "Witchy" Outside

No, this is not about Halloween.

To me, "witchy" is a special kind of weather. It is warm, not hot and windy. It can be threatening rain or raining. But, it is a swirling, gusty wind. It can happen in the daytime or at night. But, when this kind of weather happens, it has a very weird feeling. The leaves swirl, the shutters flap, hopefully the windows are closed.

If you're outside, look out, things are flying.

In Paris, we have this kind of weather in the fall. We were playing tennis with friends the night of the Beaujolais Nouveau in November when the wind whipped up, and the weather seemed very volatile. Perfect for a fall event.

Today in Cap Ferrat, the sky got cloudy about 5 PM. Good for my skin, I came home from the beach early. We relaxed for awhile but as the bullfrogs came out for the night and the birds went home to wherever they go at night, the wind whipped up. It started to rain, the sky is dark. The awning is flapping and the leaves are blowing.

It's "witchy" outside right now.

Fete de la Musique

It's not quite like Paris, here in the south of France. A little more relaxed, a little less cultural.

But, on the beach this afternoon, two young guys brought their guitars and played simple songs for everyone nearby. It wasn't a show, just another quiet Sunday afternoon on the beach.

The beach is called, Les Fosses. It is an incredibly beautiful bay, lined with rocks and pine trees. A pebbly, semi-sandy beach lets everyone enjoy the day.

Later tonight there will be some kind of band in the town square. Young children will be chasing each other and dancing, adolescents will be hanging around, smoking and gossiping. Us "oldies" will listen for a few minutes and go home to bed.

Visiting Nice

We went to Nice yesterday morning. Saturday in the summer is not a good time to take a driving trip. We found this out almost immediately, as the roads were packed with cars driving between lanes, in the bus and bicycle lanes, and every other possible means of getting to the destination a bit faster than the next car.

Our mission was simple -- change our rental car reservation and then go to the Chagall Museum. We had tried to find the Chagall Museum on a previous trip and got hopelessly lost. The first time we tried, we ended up at the Matisse Museum, had an enjoyable visit, got lost on the way home, but eventually made it.

Most streets in Nice are one-way, but they aren't parallel or perpendicular to each other. Just when you think you're headed in the right direction, the street dead-ends. This time we got messed up by a traffic circle. The map showed the road to the museum as being wide and straight, but we immediately encountered a large traffic circle that wasn't shown on the map with no wide/straight street branching off from it. We took our best guess and, once again, ended up hopelessly lost.

We did accomplish getting to the Nice train station. Even though the street signs are confusing and often show the direction to the station going two different ways, it is pretty hard to miss so we found it.

We needed to park our car, so that we could go into the car rental office. There were many open spaces that said they were for a maximum of 10 minutes. Fine, we knew we wouldn't take long.

But, we immediately encountered a new type of parking space. Once you pull the car into the space, a blue triangular bar raises behind your car.

But, Terry didn't pull the car in far enough, so the bar didn't go up. When I got out of the car, a woman in the next car told me to tell Terry to pull the car forward. I told him, but instead of going forward as instructed (this must be a man-thing) he backed up. As soon as the car moved, the blue bar went up and captured the underneath part of the car. As Terry ground the car forward over the bar, it made that awful metal on metal grinding noise that you never want to hear. Eventually he got the car off the triangular blue bar, but the car was trapped inside.

When we were ready to leave, I had to go to an automated machine and pay 1.50 Euro and the little blue bar disappeared and we could pull the car out of the space. But, the bar doesn't wait for long, it will go back up if you don't rush. Just as Terry started to back up, a man to parked his car behind ours, causing a major honking session before Terry wheeled the car out just in time as the blue bar was starting to go back up.

We weren't even perturbed about getting lost on the way back, we were just so happy that the car escaped, unharmed from the blue bar.

I'd Forgotten

We haven't been to the south of France in four years. In that time, I've forgotten all the lovely things that compel us to return. I'd also forgotten all the annoyances that caused us to stay away for four years.

But, all in all, I'm happy to remember and enjoy all the great things about this area.

First, the plants. The lantana, which grows in all colors. The pine trees that line the coast, the smells mingle, creating something magical. The bullfrogs singing their happy songs at dusk (10PM right now). The bees. The olive trees, the bouganvilla, the wild grape vines, the artichoke plants.

Everyone is sunburned and smiling. Speaking different languages. Some loud, some calm and quiet. Everyone is wearing bright colored, wrinkled clothes. Everyone is wearing sandals. No socks are allowed except on the tennis courts.

I'd also forgotten about how hard it is to park the car. The constant road construction, causing delays, forcing you to drive on the wrong side of the road with only a lone guy to direct traffic, with his "after lunch" smile on his face. I"d forgotten that you have to put a coin in the shopping cart to free it from the others. I'd forgotten what it feels like to have about 100 mosquito bites on skin that is also sweaty and a little sunburned.

I'd (almost) forgotten about topless beaches. All women are free on the beach here, it is understood.

But the little snack stand on the beach is gone. It was called "Anna, La Buvette" and they made the best pan bagnat I've ever eaten. There is no trace of this shop, just sand. I guess I can't leave for four years and expect my "spots" to stay the same.

Monday Morning -- The Worst Time For An "Aller"

It's not just any other Monday morning, it's the morning that we're leaving for a vacation. After a tough year in 2008, we thought we deserved a little R & R.

So far, it has not happened.

We arranged for our usual driver, Joseph and even confirmed with him last night by phone.

When we woke up at 5 AM, hearing the rain pounding on the street, we were all the happier that we'd soon be in the sun.

We locked up, turned everything off including water and gas, took our suitcases down the elevator and waited inside the doorway of our building to stay dry. We said "good morning" to most of our neighbors as they left for school, work, the bakery or a dog walk.

The cab was due at 8 AM. At 8:10, we knew there was a problem. We called Joseph, no answer. Then, Terry started to call cab companies. But, it's a rainy Monday morning and there were none available. Not from any cab company. We scrambled, looked through the phone book, called every company.

Then we realized that we're going to miss our train. I looked at the tickets which stated that they will be reimbursed until the time of departure. So we called their special number, 36 35, couldn't find the right set of options to cancel the tickets before the time the train left.

So, we grabbed the tickets and our umbrellas and walked, through the driving rain to the SNCF office. It does not open until 10 AM we found out and our train was leaving at 9:46 AM. This meant that we would miss canceling our tickets by 14 minutes. Inside the foyer of the SNCF office there is an electronic kiosk where you can go, night or day to buy or change your tickets. But, it was out of service. Just to be safe, I called the number on the kiosk to see if I could get someone to help, but all I got was a recording.

