Club Med Gym

My gym in Paris is the Club Med Gym.

I've been a member since the very beginning of our lives in Paris -- 2002. I used to go to the gym on rue St. Honore. When we lived on rue de Seine, it was the closest location. I would walk up rue de Seine, pass the statue of Voltaire, go through the little doorway in the stone next to the Institute de France, cross the Pont des Arts, cross the street, go through the Cour Carre of the Louvre, then cross rue de Rivoli. I loved the walk more than the gym.

The gym was in the basement, no windows. It was filled with flagrantly gay men wearing next to nothing. They did more talking and parading than working out.

When we moved, I missed the walk to this gym but not the gym itself.

Now, my gym is the Club Med Gym, rue de Rennes. The walk is not spectacular. Up rue de Fleurus to rue de Rennes. It takes about the same amount of time as the old walk, about 10 minutes. My warm up.

The gym itself is better. Most of it is on the ground floor of a building, and the ceiling is glass in part of it, so it feels a little bit less claustrophobic. There are plenty of women of all ages at this location. They take the classes. Popular classes are stretching, and something called "Culture Physique". I have no idea what it is, but about 40 women take every class. They all look good too, so maybe I should try it.

The gym was remodeled last year. It was closed completely during the remodeling. When it was finished, I realized that all they did was move the equipment around. It took two weeks. Everything else was the same. And, I liked the layout better the old way.

Gyms in France are not big like they are in the US. There are lots of treadmills and elliptical trainers and bikes, like the US, but the weight machines are limited and difficult to figure out. There is one of each thing.

The men do an unusual thing. They seem to try to "hog" two pieces of equipment at one time, while using neither. Here's how it works: the man in question is sitting on one machine, reading a book. He doesn't move for a long time. The machine next to him has a water bottle and a cell phone on it. They are his. If you want to use the machine with his "stuff" on it, he will claim he's using it. If you stare at him while he's sitting and reading, he won't look up or notice you at all. I have no idea what the term, "working in" is in French or if it even exists.

So, the devilish one, me, just pretends not to notice any of this. I've started moving the cell phone, water, towel, or whatever is on the other machine. This gets an immediate response from "the reader", who claims that he's using THAT machine. Then, we have to go through the whole discussion of which machine is he really using -- the one that's really a library or the one that's really his locker. Eventually, I win. I'm sure I'm getting a reputation at the Club Med Gym.

Public Transportation

I've blogged about public transportation in Paris a few times. Many of the posts have been about strikes. I rely on public transportation to get around town. Walking is possible to a certain extent due to distances and I'm afraid to ride a bicycle on the city streets.

Most of the time, I get from point A to point B on time and with no problems. I almost take it for granted.

Yesterday, a bright, warm sunny day, I jumped on the 82 bus to go to Ecole Militaire to meet a friend. The bus was stopped. I was just swiping my Navigo card when a big bang along with a sudden jolt almost knocked me down. The driver said something to me, pointing at his dashboard, but I couldn't understand what he said. I assumed he was telling me that it wasn't him. So, I sat down.

Several seconds later, he made an announcement that everyone must get off the bus. Complaining and mumbling, this is not a rare occurrence on the bus, but still we are not happy. What's happening?

We all got off and then realized that a car had rear-ended the bus. There were three police cars already on the scene and the back of the bus had enough damage to send it out of service.

The bus pulled away, the police took the car and the driver around the corner so that the traffic jam (honking, waving, screaming) could disperse.

We all stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the next bus to arrive. No one checked to see if anyone was injured, no one took down names, we were just left at the scene to fend for ourselves.

If I had rear-ended a bus full of people in the US, I would have faced litigation until the end of my life. Every person on the bus would claim some injury. In France, no one even checked. I guess since everyone has medical care in France, if they are injured they can go to the doctor and get it taken care of, it's no one's fault and the system will take care of it. It's the same if you slip on something in the grocery store I think. And, they leave plenty of slippery things, boxes and other obstacles on the floor most of the time.

The Newspapers Are On Strike

Don't they know we can read the internet? The people who print the newspapers in France have been on strike for two days. Not the people who gather and write the news but the people who MAKE the newspaper. So, we can still get all the news we want, just not in the normal printed form.

I love reading a newspaper. It's part of my family tradition to read at least one (maybe two or three if there's time) daily newspaper(s). It is enjoyable to hold the paper, see the ads, read the editorials.

I don't think I'm in the majority though. Today people can get their news on the radio, on the TV, on their phone, on their computers. I don't know if these people who are on strike right now have thought this through. Maybe we don't really need them. Having a daily newspaper is a "nice to have" since all we really want is to know what's going on.

Normally here in France a strike lasts for one day, but it's already been two. If they're on strike for much longer, they might as well start looking for another profession, we don't really need them.

So, whatever grievance they have, they should weigh the potential for unemployment on a long-term basis.

Strikes in France are usually for:

Continuing to be able to retire at 60 years old or after 40 years of service
Continuing to be able to work 35 hours and be paid with time off if they work above this number of hours.
Keeping other benefits including vacation time.

In my opinion, they can't have it both ways. They can't do a job that isn't critical and expect to hold everyone hostage to give them more "stuff". If doctors went on strike or even policemen, we'd be in trouble, we need them. But newspaper printers? Guys, get back to work and deliver my paper on time for a change.

I actually got to use "C'est Moi" yesterday

I read somewhere that there is a method for adding words to the vocabulary. I think it's basically the same principle as creating a habit. You have to do it, use it, think about it with regularity and then it will "stick" in your brain.