At least we were inside. We decided to wait inside the little foyer. We had about 45 minutes. There is a motion sensor inside the foyer and every time we flinched, the door opened and the rain sprayed in.

We made so much noise that a woman came to the side of the window and asked us what we needed. We told her that we had to cancel our tickets before 9:46 AM. She left. She returned about 10 minutes later and took our tickets, telling us she would cancel the "aller" for us. She returned, telling us that she had cancelled them. Thank you.

Eventually, a young guy came in, very wet. By this time the machine was working and he tried to use it. It didn't seem to work, so he left his suitcase inside the kiosk with us and left.

Now more people were arriving. Several nicely dressed women joined us in the foyer. Then a large (obese) man joined us and decided to smoke. We were all packed in like little sardines.

The rain was getting worse. Now there was a line of people going out the door of the foyer and into the street. Everyone was getting wet, but no one left. There were a few elderly people, very bravely waiting under their umbrellas.

Eventually (10:05) they opened the doors. The man next to me, in true French style, tried to get past me to get in first, but I'm shorter, so I darted under the partially opened metal grate as they opened it and got in the office first (!). I even grabbed a ticket, just in case they needed it.

A nice woman helped us, changed our tickets and car rental reservation. We walked home in the driving rain to re-group. I had to re-dry my hair, put my pants in the dryer to dry them off and change shirts. We haven't even left home yet and we've already had quite an adventure.

After we changed the tickets, we marched home, called another cab and put our clothes in the dryer. We felt positive, at least we'd be on our way! We got our cab, got to the Gare de Lyon and had enough time to stand around to wait for the train.

We were starving by this time. The train arrived, we boarded and Terry said that we couldn't have lunch until the train left the station. So, as soon as the train started to move, around 2 PM, we happily ate our lunches.

The countryside whizzed by. The sky was grey and the rain was rolling horizontally on the windows. We napped.

When I woke up, there was a glimmer of hope -- it was getting sunny, not raining. But, as we passed Avignon, it was raining again and now we were in Provence. I was very unhappy to think that we did all of this just to stay in a new location in the rain.

But, as the day progressed, the sky cleared and it was sunny.

We got off in Nice. The car rental place was supposed to be open until 8 PM, it was 7:20. We dragged our suitcases up several flights of stairs, out of the train station and to the car rental office which had a large sign posted that said that they closed at 7PM. So much for the info from the woman at the SNCF office on rue de Rennes. So, back with the suitcases to the "Accueil" where the woman said that we should go to the Avis line. We got there and there were probably 85 people in line, waiting to buy train tickets.

Back across the "gare" to the "Acceuil" where Terry demanded again about the car rental. The woman told us that we needed to go to Line #4. Again, we trudged across the gare where we found that all the stations were labeled, A, B, C, etc. not 1, 2,3. So back to the "Accueil" we went. We were tired, dirty, sweaty and irritated by this time. The woman told Terry to go to the 4th line, no matter what it was labeled. So back we went and waited for the people at the kiosk to leave. We got to speak with the rep and a scary, biker-type ran up to the kiosk and demanded to know why we didn't have to wait in the line. The guy behind the plexiglass told him that "we had the priority". At last we got the keys, took the elevator to the 6th floor and found the car.

We were on our way.

As we left the train station, I called the woman who had rented us the house. She was not very nice, demanding that we hurry, since her evening's plans were being ruined by our late arrival...

So, you now know how our relationship with "Livia" is going...

At least it's warm and sunny here!

The Stairway Renovation

Radio blaring, cigarette smoke wafting in the door, the workmen are diligently painting our front door today.

This is a multi-day process, with lots of sanding, hammering and grinding.

We have to leave our door open while the coats of paint (oil-based) dry.

I told Terry that if the front door was open, he would have to watch out for our "stuff". No problem. Before the door was opened, I had put my purse by the front door, in preparation for my departure. I got out of the shower, the front door was open, with my purse sitting there, no "Guard Terry" in sight.

This has now been fixed and my valuables have been locked up.

The stairway will look wonderful when it is finished. I'm excited to see the finished product.

The Cross Breeze Is Vital

As the days get longer and warmer, I remember something that I'd almost forgotten.

The value of the "cross draft or breeze". If an apartment has windows only on one side (like our apartment on rue de Seine), the air doesn't circulate very well. So, it's warmer inside the apartment.

It's been warm for the last few days, so I've been testing which windows to open to maximize the air circulation.

There's an art to this, of course. You have to also keep the sun from beating in the windows that are open. The hot sun makes the room hot. The proper windows must be open opposite each other for maximum effect. When it works, it's quite nice.

I have one window that I can't open because I have a beautiful french lavender plant in the window box. Bees have been attracted to the box.

The bees then come into the house and by the time I find them, they are already mad. I can't kill them, of course, so I have to try to coax them out without getting stung. Quite a job.

So far, we've been successful at keeping the apartment cool, maximizing the natural breezes of Paris. As a last resort, if it gets too hot, we can resort to "the blaster hose". This is my nickname for a portable room air conditioner that we bought a few years ago. The maximum that it can do is circulate slightly cooler air, and it is noisy and has a huge exhaust hose that you have to put out the window.

Nespresso Needs

I have a Nespresso machine in the US and in France. Before I got the first one, in the US, I wanted it for a long time. I tested different machines, tried the different flavors of coffee. Finally my sister bought me one for my birthday.

The second one, I bought on impulse. They had a "promotion" during the holidays for a Euro 50 rebate, so I figured that it was almost (presque) free. So, it came home with me along with a little tower that holds the pods.

I don't drink a Nespresso every day, It is a treat. I drink regular coffee first thing in the morning and the Nespresso later. It has two purposes: when I really need more coffee in the morning and the after lunch or late afternoon "decaf" break.

In the US, I have to order the "capsules" on line. They are delivered quickly and they don't charge a shipping charge. There are no stores to buy the capsules. American Nespresso capsules (exactly the same as the french ones) cost 52 cents each. French capsules cost 32 Euro centimes each. Even with the awful exchange rate, the capsules are much cheaper in france.

Nespresso is incredibly popular in france. Offices have them, most homes seem to have one. Many people don't even know the name of the machine, just that it makes coffee out of capsules.

I needed capsules for both france and the US. It was a sunny, beautiful day today so I went to rue de Bac, near Le Bon Marche, to stock up. I found the store, walked in. I was greeted by all kinds of confusing displays on every wall. Tables in front of each display had workers who seemed busy.

I asked a guy in the front (maybe a "greeter", although he was not too friendly) for a list of the capsules available. He handed it to me and I staggered deeper into the store.

It was then that I realized that there were about 100 people in a line that snaked all around the store. It was 5 PM, I was getting hungry and I had some other shopping to do. As I considered re-ordering my capsules on the internet, I passed the greeter again. He then informed me that there is a new Nespresso store -- in my neighborhood. Hurray! I'm sure no one else has discovered it yet. I'll go there on Monday and hope for a short line and a helpful staff.

Wish me luck.

The Sub-Committee

The sub-committee (of our building) selected the colors for our stairway without consulting us.

I guess that no one in the building besides this select few were involved. Instead of everyone selecting the colors, discussing it, arguing about it, three (3) people chose the colors for everyone.

I am not happy with their selection.

The Stairway

In a 200+ year-old-building, there are bound to be problems. Often they are "good" problems, such as high ceilings, antiquated, but attractive windows with bubbled pre-WWII glass.

The "bad" things are that there are cracks in the walls, floors that slope and electrical plugs that don't work.

Our building "voted in" an elevator several years ago and it has been installed. It works perfectly. But the stairwell was not renovated at the time the elevator was installed. Photo above shows some of the ugly details of our current stairway.

Now, we have "voted" to renovate the stairwell itself. The work was supposed to start in September 07, but there were problems. I have no ideas what the problems were. But, it took until September 08 for the project to start.

It seemed to start on time. The new, revised schedule, of course.

The first work to be done was the woodwork. They fixed the floor boards that jumped up when you stepped on them. They covered the electrical wires and the gas pipes with boxes. Then all work stopped. I think this was in November.

It is now the end of May and NOTHING has been done since November. We complained at the annual AGM (meeting of the owners of the building) but they claimed that the work was "on track". OK, who am I to determine what that means.

However, my checkbook is closed. Until the work is finished, I will not pay for anything more. No one knows this and no one cares because no one besides us (dumb Americans) pays on time. It's innate, we are not willing to hold the check.

But now on May 25th the work started again. Hopefully it will finish before the first snow but it certainly will not finish before everyone (the workers) go on vacation. So, I think that July 15th is the deadline for completion and I'm not hopeful that it will be done. They've been working for a week. But, it's only two guys. In the US, they would send 10 guys, they would work non-stop and they would finish in a week.

Public Transportation

Public transportation is excellent in France. We don't own a car and rarely take a taxi.

Our travels are typically limited to central Paris. There's still a lot we haven't done or seen.

We are proficient at taking the metro and buses in Paris. I think we've gotten a bit cocky.

Once in awhile, we will take a real train trip. This involves planning, purchase of tickets, etc. and we are pretty good at doing this. We did a randonee (hike) recently and took a train to and from the hike location. It only takes about 15-20 minutes on a train to be outside of Paris and in a forest.

The world outside of central Paris is accessible to us via the network of French trains, the tramway, the RER, the SNCF, the TGV, Eurostar, Transilian. These are all different networks of trains that sometimes interconnect. Using these trains, you can get almost anywhere in France and to many places in western Europe.

Yesterday, we headed outside of Paris to some friends' house for lunch. We had the directions to their house. We left the house earlier than planned, thinking that we'd have a cup of coffee if we arrived too early. We bought the tickets on the RER, found the RER station at St. Michel. Terry even asked three times if this was the right spot the right train. Each time the answer was a resounding "oui".

We were a bit dressed up, it was a beautiful summer-y morning, perhaps a little humid but very nice. We boarded the RER and I decided to watch the stops on the map. We came out of the tunnel and saw the Seine, the Eiffel Tower, the beautiful greenery of springtime in Paris. All was right with the world.

Then, the dreaded announcement in French came over the loudspeaker. The speaker system in french trains and train stations has to be ancient. The announcer speaks quickly and the sound system is very scratchy and squacky. But the one word I did hear was a direction, a town. And, it was in the wrong direction -- yes, we had gotten on the wrong train. The trajectory was right for about 4-5 stops but then there is a fork in the road. We needed to go southwest, this train was going north! I screamed to Terry "GET OFF". We were in the top level so we raced down the stairs, pushed past all the people with suitcases, bikes and babies and got off at the next stop. We went to an information booth and the woman told us that we had to walk to the next RER station, we couldn't get back on going the opposite direction. (No idea if she was right, we just trusted her).

So, out of the RER station we went. Now, it was threatening to rain. We followed her directions, walking as quickly as we could. Now we were running late! We walked and walked, past two bridges on the Seine before coming to the next RER station. We went in, figured out the correct direction, got on the train and got to our friends' house about 20 minutes late.

As soon as we got inside their house, it started to rain -- a thundering, pounding rain. So, I was happy that we weren't even later than we were.

Have we learned from this?

I hope so, but I'm not sure. On the way home, we got to the train station and looked at the signs. There are always two sides to choose from and you have to find the side designated for the direction of the train you want to take.

But, the signs are incredible. On the right side, there was a sign that said "A" with an arrow pointing to the other side and on the left side was a sign that said "B" with an arrow going to the other side. Doesn't it seem simpler to just label the side with A or B, without the arrow? We got home without further error.

Rue Madame, Paris Kitchen II

We wanted an enclosed kitchen in our new Paris apartment but it was not to be. Our apartment is so old that the space has been defined by time.

In our new apartment on rue Madame, beautiful windows opened onto a light, green courtyard and if we enclosed the kitchen, much of the light and view would be lost to the rest of the apartment. So, we opted for an open kitchen, which, ironically in France is called “cuisine Americane” or American kitchen.

The good thing about an open kitchen is that the cook is not isolated from everyone else during a gathering.

When we moved from rue de Seine to rue Madame, my kitchen space was greatly increased. I was in heaven. I didn’t have to move the coffee pot to cook something on the stovetop. I didn’t have to put the chopping block across the sink. There was plenty of room in the cabinets, they were almost empty! Everything was nice, new and clean.

Now, three years later, I’m out of space. I still love the kitchen, but I’m now spoiled and could use some more space. I guess this holds true for all houses – your “stuff” expands to fill the space.

I now have a spice drawer, but it is overflowing and I need to put obscure spices in a different spot. I’ve bought a food processor, a mixer and a few nice serving pieces, all of which take up valuable cupboard space.

The Nespresso is on the kitchen counter. At rue de Seine, I would have had to buy a small table to be able to use the Nespresso. Now, everything has a place. I can cook for a large number of people.

What's for dinner? Anything but fish -- it's a "cuisine Americane" and the smell will permeate the entire living room.

My Kitchen, rue de Seine

For many, the kitchen defines the home. It's a place where people congregate, after school or work, at parties. Even if you don't want people in the kitchen, they seem to gravitate towards it.

Our kitchen at rue de Seine was so small, yet it defined the one small downstairs room. I could watch TV (in the living room) while cooking and visiting with Terry. It's hard to imagine having a smaller kitchen, but this was our kitchen for almost five years. We only had enough room to serve 4 people a meal, but we tested it and the kitchen could handle it. There was absolutely no counter space, so I had to move things around in order to chop, cook, etc.