It gets harder with age, too. When I was young, I only had to read it or think about it for a second and it was stored in my brain for later recall. Maybe it's because I've got so much stuff floating around up there -- french words, English words, schedules of what's open when, what's where, phone numbers, to do lists. The brain is a wonderful thing.

I blogged recently about the phrase, "C'est moi". It seems that it is used idiomatically to mean, "you're welcome". It's real meaning is, "It's me". Unless you're identifying yourself in a picture, the term usually involves a confession. I did it, it was me, etc. So, even in English this is a phrase that I rarely use.

But, the phrase, "C'est moi" keeps popping up in my daily life here in Paris, so it's been on my mind.

Yesterday afternoon, I was tearing back and forth between the Orange store and our apartment. I was trying to buy an iPHONE (eePHONE in French) but I didn't have all the proper documentation. To buy an iPHONE here I needed my passport, a RIB (bank paperwork so they can deduct the monthly charges directly from our account), a debit card for the same account, a credit card to pay for the phone, my LiveBox password and serial number, my "fixed" phone number so they could access my account, and my existing cell phone. In the US, you walk into a store, tell them what you want, they get it, turn it on and you pay for it. In France, it's the better part of an afternoon, even if I'd brought the proper stuff in the first place.

I was returning to the store, laden with all the documentation to continue the purchase of the phone. I'm sure that the salesman at the store didn't think I'd return after he gave me the list of things to bring back with me. But, I'd thought about this purchase for a long time and I was determined to complete the transaction. I was walking fast through the streets, hoping to beat some of the after work traffic in the store.

The afternoon rush hour, 5 to 7 PM also seems to be the time that all the really old people in Paris venture out of their apartments to run their errands. I'm sure there's a reason for this, or maybe it's just habit. They all come out at about this time, Monday through Saturday (Sunday everything is closed) dressed and coiffed, ready to buy their bananas and yogurt. Canes clacking on the sidewalk, stockings sagging, out they all come.

Streets are narrow and a small person who is walking slowly with a cane in one hand and a panier in the other takes up the whole sidewalk. It's rude and a bit dangerous for them if you to push past them.

But I was in a hurry to get my iPHONE. A woman with a cane stepped out of her building and started walking at a snail's pace right in front of me. Cars were on both sides of the street making it impossible to me to bypass her in the street. I walked along for at least 20 seconds before I had to make my move. I approached her from the back and when I got next to her, I twisted sideways to pass. She noticed this and sweetly said to me, "Excusez-moi". I felt terrible! She knew I couldn't pass and that she was going slowly. "She knows she's old, she knows I'm in a hurry", I thought. She also knows that I've been rude. What can I do? Evoke my new phrase, of course!

"C'est moi, Madame", just came right out of my mouth without even thinking. Used properly, too.

Paris and The Volcano

I love Paris. I am very sad every time I leave. I don't even want to go on a vacation to another part of France.

Now we have a volcano spewing volcanic ash, steam and lava into the atmosphere. It's all happening in Iceland but it's messing with all of us.

Even if I wanted to go back to the US, I can't right now -- no flights are taking off in most of Europe. I pity the poor American schoolchildren who are on holiday here and who are stuck, without money. I pity the families that are separated -- parents in one place, children in another or a husband and wife separated after a business trip.

But, I'm happy. I'm not going anywhere. The CNN report says that the last time this volcano erupted, in 1821, it continued to erupt for two years. Does that mean no Trans-Atlantic travel for two years? Or does it mean having to take a train to another city to get on a plane?

I have concerns. First, my US mail is sent to Paris every two weeks via UPS. It gets on a plane on Friday and arrives at my doorstep by Monday at 10:30. It works really well. If the UPS planes can't land in Paris, what will they do? I've contacted UPS and am waiting for a response. In a worst-case scenario, I'll have to have someone in the US scan all my important mail (it's not that much) and send the scans to me so that I can deal with them. Luckily the volcanic ash hasn't interfered with the internet or I'd be sunk.

By the way, the weather is gorgeous, warm and sunny, no visible cloud of ash, no particles falling from the sky. It makes it makes it kind of hard to believe that there is a problem up there in the sky.

C'est Moi

It should be simple. C'est moi" means, "it's me". But, more and more lately I've heard this phrase used instead of "You're welcome" and other pleasantries. I've had a hard time with "De rien" (it's nothing) even though it's in the dictionary, but, C'est Moi? Everyone, even educated people say it.

So for the next few days, I'll be running around town using "C'est moi" all the time to try to drum it into my head. By the time I get used to it, it won't be the thing to say and I'll have to learn a new "phrase of the instant".

McDonald's, Paris

This post is for all the french people who tell me that obesity and fast food are an American problem, not something that is happening in France.

Having Aidan in Paris for a week has allowed us to see many different sides of Paris. Yesterday we had to take a break from the Jardin de Plantes, as Aidan was hungry. Not much to eat in the garden, so we ventured out and the first thing we saw, right across the street, was McDonald's. Aidan was ecstatic since he doesn't get to go there very often at home in the US.

This McDonald's is not an ordinary one, though, it's enormous. Even though it was about 4:30 PM, not a meal time, it was filled with people, 5 lines stretching from the counter to the front door. This McDonald's is also on two levels. The man in front of us was with a small boy, maybe 7 years old. I wouldn't say he was obese, but he was definitely overweight. They ordered so much food that they needed two large bags for it all. Away they went for their mid-afternoon refreshment. I wonder if kids in the US eat a full meal at McDonald's at 4:30 PM, I have no idea.

Wine and beer are available at french McDonalds. Probably necessary for the parents, this place was a zoo. They also have selections that are not available in the US -- croque McDo, and a variety of cold french-type sandwiches with ham inside.

We ordered Aidan his happy meal. It came with juice and yogurt, kind of french. I guess he could have gotten a soda, but he is five and we didn't offer it. But, he did get the chicken mcNuggets and fries like in the US and a nice toy.

One thing that's similar about McDonald's around the world is that they have nice bathrooms, especially for kids.

This is my second visit to a french McDonald's. The first was on a wintery night in Carpentras when everything else was closed. I guess McDonald's fills a demand in France, but let's hope they don't end up on every corner.

Mother Nature

or... an earthquake in California.

Did your mother ever use the term "mother nature"? Ours did. I don't really know what it means but I like the idea of it, except when there's malevolence involved. But I guess we have to take "her" both ways.

Last year while we were in Paris, there was a moderate earthquake near Manhattan Beach. We assumed that there was no damage.

Months later, after our return, Terry opened a kitchen cupboard to be greeted with falling shards of glass from above -- our champagne glasses! They'd somehow moved forward toward the doors of the cupboard and when he opened them, the glasses flew out and showered him with glass. We lost four and I had to rescue him from a big pile of broken glass. Remember, it's California and we're always walking around barefoot.

With the recent earthquake in Haiti, followed by Chile, I decided to pay attention to my heirlooms and valued glass pieces. I bought padded cases for everything and spent weeks putting everything into the cases and stacking them in ways that even in a large quake, they'd be safe. I reviewed my plans up until the day we left to make sure that I'd keep my "stuff" safe.

Now there's been an earthquake in Mexico, close enough and strong enough that it could be felt in Manhattan Beach.

Have my goodies survived? I think they have. Was I smart to take care of them -- yes. Some of my things were my grandmother's -- they are dear to me and reminders of an era long-gone. I don't use them much, but they are still great to have and will be great to pass along. They are not things that can be given away or purchased from someone else. They are worth preserving, if possible from Mother Nature. (I use capitals because I respect her).

Finding A Toilet In Paris

The first few years we were here in Paris, I carefully timed my water drinking to avoid needing a toilet while out and about. The possibility of dehydration far outweighed the difficulties of finding and using a public toilet.

Toilets here are scarce and dirty. They are often down a perilous, dark flight of stairs inside a brasserie. If you're in an unfamiliar neighborhood, you have to go inside and ask where the toilets are located since they're never clearly marked. That's always a little embarrassing.

Once I was with a friend from the US who needed the toilet and we went downstairs together only to find that the urinal was in the hallway leading to the toilet, so we had to pass within centimeters of several men as they were peeing. As we walked by, I thought to myself, "where should I look, don't make eye contact, but don't look down..." We just kept walking. I had planned to wait outside the toilet for her but changed that plan since I would have had to stand right next to these men.

We don't tour around Paris that much any more unless we have visitors. We've seen most Parisian monuments several times. If we go to a museum we are usually OK since they have toilets. If it's a busy day, the women line up to get in, but that's another blog post.

Yesterday guests arrived from the US including our grandson who is 5 years old. Pushing jet lag back for a few hours, we decided to get outside. It was a beautiful day, sunny, breezy, almost warm. We had a couple of errands to run before catching the cruise boat on the Seine.

While we were walking on a crowded street, he announced that he had to go to the bathroom. We quickly clarified "which one" did he have to do. The inevitable answer came back to us. Trying to act like this wasn't an emergency, we scanned the neighborhood. One very busy and old cafe. Probably not a good bet for a five-year old. But, across the street there was a small, nice looking hotel.

We set the plan. Terry would go in with them and distract the person, asking questions about the rooms, price, etc. Then, he would, almost as an afterthought, ask about using their toilet. The first part was completed but when Terry asked about the bathroom, the woman replied, "it's complicated". Not as complicated as a five year old needing a toilet in central Paris. Finally, she gave in and showed the them bathroom.

Minutes later, our afternoon was back on track, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.

Grocery Fright

Guests are arriving for a week early Tuesday morning. So, I have a list of things to do to insure that they are comfortable and happy.

Grocery shopping is high on the list. This morning (Saturday) I decided that I'd better order the bulk of my groceries on-line for delivery on Monday evening. I finished the ordering process on the grocery store website and moved to the payment/delivery section.

It immediately came up that I would not be able to get a delivery until late on Tuesday, a day later than I needed. I looked and there were no deliveries available on Monday.
Of course, it's Easter Monday in France.

In the US, Good Friday is the holiday. In France, it's Easter Monday. Many people work but (obviously) not all.

How can I forget this small detail of French life, I've been discussing this for years.

So, I grabbed my coat, umbrella, scarf, etc. (it was pouring rain) and ventured to a large store. It wasn't too crowded, considering it was Easter Saturday, mid-morning. I made my way through the store and filled up my cart. Realizing that I'd have to carry (drag) it all home, I tried to be realistic, but I had quite a load. As I got to the front of the line, the cashier asked if I wanted a delivery. Well, yes, of course. It is free if you buy enough, and I'd certainly achieved the level needed. I signed the form, grabbed the few extremely perishable things and sprinted home in the rain.