The coffee pot was moved from place to place depending on what else was going on.

The oven was full size, the dishwasher was full size and there was a small microwave hiding in a cupboard. The light was provided by two long light bulbs.




When we moved in, we bought six plates, six mugs, place settings for six, a few placemats and napkins a couple of bowls, a cookie sheet, two pans and we were set. We lived near a market, so we could shop often without effort. It all worked perfectly!

The kitchen at rue de Seine defined the apartment in many ways and I will always remember it, happiily.

Baguettes

This might seem trivial to my French friends who know this kind of thing from birth.

I normally don't eat a lot of bread. It's not that I don't like it. It's that the standard American thought is that we should reduce our intake of simple carbs (like bread) and increase our consumption of complex carbs (like vegetables and fruit).

I see French people buy their daily baguette, sometimes walking down the street tasting a little piece while it is still warm. They're thin, they look healthy. I also see many people eating sandwiches with little more than a piece of ham, some butter and the bread, a baguette. Ditto the thin, healthy look.

From what I can see from the results of eating bread, Americans should take a second look at our nutritional ideas.

The most interesting thing about baguettes is their taste. No two bakeries sell exactly the same baguette. Everyone has their favorite bakery, secondary bakery, fall back bakery. When I'm in buying the bread, the better bakeries usually have a line. I notice that some people ask for one that is well cooked. I personally prefer one that has a thin, crispy crust. One that is not too thick.

Bakeries also sell half loaves (demi) and will often cut the loaf in half for you to take only what you need for the coming meal. You don't want to waste half a baguette and feeding the pigeons is frowned upon here.

Whether or not baguettes are good for physical health, they are wonderful for mental health -- they taste great, fill you up quickly, are inexpensive and are, of course, a french treasure that can't be replicated.

This Is France

I'm starting to accept things that I never would have allowed before. Is this good or bad? Probably just a new technique to retain sanity and safeguard my spare time.

Our new refrigerator (one week old tomorrow) has a weird glitch. When we close the freezer door, the refrigerator door pops open automatically.

So we called BHV service-apres-vente.

The repair man came out this morning. After he checked it out, he told us that this happens because air is pushed out when we close the door and this causes the other door to open.

DAH!

We needed to wait around all morning to hear this! He then told us that the refrigerator is new and it has a two year warranty so if it doesn't adjust itself, call back. All very polite and normal. We had him re-look at it, re-explained the problem and he left without fixing the problem. We just have to be more careful when closing the doors, he said.

Now to EDF, our electric company.

We need an original, current EDF bill as part of the required, mandatory paperwork to renew our carte de sejour. But, EDF doesn't send monthly bills, they amortize the estimated cost of the year's electricity over 10 months and we pay the same amount automatically each month. Then they read the meter and adjust the charges for the following year.

Don't know why French immigration requests something that is no longer readily available, but they do. In anticipation of this, Terry called EDF this morning to try to get an original bill.

He reached a nice woman who told him that she could make an exception and send him the bill one time, but could not send a bill each month. She could also create and send an original "Attestation" which is, to the French, quite impressive. It is signed by someone, hopefully in power, that states that something is true, has happened, etc.

After talking to Terry further, the woman came up with a Plan B. EDF can send the bill electronically via email each month and we can then print it ourselves.

Paperwork problem resolved -- we will now have one original bill, one Attestation and a monthly email. From nothing to overkill in one phone call.

Do I Dare

It's another holiday in May. Armistice Day, I think. It's hard to keep track of all the holidays in May.

We haven't been here in May for a couple of years, so I'd forgotten how the rhythm of daily life is interrupted by holidays.

The working French, of course, take this very seriously. If I were working, I'd grab every holiday and maximize it, too. But, I'm now on the other side of the fence.

Yesterday afternoon, the metro cars were packed with people leaving town. In the paper, it said that the traffic would be at a peak between 4 PM and 9 PM on Thursday and 6 PM and 11 PM on Sunday.

So, the difficult choice this morning involves groceries. We need food for the next few days. Do I dare get my rolling grocery cart and hike it out to a store or wait until tomorrow? Saturday is always the most crowded because Sunday the stores are closed.

The downside is that I fail to get groceries and waste most of an hour. The upside is that I'll have gotten the chore done today and won't have to do it tomorrow.

The New Refrigerator

We've been in Paris now for about seven years. When we first arrived and bought our apartment, we bought a new refrigerator, washer/dryer (one unit), and TV. The oven, dishwasher, microwave were included with the apartment. Everything worked perfectly the entire time we lived on rue de Seine (don't ask about the toilet, there's always something). We took the refrigerator, TV and washer/dryer with us when we moved to our new apartment.

Once we moved, the spell was broken. We assumed ownership of some of the previous owner's appliances. Almost immediately the dishwasher broke and we had to replace it. Then, the washer/dryer went south last year. While it still worked, the timer on the dryer didn't work and I was afraid that it would catch everything on fire if I left it alone.

Now, we've had to buy a new refrigerator. It was just delivered today.

To say that they "don't make 'em like they used to" is an understatement. Our original refrigerator in the US lasted for 23 years. The salesman at BHV says that they should last around 10 years now. The new gas that replaces freon, for some reason, doesn't last as long.

The refrigerator saga is quite long and has been time-consuming. Part of the problem is our fear of French appliance repairs. For both the washer/dryer and the refrigerator, we had the Darty apres-vente service come out. In both cases, the man had to call his office to figure out the problem. This doesn't build confidence. Then, in both cases, the repairman has determined that the problem is the "carte electronique", the computer brain for the appliance. It is probably a card of some kind that they slip into place, but for the washer it would have cost us Euro 300 and for the refrigerator is was Euro 210.

In each case, after we got the cost of repair, we've decided to buy a new appliance. Even though the repair has six month warranty, it is only for the problem that was fixed. Other things can break down and they won't be covered. So, we figure that if we pay for the repair and then something else goes wrong (or, God forbid they didn't find the problem the first time!), we will end up spending enough on repairs to buy a new machine.

The washer/dryer was pretty easy. We went to Darty first, but they didn't have a good selection, so we went to BHV and bought a new one.

The refrigerator was much harder. All in all, it took five trips to stores. First we went to BHV. On the same day, we went to Darty. We were still undecided about replacing the refrigerator or repairing it.

It was finally decided to replace it when the machine really started to act up. So, Saturday morning we went back to BHV. We thought we wanted one model but found out that it wasn't frost-free. The last time I de-frosted a refrigerator was in college and that was a long time ago. Old technology.