As planned, the delivery man arrived. All is well in our household. We will survive until after the Easter Monday holiday.

The Sunday Newspaper

In the US, the Sunday newspaper is the biggest of the week. More ads, more sections to read, often a magazine or two.

Sunday morning is a time to relax with a cup of coffee, lazily reading the paper. It is delivered to our front door early in the morning. It is something I've always looked forward to. There is something for everyone in the paper, including the comics, which are in color and bigger on Sunday.

In Paris, we only have the Saturday-Sunday edition of the newspaper. We get both the IHT and Le Figaro. The IHT says Saturday/Sunday on the masthead, but it is really a Saturday newspaper. Same with Le Figaro except that it has three really nice magazines included, so at least there is something left over to read on Sunday.

There is a Sunday paper, Le Journal du Dimanche. It comes out only on Sunday but it is thin and you have to go out to buy it, I don't think they deliver it.

I guess that there is no Sunday newspaper to speak of here because of French labor laws and the French way of life, but I don't know for sure. I'm sure that no one wants to work on Saturday or on Sunday morning in the US either, but we do it if it's part of our job.

I notice that more and more stores are open on Sunday so maybe it's a matter of time before I start getting an actual Sunday newspaper here.

Taking the RER

We can get around central Paris easily using public transportation. But, we are hopeless when we have to venture outside of Paris.

In preparation for an upcoming visit, we decided to see how the RER ride is to Charles de Gaulle airport. We've already learned that trains arrive at the stop that don't service the desired destination, so you have to learn the name of the train you want and check the front of the train to make sure you're on the right one.

I looked at a map and it appeared to be a straight shot on the RER B. And, the RER B has a stop on the other side of the Luxembourg Gardens, this is easy.

So, our dry run to the airport happened this morning. We survived and it was pretty easy. It cost Euro 17 round trip per person. Including walking time, it took 1-1/4 hours, which includes some looking around time and some asking question time.

This is do-able!

The last time we took the RER, we got on the wrong train. We got off the train and had to walk MILES to get to another station that serviced our destination. We learned our lesson and we feel destined to take more train trips this summer.

Blue-ing the table, OR, the table is "blued"

"Blue" is the equivalent of Windex in the US. A window cleaner.

When we lived on rue de Seine, we had a dining table with a melamine finish. The best way to clean it was to spray "blue" and clean it with paper towels. So, if I was cleaning the table and Terry asked me what I was doing, I would say, "blu-ing the table".

Now we've been away from rue de Seine for a few years. The table that was lovingly "blued" every day now resides in our cave. I didn't use that much "Windex-equivalent" until recently when I realized that it works well on many surfaces -- the shower, the cook top, the counters. So, bring on the "blue".

It's getting hard to wrestle it out of my hand. I hold the "blue" in the left hand and the paper towels in the right. The movement is swift and efficient, a second or two and the surface looks perfect.

Our new dining room table is topped in white glass.

"Blue" is therefore a daily part of my life.

Bye, Bye, Olga

Olga was our downstairs neighbor for almost three years. I remember the day she moved in. It was the evening of Good Friday. It seemed that her boyfriend of the instant had moved them into the place while she was out of town. She arrived and started screaming at the top of her voice the minute she arrived in the building, swearing and throwing her belongings in the hallway. I went out and asked her what was the problem and she told us that she was "expressing herself". I'm all for self expression, as long as it doesn't interfere with others, but in this case, the calm of the building was destroyed. Until now.

She infringed on us in a myriad of small ways. She played the same phrase on the piano, in a minor key, over and over and over. Many times at 2 or 3 AM. Then, she would bang on the keys and slam the cover closed and start to scream.

Many of the things she did violated the rules of the building, including leaving a lot of "stuff" in the hallway and posting her photo (above) on the front door. She had so much stuff outside her door that I had to kick it out of the way to pass. Shoes, a baby stroller, boxes, a small table, a motorcycle chain, grocery cart, umbrellas. It was a hazard for everyone, yet no one complained. For awhile, she left her baby stroller in front of the ground floor apartment, blocking their door plus the door to the cave.

One of the most annoying things that she did was to install a flood light on the kitchen window ledge. It pointed up and flooded our kitchen with light. Terry tried to stop them when they were installing it and got into a verbal tit-for-tat with the (new) current boyfriend. Terry accused her of being Russian and the boyfriend accused us of being American. Hmmm, kind of embarrassing, now that I think about it.

So, her stuff was all over the hall, her photo was on the door, her piano was clanging and her light was illuminating our apartment. Oh, I almost finished this post before I described the plants. She put huge planter boxes filled with tall climbing plants on every window. In the winter, she covered all the plants with white material. No one complained.

She smoked, holding her cigarette out her window, so the smoke wafted into our open window. I started leaving that window closed to avoid dying prematurely of second-hand Olga smoke.

Now it's all gone. She left while we were gone and the new people are calm and quiet.

For Janet

She'll know why.

What Did I Do Before The iPHONE?

I used my iPHONE to take this picture. I also used it on a walk a few days ago to take some incredible pictures of Manhattan Beach.

But, the most important thing I use the iPHONE camera for is documenting everyday things. The photo above is an example.

This is the electronic control panel on my refrigerator. It's also my finger pointing out for future reference how to turn it on and off. I'll forget.

I had to turn off the refrigerator before we left in December. We have an electrical ghost in our house. For no reason, the entire electrical box pops off. It happens in the middle of the night, when we're not home and other odd times when there should not be a dramatic surge to cause this. We've replaced almost every suspect appliance. It could be in the wall, one of our wires could go out to the hallway, or anywhere else in the building. We could have some awful electrical problem or we could have a real ghost. The building is 200 years old so I'm sure there are a few ghosts floating around.

Malevolence aside, this is a minor problem except when we are gone for long periods of time. If we leave the refrigerator closed, with food in it, and the electricity goes off, it will not go back on again without someone flipping the switch. Barbara, the woman who watches our apartment for us, was planning to be gone for a month, so we couldn't take any chances -- we turned off the refrigerator, cleaned it thoroughly and put towels in the door to hold it open.

This all took place 3+ months ago, hence the importance of the photo. Even though it will take 24 hours to cool down, I will at least have some form of documentation about turning the refrigerator back on.

Ordering Provisions

After an 11-hour flight, hours of waiting at the airport (first for the plane and later for our luggage which always seems to be the last to come off the plane) and two taxi rides, I'm not in the mood to go to the grocery store.

If it were right around the corner and easy, I might do it. The closest store is about a 10 minute walk each way. Grubby, sticky and jet lagged, it's not my top priority to grocery shop.

But, we have to eat and we will want coffee in the morning. Morning on the first day back is usually around 4 AM.

I've found a system that seems to work. it will only fail if our flight is dramatically delayed. Order groceries on line for delivery after our arrival. All the big stores offer on-line ordering. If you order enough, they will deliver it at no charge for the delivery. I also like this service when I need a lot of heavy stuff.

Now I am faced with which store to order from. In the past I've used Franprix. Their delivery service is called "coursengo", roughly translated to mean "run your errands and go". The service itself has been excellent. They arrive on time and the things I order are correct. The problem has been that they don't have a good selection of the things I want and several items that they've delivered have been a little bit past their prime.

I am a consumer advocate. I do not like to get cheated, so when the items delivered are not fresh, I feel compelled to call and get credit. Being France, the phone line is not manned most of the time and they won't call you back. I have to be persistent. I ususally have to call at least three times and also email a few times. One of my simple pleasures is that they have to speak to me in French; they have to figure out what I'm saying, what I need and then repeat whatever they're trying to say to me, slowly, about five times. In the end, it's worth it, they have always credited me properly for everything that is rotten.

Once I got a bag of potatoes and every one was soft. In the same order, I got yellow broccoli. Once they broke a bottle of vinegar and it got all over everything and the whole order smelled. I got credit for the vinegar, not exactly compensation for having to leave the windows open for days during the winter.

I am considering trying a new store for my order this time, perhaps Monoprix. It will take longer to order since I don't have a list set up. The first order or two, you have to set up routine items on a list. After the lists are set up, all you have to do is empty the list into your "panier", edit it and you're done in about five minutes. To set this up the first time takes about an hour. Maybe it's worth it, I think Monoprix will have a better selection since they're a bigger store. They also have more volume so perhaps their products will be fresher. I've never seen yellow broccoli at Monoprix.

So, this will be another French adventure.

You Can't Be Out Of Touch

I have one last thing to finish on my Mom's house before it goes on the market -- the cooktop in the kitchen. They installed a beautiful piece of granite and will cut it when the cooktop arrives. We ordered it with plenty of time but, for some reason, this is difficult to get.

The cooktop world started to unravel yesterday afternoon.

Doctors don't let you leave your cell phones on and I had an appointment yesterday. It was long as it involved tests, so I was out of the communication string for about two hours. It turned out to be two critical hours on Friday afternoon. Why does everything happen on Friday afternoon at 4 PM? It's a universal truth. You can't do anything to correct it at 4 PM on Friday and everyone is already packing to leave for the weekend by then. You're lucky to even get someone by phone. And, you have no hope of fixing the problem until Monday morning at the earliest.

Yesterday's hell was that they delivered an electric cooktop (to my Mom's) instead of a gas one. It's been on order for three weeks and now it is going to take another three weeks to get the right one. Sounds a little bit like France, doesn't it? So, later today, I'm heading out to the kind of stores I hate the most -- appliance stores to see if I can find anything myself.

Picture me, on a Saturday afternoon in Home Depot. The store is so big that I get nervous just walking in the door. Everything is huge and I can't lift it and I have a small car. It's also in a bad neighborhood. Then, picture me at Pacific Sales. Also big, but a little accessible. But, Saturday afternoon is a nightmare with millions of people trying to buy things and only one salesperson per department.

Car Max

I'm at Car Max selling my Mom's car.

My "rep" is named Luis so I naturally pronounced it like in French--Looee.

We're in CA, land of the Hispanic pronunciation, so you can probably imagine that Luis and I are already not communicating.

It's Looues in CA, I've been informed.

One of the guys who was working on Mom's house was Manuel. Following Hispanic rules I called him Manwell and was corrected with Manual. It's all too confusing.

Hopefully Luis will return soon, maybe with a check.

We Still Haven't Heard The Last of Ruth

I thought that when the estate sale was over (two weeks ago now), I'd be free. But, it was really just the beginning of an extended nightmare. No idea how it will all end. I keep reminding myself that these are petty annoyances, yes, they might end up costing a little money, but it's not life or death.

Tell that to my heart when I wake up in the middle of the night, anxious beyond logic. The middle of the night nerves of adulthood are just like the monster under the bed when I was little, reality isn't represented but I'm still scared.