So after much back and forth with Terry (I wanted a nicer model than he did), we settled on another model, took the bus home to re-measure the space, took the bus back to BHV, and bought it. The salesman said that it would be delivered in 15 days. We were happy and relieved and even treated ourselves to lunch on the 5th floor, one of my modest pleasures.

On the way home on the bus, I looked at the sales receipt. Instead of delivery in 15 days, it said, delivery at the end of Week 21, which would mean about 25 days. The final blow came after we got home that day and the "Alarm" light came on, meaning that the refrigerator was dangerously warm inside. After two trips to BHV, we decided this could wait until Monday. Stores are closed on Sunday in France. So, Terry called the salesman, put a hold on another machine that was available immediately and told him that we'd be in first thing on Monday morning to buy the new one.

Back we went on Monday, bought the machine and it was delivered, without incident. A little bit of honking in the street because the BHV truck was blocking the street, but this is Paris, deliveries are permitted in the morning.

But, we're not finished yet. The delivery man told us that the refrigerator can't be turned on for four hours because it has to "settle". Then, it will take 4-8 hours to get cold. I remember this from the first time. I wonder what would happen if I didn't follow instructions and turned it on now? Even though we have a five year warranty, if we don't do it correctly, it will break down after five years and one day.

So, I've put all the food from the refrigerator into bags and in the bathtub with ice on top. I'm waiting to turn it on and try it.

The AGM

I wish I'd brought a video recorder to this meeting of our homeowner's association in Paris.

The syndic, the company that we pay to manage our building, is housed on a lovely street in an ancient building. But they had two fires last year so when I walked in, it still smelled like smoke.

Most people arrive late, sometimes by more than an hour. We tried to be late, but it's not in our nature, so we ended up arriving on time. Unfortunately, this meant that we got crammed into a corner near the front, Terry next to a stone wall that crumbled all over his clothes during the meeting. By the time the meeting was in full swing, people were sitting in the hallway and even in the next room. Instead of speaking, these late-comers all felt the need to shout simultaneously.

Terry was in the corner, I was next to him, we were seated in metal folding chairs. Very small, like the French. Terry kept exceeding his spatial limits, pressing his leg into mine for added room. Fighting back, so as not to encroach on the man's space next to me, I kept getting a cramp in my leg. Too much tennis the day before. So, it was an uncomfortable setting.

Paperwork prepared for this meeting included about 20 different bids, in no particular order and a re-cap, French accounting style, of the year's expenses and revenues. Maps, pictures and letters were enclosed in the package. All handouts are recto-verso, so there is a lot of paper shuffling, searching and pointing.

Even though it is standard practice to get three bids for every job, most items had only one bid. This alone, kills the project until the next AGM (May 2010), the urgency of things is apparent. But, the building's been around for 200 years, so I guess one more year doesn't make much difference.

The meeting jumped around from topic to topic and everyone was rifling through their papers constantly, pointing and arguing about different points. My head was swiveling right to left with increasing speed, trying to follow one conversation or another, just trying to keep up.

Everyone had his/her own agenda. Some people don't want to spend any money, some want everything fixed right away. For example, all the people with apartments on the top floor under the roof, think that the roof should be replaced immediately, before it starts leaking. This would probably cost each of us about Euro 10K, so those of us on a lower floor (they're outnumbered about 5 to 1), think that this can wait a year or two. Side issues to this include more studies to see if there's really a problem with the roof and if there's more work that needs to be done under the roof.

Important issues got only a slight discussion (like why has it taken almost two years to re-do our stairway, a job that should take two months) and small issues agonized over. At one point, a woman I'd never seen before made a long plea to have a key placed in a box near the elevator in case anyone ever gets stuck in the elevator and no one comes to help the stranded person. Her argument was that the person stuck in the elevator might be handicapped and not be able to get help. The only man in the building that is handicapped finally replied that he was the only handicapped person in the building and he was against it. We moved on quickly.

We also tried, on the spot, to determine the cost of real estate in Paris. This was in order to put a price on a purchase of a common corridor. After a lot of arguing, a price was fixed, I have no idea if it has any correlation to today's prices.

There were several instances where everyone was talking, waving paperwork and pointing at once. Then, the president of the homeowner's association would scream, "Silence" and it would still take several minutes for everyone to calm down. At the end, a woman who had a complaint was allowed to scream at the syndic for awhile. She is about 85 years old and couldn't do a very good job, so her daughter took over and yelled a little bit more, then the meeting was closed and we all went happily home.

Well-Behaved Pugs

A walk with Ralphy and Chloe is always interesting

As I walk in the Luxembourg Gardens almost every day, I have a chance to see a lot of dogs. Primarily small dogs, although yesterday I saw an Irish Wolfhound.

One thing I notice is that all the dogs are well-behaved, they walk properly on a leash, they seem happy.

What about Ralphy and Chloe, you ask? I'm not saying they're not well-behaved, just that walking them is quite a chaotic experience. As you can tell from this picture, it's not too orderly.

Ralphy wants to run ahead, then charge back and kiss Chloe. This happens about 500 times on one walk. He also barks, snaps and charges at runners, bicycles, cars, motorcycles and other dogs. He is a ball of energy. Chloe, on the other hand, wants nothing to do with any of it. She wants to walk about 100 feet, smell a few things and then go home. If we try to walk her in a direction that she isn't interested in, she sits down. If you try to get her up, she resists by putting her front legs stiff. She is so heavy and so low to the ground that she can't be budged. She probably sits down 15 times during a 30 minute walk.

Today, I saw several well-behaved pugs in the garden. They walked politely, kept going without encouragement, didn't bark, growl or charge, didn't pull on the leash. They were just enjoying the beautiful springtime day in the garden.

"Home" is a Concept

Before we bought our first apartment in Paris nearly seven years ago, I was a homebody. Someone who was happy to be at home. Someone who didn't have a driving interest to visit new places or experience things that might be too different. I'm not proud of this, but it's who I was.

Weird how things change. Now we spend a lot of time in France and a lot of time in the US. But, when I'm in the US, I am not at home a lot. I visit my Mom, I visit my sister, we visit the kids.

In France, we don't travel as much. But, I'm not French, so it's all different, all the time. Just when I think I've "got it", something new crops up to humble me. So, in general, I don't feel as much "at home" in France as I do in the US.

But, if I were to go to the Southern US, or even the Northwest, I would feel out of place, too. Things are different, the society is slightly different in the different parts of the US. But, I could still call the electric company and understand the rules of the game.

Even though many of the places I stay every year are not "home", I have become "at home" just about anywhere I go. In the past, I couldn't wait to get home, sleep in my own bed, drive my car. Now, home can be anywhere and if I'm healthy and enjoying myself, have a good book, a friend or family member nearby, I'm happy.

The definition of "home" has changed. It's broadened.

Rainstorm

The older I get, the harder I have to work to look nice. It's unfortunate, but when I was young, I could pull my hair into a pony tail, even wear glasses, and look fairly OK. Now, there's a whole routine to pull it all together, hide flaws, improve on the good points.

Sometimes nature works against me.

Today was one of those days. I was heading out for the afternoon. Found the right outfit to meet the weather and the activities planned. Hair looked OK, make up, OK. Fine, I'm ready to meet the world.

I finished my first appointment (french lesson) and had to make a quick stop to drop something off in the neighborhood. As I walked out of my teacher's building, I felt a few drops. No big deal, this is Paris. But, my makeup and hair were cute, so I got out my umbrella, trying to save the "look". Luckily I did, because in about 15 seconds, the sky opened up and it was pouring.

I had about 5 blocks to walk and I was on a schedule. I couldn't duck into a shop or a doorway. I pressed on. When I got to my stop, the door was closed, no one would answer. Several minutes of trying cost me the shoes. Now they were wet. I slipped the paperwork that I was delivering under the door and started walking to the metro.

Now the streets were flooded. I had to leap over the gutters to avoid disaster but finally made it to the metro. When I got inside, I realized that my pants were soaked all the way up to the knee. My shoes and socks were soggy. Luckily my umbrella saved a substantial amount of my hair.

As I rode on the metro, I realized that I was the only wet person. When I got to WICE, ditto. Many people didn't even know it had rained. My only excuse for looking like a wet dog. Just another day in Paris for this 50-something.

Maria is back, the replacement is gone...

After 15 days of cleanliness and organization in our building (by the replacement guardienne), Maria is back today. Just in time to start the week.

So, we're back to the normal. We pay a lot of money to have a guardienne and nothing is done. Nothing is cleaned, she is never around. Of course, it's political and my small needs are not being met.

Where is the replacement? I bet she had a normal job in addition to filling in for us. But, she was here, doing the job, every day at the right time.

I can't believe that we have to put up with this, it's ridiculous.

May 1

Don't know what this is really all about in France, but it's a holiday and no one is working.

The museums are closed. Evidently many people participate in demonstrations. I have no idea what they want, but it's probably less work for more money, benefits and protections. In the US, we're not quite so overt in our demands, even if we really want the same basic things.

Oblivious to all the holidays, I took my dry cleaning and laundry in to my Pressing today. The laundry will be ready on Wednesday but the dry cleaning will not be finished until Friday. But, Friday is May 1 (May Day) and it's a holiday.

When the woman behind the counter at the Pressing told me that the dry cleaning would be finished on Friday, I asked her if they would be open. She replied that it's a holiday they will be closed.

How can my laundry be considered finished if I can't pick it up? This becomes a little bit of a philosophical question -- If a tree falls in the woods but no one is there to hear it/see it...

OK, you get the point. My laundry, in principle, will be finished on Friday, but I can't pick it up until Saturday. Thursday night is out of the question, I guess. They'll all be revving up for the holiday.

And there are several more holidays this month, each one a bit more obscure than the last.

Maria

The guardienne is gone, a family emergency, according to the note on the door to her "loge". The note was posted a week ago and said that she'd return in several days. There's still no sign of Maria. Funny that this coincided so nicely with the Easter holidays.

I noticed that she was gone almost immediately. The building's common areas were too clean and well-maintained. I walked in the front door last Thursday afternoon and noticed it right away. The courtyard had been cleaned, the stairway was not dusty (it was so bad there were footprints in the dust) and the glass in the elevator was spotless.

I told Terry that something was up. In fact, I told him that I didn't think the courtyard had been cleaned since Christmas, when the replacement guardienne had done it. I didn't know at that time that the replacement was back.

All week long the replacement has been doing nice little things for us. Today I saw her cleaning out the inside of the trash cans.

She has also posted phone numbers where she can be reached, just in case. Maria, the permanent guardienne, won't get a cell phone. She doesn't want to be reached. We had to ask three times before we could get a light bulb replaced in the hallway. This should be automatic.

I could go on and on. Maria is never around the building. The compensation that she receives, free housing, benefits and a salary barely get us mail delivery and the trash cans put out in the street every day. The rest of the day, she is busily working for others in the building, running errands, washing and ironing, cooking. All of this earns her extra cash, so why should she clean the courtyard?

One time, she accepted a Fed Ex package for us (we were home) and then delivered it to the wrong apartment. I had to track the package before she remembered where she put it.

I guess if Maria doesn't come back, the replacement will take over. In a few weeks, she'll get complacent and we'll be right back to where we started with Maria.

Until then, I'll be enjoying the new-found cleanliness of our building.

I'm Confused

I am having a dinner party. I am torn between a french dinner and an American (Californian) dinner. There are quite a few differences.

Luckily, I have happy and generous guests who will be hungry. This makes it much easier. They are American but they've lived in France for a long time. So, they are 50% French, 50% American. I can go either way.

We'll start with champagne. And, some very small tidbits, salty. This is the easy part and everyone will be happy.

The actual meal is where the choices begin. Do I start with a salad, California-style? Or, do I start with a formal appetizer? If I start with a formal appetizer, do I serve a salad? If so, it will be after the main meal and very small and light.

These questions also decide how long we sit at the table. For Terry and me, 1-1/2 hours at the table is enough. So, we can't have 5 courses.

There are many other things to consider: wine choices, the cheese course, dessert (homemade or store-bought).

Coffee comes after the dessert is over.

The line up goes:

Aperatif
Appetizer
Main dish
Salad
Cheese
Dessert
Coffee (perhaps with digestif)

I'm still trying to decide if we need a salad at all or if I can serve a salad instead of an appetizer (a la California).

My next decision point is the cheese course. I LOVE french cheese. It is my favorite part of the meal. I could have a salad, the cheese and a cup of coffee. Perfect. But, this is not a common response, unfortunately.

As you can see, I'm confused.

But it gets worse. What wines to serve? The French, contrary to folk lore, don't drink a lot. So, I've been at a dinner party for eight people (with only French people except us) where we share one bottle of champagne for the aperatif and one bottle of red wine during the meal. But, the wines are excellent. So, I'm charged with finding quality vs. quantity. I guess I can handle this.

Back to the cheese. Even though I love cheese, the cheese shops of Paris are a little intimidating. There are so many choices. Over 300 at last count. I only need three. I also hope that they don't smell too much or the whole house will smell like we're hiding a body in the bathroom. The French don't seem to mind but I hate the smell of strong cheese as much as I love it's taste. Another challenge.

The dessert is decided. While there are many incredible shops that have gorgeous desserts in their windows, I've decided to make my own. This is unusual for me, but a recipe inspired me. It is decided.