The homeowner's association has demanded that we be present at a hearing, stating that we have broken a rule. Evidently they think that having an Estate Sale is against one of their rules. I don't know how or why a person in the United States can't do something that is not illegal within the walls of his or her own home. It seems a little like our freedom is being denied. Since we aren't the owners of the house and we don't have the rule book, we aren't going to attend. They will not send us the regulations so we really aren't sure where we stand, but we aren't going to drive to San Diego to sit in front of a group of like-minded homeowners.

But, the most stressful part of the Estate Sale is still Ruth and her gang. The sale is over, the house has been renovated, it is already on the market. Ruth mailed a check from the sale proceeds along with a key to the house and some credit cards to us. When they didn't arrive, we started to look for the package. The post office says they delivered it. But, not to our house. We searched the neighborhood, actually going door-to-door. Terry went to three post offices. We talked to our normal mail carrier who was off on the day the package was delivered. The mailman of the day was a temp. He has no idea where he left the package. All I know is that 6 -7 of my parents' credit cards, all the receipts from the sale, a key to the house and a check are missing. We discovered the problem on Wednesday. It's now Monday. Ruth has finally organized and is sending out a new check today. But, it's a holiday. And, lo!, they didn't put the key in the missing package, they found it on someone's desk. So, now all I have to do is wait for the new package and cancel or change all the credit cards. Of course, since they didn't keep a copy of the cards, I don't know which ones they are.

Was it a good idea to have an Estate Sale, yes. I would do it again. Maybe.

I've Given Up All (mostly) Worldly Possessions

After spending most of the last two months going through my parents' house, taking what I want and getting rid of the rest, I've decided it's time to re-think the idea of "stuff". I don't think I want it any more.

So, I wrote to my sister and told her that I've given up all worldly possessions except clothes, shoes, makeup and cute underwear. I can't add books to the list because I have a Kindle and you can delete books from it at will.

There are some important things that I'm keeping. The family china and silver, old books and family Bibles. My computers, iPHONE, scanner and all their related cables. My car, of course. My watercolors, brushes and paper.

I'm cleaning out every day. Goodwill has made me a regular stop on their route.

It all turns out to be unimportant in the end.

Si or Oui?

It's not what you think.

I'm in California, where English is a second language and Spanish is the spoken word. Yikes, I'm barely dealing with my french noun-verb agreement and now I'm thrown into Spanish.

I know a few pleasantries. I can't read or write a thing in Spanish.

I'm dealing with expats who are the "trades" working on the renovation of my Mom's house. I have Zak, the Palestinian. We are OK, he can speak, read and write English and he is polite and culturally American. No idea how long he's lived here.

But, the rest of the group are hispanics. They communicate in Spanish. So, when the guy was measuring the kitchen for the new granite, he asked me if "lunes" (SP) was OK for delivery. I quickly translated "lunes" into "lundi" into "Monday" and said, "Oui". A huge question mark appeared on everyone's faces. What did I say???? I answered him in French. Then, I had to try to explain in my non-existant Spanish. Me yamo Sherry (SP) won't do, nor will, "Donde esta los banyos". I feel like it's 2002 in Paris. I am getting sweaty and everyone is looking at me until I realize that "Oui" is "Si" in Spanish. Of course, "si" in french is a contradictory yes and I never use it because if I did, I would have to defend my contradiction in french and I don't have that much life left in me.

We finally work out "si" and the granite is ordered, and even more remarkably, it arrives on Monday. I feel tri-lingual for a brief moment.

In working with a renovation in US, I realize all the subtle differences between this work and our recent work in France. The language barrier is consistent. Even if I was relatively fluent in French, the terms for building are new to me. And, in California, it's mostly Spanish. Culturally it's quite different too. If I have an issue to discuss with a contractor in the US, I speak my mind and the contractor will say "yes" and then decide on his own whether to actually abide by this "yes" or not. I will never know unless I check. In France if I request something or question something, the tradesman flies into an immediate tantrum, screaming and flapping his arms. The basis of the emotion is that "I have no confidence in him". Of course, this is true, but you have to deny it or he will walk off the job, with your deposit, never to return again.

So, in general, despite the linguistic challenges, I am doing better in the US when it comes to a home renovation.

Note that I am "nul" in Spanish, so my spelling might be completely wrong. I meant to say, "my name is Sherry" and "where are the bathrooms", two of the most important phrases in any language, in my opinion.

Flashback to Noos

We had Noos in Paris for our internet and it worked very well for several years.

Then we moved. They came to our new apartment and strung cable from room to room. But the internet never worked.

It was a nightmare for three months. We had a contract. It could not be broken. But, they could not deliver what they promised, the internet.

So, we went to their offices, thinking that it would be easy to sort it all out in person.

But, this is France. We went, with all our equipment in a sack, to their main offices at Bercy. We thought we were being smart, we arrived before they opened. We were there with about 20 other people with the same idea, with the same ugly bags of routers, modems, cables, etc.

The doors finally opened and we filed in, heads down. Each of us took, a number and sat down. There was one person behind the counter. Each new person had a big problem and each problem took a long time. We waited and waited. Each person's request was summarily rejected. Still (naively) we were optimistic.

We started to get hungry. Lunchtime came and went. We waited. Eventually, our number was called. We approached the lone man in his kisok. He asked a few questions, walked away for a few minutes, which made us hopeful, and then came back to pronounce that we had to pay for our internet through the contract period even though they were unable to deliver the service.

We felt bruised but not defeated and we eventually won, signing up with France Telecom for internet, which has been sightly better than Noos (now renamed Numericable, probably because Noos had such a bad reputation).

Today, several years after our Noos episode, it was time for a flashback. I'm in San Diego where people are nice and there are no lines for services. Our internet provider is Time Warner. We have used them for years, with a high degree of satisfaction. When something breaks, we call, they come to our house and it is fixed.

I had to return a router for my Mom. She's moved and has a new router. They can't close her account until I return the old router. It didn't seem difficult. I have my iPHONE GPS so I thought I could find their office. This was the first problem. Their office is in one of these business parks with the byzantine systems of connected parking lots that lead to another parking lot but never the parking lot that you need. So, I drove around and around for about 30 minutes before I found the (unmarked) TIME WARNER building. I parked. I got the router and walked in to the lobby. I think I was expecting to walk right up to a counter, turn in the router, get a receipt and leave. Au Contraire. There was one of these machines where you take a number. So I took a number. I got 782. Then I looked at the lobby. It was full of people with bags of equipment. Lots of people. People sitting and people standing. People pacing. No one was smiling. Except me. I quickly wiped that smile off my face in order to conform. A man approached me.

"Lots of people have left," he said. This still didn't register until I did the math. The number of the screen, showing the last person served showed the number 750; That's 32 places away from 782.

My life flashed before my eyes. I cannot possibly re-create the horror of Noos in San Diego. It's not possible! I ditched number 782 in the trash can and threw the router in the back seat. I have no idea how I'll ever get my Time Warmer account closed but I'm not waiting for 32 other people on a beautiful February afternoon.

When Life Is Better Than Reality TV

I really prefer a quiet life, planned and paced to my preferences.

Right now, my life is more like a reality TV show. Let's call it "The Ruth Show". It's a combination of "Dog, The Bounty Hunter" and "Antiques Roadshow" with a little bit of "The Housewives of Aviara".

Ruth is the estate sales woman we hired to sell off the remnants of our parents' estate (furnishings, antiques, etc) so that we can then sell the house. Ruth is one of a kind. I think that she should be on TV. Unfortunately, I'm being sucked, unwittingly into this reality,

First, Ruth and her team go into the home and tear it apart, they put up tables and lamps. They log everything in to their computers, organize it and price it. They will sell everything and anything, from the rickety to the antique. She told me that she sold an airplane once. They advertise on websites, post signs and send out emails. Hoards of people come from hundreds of miles away. Ruth's loyal customers come early, to get the "good" stuff.

All this is good, she is doing a great job. But, the neighbors don't seem to think so. This is a middle class neighborhood. But, the kind of middle class neighborhood where everyone drives a Mercedes, even if it's leased. In France, we call this bourgeise and it is not something you'd work toward achieving. But, in N. County San Diego, this is the ultimate -- a new, large house with new large furniture, a television on every wall and an enormous built-in refrigerator.

The minute the sale started yesterday, a woman from the local homeowner's association (HOA) was in the house, delivering a "cease and desist" to Ruth. Ruth didn't miss a beat, she called us and we called the woman. But it was after 5 PM, so the woman didn't answer her phone and the sale continued. Ruth called about 8 PM to say that the sale was going great, her clients were happy, she was happy.

The next morning, the HOA woman called again. We talked to her, told her that even if we closed down the sale, the advertising had gone out and people would be coming. No idea if this will work or not. Ruth continues with the sale, unflappable, she's excited and the house is swarming with people buying our stuff.

Hopefully the HOA will leave us alone until Ruth is done with her job.

Squatters in California

I get so used to the cultural things that happen in one place and not in another. It is often hard on a moment's notice to remember what happens where.

We are having an estate sale to empty my Mom's house before we put it on the market. We've hired an estate agent, Ruth to do this. She takes 40% and we get 60% and at the end of the sale, the house should be empty unless something very valuable goes unsold.

The only people that have keys to the house right now are my sister (in Houston), me (in Manhattan Beach) and Ruth.

This morning, I got a frantic call from Ruth telling me that her father had arrived at the house to start the day's work on the sale and there was a silver Mercedes in the driveway. We don't have a silver Mercedes, Ruth. Her father knocked on the door and a naked woman answered. He is 80, so this was his lucky day.

However, the house is supposed to be vacant. Panic set in -- we have a squatter and the house hasn't even been vacant for three days. Yikes. I told Ruth to call the police.

In Paris, squatters are somewhat common. When a building is vacant, they install large cement blocks in all the windows to prevent squatters. In France, squatters have rights, so if they are living in your place, illegally, you, the owner, don't have the ability to easily evict them. In the US, of course, we could get rid of a squatter quickly. But, a squatter in a house, even for one night can do a lot of damage.

Then, it occurred to me -- this isn't a squatter! Squatters aren't common in California, and they don't normally drive Mercedes!

Ruth's father had gone to the wrong house. And, when he thought she was in the house illegally, he called the police. I guess you can never be too careful when it comes to squatters. Even in the US.

Just Another Day, Chez Nous

Right now, we're in California, having moved Mom to assisted living recently. We're now preparing her house to be sold. For the last two weeks, I've spent most of my time at her house, first with my sister and then with Terry.

I'm not used to living in such a large space. Her house is about twice the size of our house in Manhattan Beach and it is about three times the size of our apartment in Paris. We've gotten used to living in smaller spaces.