Bread will be purchased on the morning of the party. There is only one bakery in our neighborhood that is open on Sunday, but they are open all day, regular and good. That's taken care of.

We haven't heard much about the main course. Well, that's because that's the easiest part, the same in both countries. Except the selection of the meat. Here in France, we won't offend our guests if we serve beef, veal, pork, or lamb. Chicken is a little iffy, since it is a little bit down-scale. So, it's all about the preparation and the quality.

I'm still confused. I have to plan it all and decide within the next 24 hours.

In any case, it will be good and the guests will never know the second guessing I've been doing. Back and forth across the Atlantic and across the US continent I go, to try to find the perfect solution to serving dinner to my guests.

Directionless

I'm hopeless with directions in any city and in any language.

Because I spent many hours walking the streets of Paris when we first came here, I feel that I know many areas of the city. The bus lines, metro stops, major intersections.

If I don't know where I'm going, I print a map from the RATP website. It gives the start location, the correspondences and the stopping point with a nice map of the neighborhood where I'm going. GPS would be better, I'm still considering the French iPHONE.

I feel good about getting around, until a person asks for directions.

I must look french (I'm happy about this) or the people that ask must be desperate.

Today, I was at my own metro in my own neighborhood. We've lived here for three years but I've frequented this area for at least five years. A french woman approached me and asked for directions.

As usual, I panicked. I confess, I understood her question and I knew the answer. Why is this hard? I guess because there are several translations that are required -- linguistic and directional -- all in the same simple question. I hope this exercise helps with brain health in later life.

First, I have to translate the question from French to English. This is fairly instantaneous. Then, I have to figure out the directions. This takes place between the map in my brain and the English language. Then, I have to re-translate the answer back into French and answer the woman.

This all has to be done in the blink of an eye. Hurry, hurry! Where are we, where does she want to go, how do I say it?

Luckily hand signals are almost obligatory. I usually start with a hand signal or two. This is very authoritative in all cultures, I think. And, I can stall for another second or two to figure out the street, the verbs of direction (prenez, trouvez, suivez) and whether to turn right or left. Right and left are difficult for me in English.

Unfortunately, I am not the best person on the street for giving directions. I have given people incorrect directions before. Not on purpose, of course. I've even given American tourists incorrect information in English.

Even though I'll never see the person again, I feel very bad when I find out that I've given them misinformation. I'm directionless! It should be obvious.

The Bees of Paris

Bees are great.

They pollinate plants, providing us with food. They make honey.

I don't know a lot about bees. I have heard that bees have been dying off in great numbers both in the US and in France. The scientists don't know why. It is a tragedy because if there aren't enough bees, our food sources will dry up or become much more expensive. So, we're relying on the bees.

Scientists don't know if the bees are dying because of pesticides or stress or something even more mysterious. I hope that they figure it out soon.



Today, during my morning jog in the Luxembourg Gardens, I smelled smoke. Looking around, I saw the scene shown above. Crazy people in space suits? No, beekeepers. This is where the beehives are kept in the gardens. In french, they're called "ruches".

I stopped to watch. I still don't know what these people were doing but I stopped to talk to a woman who said that they were putting the bees back outside after the winter. She said that bees can't live in temperatures below 50 F.

They had the whole area roped off, I"m sure to keep people from being stung.

In the fall, they have a sale of the Luxemboug honey. People line up outside with their containers ready. They can buy many different varieties of honey and it is a very popular event.

So, it looks like these bees are still healthy.

A Sweet Moment

I am making more and more friends in France. Like friendships everywhere, it starts slowly, with a similar interest or activity.

If I meet someone interesting, I try to organize an activity to get together.

Once in awhile, I don't even need to try so hard, it just happens.

This is the case with Julie. We met at WICE. We don't speak the same language and for some reason, we have a hard time communicating. But, we are friends. We've had each other over for dinner and planned several events together.

Yesterday I was waiting for the bus and Julie crossed the street to meet me. She explained that she had gone to a good green grocer in the neighborhood to buy herbs for her Passover dinner. She had a huge bag that smelled wonderful. She opened several packages and showed me Italian parsley, cilantro, mint.

Just as my bus arrived, she opened the cilantro, right on the sidewalk at rush hour, split it in half, wrapped it up and handed it to me with a wish for a good weekend.

And if that wasn't enough, I had recently asked her for a recipe for tagine for my Easter dinner. She is a very good cook. She said she'd write it down for me. But, at the last second, she decided to recite it for me. She got into my bus (not hers) and started reciting the recipe. We rode along with all the herbs, me trying to remember the recipe. I think I got it.

She finally got off the bus and ran to catch another bus back toward her apartment.

Birthday Resolutions

The big day is coming up. Luckily it's not a "milestone" birthday, just an ordinary, but new number in my life.

I've awoken the last few mornings with a tiny bit of dread. Another year is in the books. The first few times I have to write out or speak my new age, I always stutter, stumble on the number. How can this have happened?

But, there's hope. I have always tried to make life's daily decisions to the best of my ability, hoping that in the end, I'll have no regrets, no missed opportunities, no unspoken words.

To this end, it is time to change things up a bit. I plan to make some birthday resolutions this year. I don't usually make them, like other Americans, on New Year's Eve for the coming year. I thought that the french make resolutions at La Rentree, by my friend, Anne, says "no". They make New Year's resolutions but they are more of a hope than a resolution. I can accept this and I like the idea of hope. It certainly takes less work than a resolution.

I won't make many resolutions, and like all goals, they need to be readily achievable, but significant. I've already picked them and am in the mental preparation stage for their achievement. Several days to go for this.

They also have to be do-able in any location, the US or France, or anywhere else that the coming year might find me.

No, I'm not sharing just yet.

Spring Is Here

The bulbs are coming up, the trees are starting to get green.

The days are longer.

The Brain Is In France

I just wrote a phrase to my sister that is very telling, "my brain is in France". This sounds silly, but the minute I get off the plane (and through immigration) I'm in France and my brain is confused. It has American thoughts that have been ingrained in me since my birth, but I also have French thoughts interjecting in a stream-of-consciousness that defies my control.

It's all very difficult to be one nationality. Which translates, in most cases to NORMAL.

She asked me for some simple gift suggestions but my brain is in France so it goes immediately to the French go-to items - chocolate, flowers.

Since the gifts are for Americans, who are in the US, this is not ideal. A struggle ensues. It's all in my brain, you can't see it, you can't hear it.

Instead of left brain-right brain things going on, I have French Brain/US Brain thoughts passing rapidly into my conscious. Flowers/chocolate/books/wine/gift certificates...

I have no control over this and I don't want to! We'll just have to settle for gift ideas that are somewhat out of the ordinary.

We've Suffered Enough!

It's been a long, cold winter in Paris. This week, the sun is out, the sky is clear and the heavy coats are momentarily in the closet. Everyone is out enjoying the gorgeous weather.

Since it's only mid-March, is it too much to ask that this continues? I think so. Last year, we had snow flurries on Easter. (Easter was early last year).

In any case, we're ready for Spring, warm weather and sunshine.

We Didn't Really Want To Be In France, Anyway

We were just trying to enter the country that we live in for nearly half of every year.

We have done this dozens of times at CDG, showing passports to the police officer in the plexiglass cage, then rushing off to pick up our suitcases, find Joseph (the driver) who then takes us home.

Today was different.

We have tried to play by the rules, even though it is hard to find the rules and even harder to find two "fonctionnaires" (civil servants) who define these rules the same way.

Our "Carte de Sejour" (long term visas) are up-to-date, we don't stay in France longer than is recommended for tax reasons and we certainly have tried to stimulate the economy over the years. Why don't they want us anymore?

Today, we were among the first off the plane, so we sprinted toward the immigration line. Passports and carte de sejours were passed to the policeman who was sharing the plexi kiosk with another policeman. The other guy waived through about 5 sets of people without even looking at their papers or their faces. Our guy held up my passport to compare the photo with my face.

Luckily, the photo was taken in one of those terrible passport photo places that are normally in the Metro station. The one we used was on blvd. Raspail near the flower shops. My picture is awful, so I hoped it matched my face, weary after traveling for at least 24 hours to get to this point. He typed into his computer, compared some more and then told us to step aside so that he could pass more people through the line as we were holding everyone else up.

WE were holding everyone up?

So, we waited (he had our passports and Cartes locked in the kiosk so we didn't have much choice). About every five minutes we put up a little barrage of verbal assaults at the guy, who just continued to ignore us. We paced around, everyone was looking at us, of course. We waited for about 15 minutes when the guy finally said he would take us to meet his "responsable", his supervisor.

For a moment, still holding onto the American concept that we're innocent until proven guilty, I thought that we would just go in, shake hands, laugh about the misunderstanding and we'd be on our way. We're law-abiding people, citizens of a free country and are in France legally.

Of course, this is France and it didn't work quite this way.

We enter a room with a few other cops. The supervisor starts to type something into the computer and at the same time rattles off a slew of immigration rules that seem contradictory to everything we've ever heard. They make no sense at all to us and our situation. This is crazy. Let us go!

They don't. The supervisor then stands up, puts on his coat and leaves. Oh great, we're left in the room with the original lunatic cop.

Terry asks to use the bathroom. But, they have to escort him since we're basically prisoners. They spend a lot of time discussing how this can be done properly and finally another cop escorts Terry away.

I'm left with the cop, who's still on the computer and all our coats and luggage.

Again I wait, now alone. Finally, they move me to another room so that the original cop can call the Prefecture of Police to check us out in privacy.

Terry doesn't come back. So, I decide to leave all our stuff (they are cops, so it should be safe) and walk around the corner and see where he went. At this moment, it seems that enlightenment has somehow occurred. We are not criminals and are in the country legally, according to the person on the phone from the Prefecture.

That's what we've been trying to tell you folks all along but you wouldn't listen!

Let's hope the rest of the trip is less eventful than today.

Elliptical Texting

I have been a multi-tasking lunatic today and I'm confessing all.

While on the elliptical trainer at the gym this morning, sweating with all the other Sunday "regulars", I was also busy texting my sister. The texting centered around trying to find a mutually agreeable time to talk on the phone and then clarifying the time by time zone.

Talking on the cell phone is illegal at the gym, so texting is the only way to communicate since I couldn't get internet service to send an email.

Back and forth we went, 3PM my time, 5 PM her time. Around and around my legs went on the elliptical, going nowhere fast.

The time really flew but eventually we agreed on a time and that activity came to an end.

I then realized that muiti-tasking is a good thing, so I turned on the TV (it has captions), turned on my iPOD to some inspirational music and the time started to fly again.

But, my mind was still spinning. Ideas kept popping up and I was afraid I'd forget, so, with the music and the TV still on and the TV captions still coming at me, I found the notepad on the iPHONE and wrote myself a few notes. Including the idea for this blog.


I've accomplished everything on the list except one thing. That thing is a "find" note. I've looked but I haven't been able to find the thing I was looking for.

My French friend, Anne, just sent me an email saying that she will participate in a bi-lingual debate, the subject is, "are we slaves to the screen?" She answered very accurately in English that she is a slave to the computer but not to the TV. Ditto for me, except that I have about 5 different screens that I'm using to communicate, keep track of things and enjoy myself. I could never be as good at multi-tasking if it weren't for all my electronics.

Daylight Savings Time Revisited

In the US, daylight savings time has been moved forward by about a month. I'm not sure why, but I think it has to do with saving electricity. So, we set our clocks forward last night, losing an hour of weekend.

It's great at night, when it stays light later, but it was very dark this morning.

The worst part about this is that we will go to France and revert to Standard Time for another few weeks. Even though the french are fanatical about saving energy and electricity, daylight savings time continues to start around April 1.

Then, I'll lose an hour all over again.

It's On Sale In The US

My pre-trip preparations always include some shopping.

This time it's for bathing suits for Cap Ferrat and a few necessities. I put this off until the last minute, so I had to venture out on a Saturday, the most crowded day of the week for shopping.

What I hadn't anticipated was the sales! Normally things go on sale at the end of the season. But, with the bad economy right now, the price of almost everything seems to be reduced. The stores were mobbed, an indication that the price reductions are working.

Some stores are being a little more creative with their price reductions. I encountered one store that offered a $20 discount with each $75 spent. Another store offered a coupon good for $50 off a future purchase with a $100 purchase. The things that are on sale already also can be used for these price reductions, so it gets very complicated.

With a little bit of planning and calculating, things can be purchased for pennies. I ended up with a very high end, name brand pair of jeans for $80 off the original price. The sad part of this is that I would have bought them for full price. I needed them, wanted them, and know that they will be in my wardrobe for years. (Barring an unforeseen weight fluctuation, of course).

When the shopping trip is productive, I can go for hours without getting tired. But, I went out a few days earlier and was unsuccessful. The two hours marching around from store to store was exhausting. I guess you have to train to shop and I'm out of shopping shape right now.

But, since sales in France are mandated by law, and held only twice a year, I don't need to continue my training for shopping. We will be back in the US before the sales start in July. We always miss the sales in January, too.

With the Euro still high against the dollar and the sales in the US, you can bet that all my disposable income will be spent in the US this year. Except, of course, for the second, french iPHONE. Post and photos to come.