Mom's house is also a bit isolated. Both Manhattan Beach and Paris are densely populated cities and there's a weird comfort in being able to see your neighbors. (Notice that I didn't say "hear" your neighbors or "smell (like cigarettes)" your neighbors, as these two things take a lot of getting used to in Paris).

Feeling vulnerable in our new surroundings, we figured out how to use the alarm system and started to use it. We're used to using alarms, but in our new surroundings, we were constantly having to look up the pass code and paste post-it notes on doors when the alarm was set so that we wouldn't have a "false alarm".

Last Friday, we were working at a fast pace, trying to pack and organize the house before the estate sale. We both forgot to turn off the alarm in the morning, despite multiple reminders to each other.

The newspaper has been stopped and it wasn't trash day, so there was no need to go outside. I was tinkering around upstairs when I heard a hellish siren -- Terry had opened a window. We both started running, literally in circles, trying to figure out where the keypads are located. Then, I needed to find my day planner to get the codes. The alarm was screaming, we were screaming...

I found the book turned off the alarm, but now we needed to call the alarm company. We couldn't find the phone number. Pulses elevated, we raced around some more, luckily no police. I tried to call the alarm company and got distracted. Minutes later, Terry asked me to call something else and now the cell phone was AWOL. In a house where everything has been mved, and no surface is empty, finding a cell phone in a black case isn't easy.

Then we remembered we could call the phone. We did, it rang and the familiar black case was located.

Thinking About The Retour

I found this used metro ticket in my coat pocket a few days ago. We don't use metro tickets except at the beginning and end or our trips. They tide us over when we aren't going to need to charge our Navigo cards for a month or even a week.

So, this is a sad reminder of our latest departure. It is now hanging on my computer monitor to remind me that I will be returning to Paris soon.

I still have a few more unused metro tickets in my wallet. The french wallet. We learned long ago that it's easier to have two wallets rather than take all the US stuff out and put all the french stuff in each time. Too many chances to forget something.

But, these metro tickets don't work very well. My iPHONE case has a magnetic closure and I think that it got too near the tickets and de-magnetized them. They are new, but when we tried to use them, they made that bad off-key dinging sound like you're committing a crime against the RATP. We just ignore it, just like the people do who get on the bus without any ticket.

Me v. Moi

Who am I? Where am I?

I've thought a lot about the French me (moi) and the American me.

On the outside, I'm the same in both locations. My clothes are basically the same, as is my hair, makeup, etc. I add a coat or a scarf in Paris, flip flops in Manhattan Beach. It was raining yesterday and I wore flip flops -- it's logical -- my feet will get wet anyway.

I eat a little bit differently in France. It's mainly because of availability. Different food is available in each location and I take advantage of the local cuisine. Little green lentils in Paris, ground turkey in the US.

My daily routine is quite a bit different. In Paris, my day centers around running errands, exercise (daily, if possible), study, cultural activities and friends.

In the US, running errands in a car makes this activity almost effortless. I exercise, but don't study too much. Cultural activities are almost nil except for movies, which are hard to call "culture". Family visits take up a lot of time and then there's grooming.

In France, I avoid getting a haircut, a facial or a manicure/pedicure. There are several reasons for this, including the language barrier and cleanliness issues. So, I avoid all grooming by outside salons unless absolutely necessary. This saves me a lot of time and money.

TV in France is pretty bad, so I read a lot more books in France. Probably a book a week. Our bookshelves are overflowing, even though I've been reading my Kindle since April.

"Me" plays tennis on hard courts. "Moi" plays on red clay. This time of year, the clay courts are covered.

"Me" goes to the Spectrum and watches TV while I work out. "Moi" walks or runs around the Luxembourg Gardens, no iPOD to keep me company because there's so much to see.

"Me" buys flowers at the Hermosa Beach farmer's market on Fridays. "Moi" buys flowers at the "Monceau Fleurs" on rue Vaugirard. After much research, these are the best local flower places.

"Moi" takes the sheets to a French laundry and they come back crisp and ironed. "Me" has Elma, who irons everything including my gym clothes.

Last year on New Year's Eve, we took the 82 bus to rue Cler and bought fresh oysters for our celebration. It was cold, almost snowing outside. This year, I bought lobster and swordfish, hopefully it will be good.

The most important thing is that I'm happy in both places. There's no adjustment needed, the switch from "Me" to "Moi" happens effortlessly.

Technical Support

It's certainly easier to troubleshoot technical problems in the US. We still have our problems. Sometimes they are easy to fix and other times, one fix leads to another breakage, a small chain reaction of technical stress.

It all started yesterday. At least that's when we first knew we had a problem. The problem started several weeks ago, created by a visit from the security system technician.

During the period of extreme jet lag after arriving from Paris, I set off the alarm in our house. The security system called and noted that we had a problem because when the alarm went off the phone in our house didn't work. A guy came out to fix it.

I wasn't home but Terry reported that the guy wired the security system to the phone system in a complicated maneuver, stringing the phone wire under the carpet in the room. We tested the alarm system, the only thing that we thought was broken. We were living in a fantasy world for several weeks, unknowing that this fix had disconnected our fax. Christmas came and went along with family visits, we didn't use the fax.

Then, I was expecting an important fax that didn't come. Luckily I didn't yell at the sender, since we were at fault. I checked the fax machine, no dial tone. ICK. After a call to our phone company, it was determined that the fax machine was not even connected to the phone line. A technician was dispatched.

This morning George came. He seemed thorough and determined that yes, the fax was not plugged in. He re-worked the phone cables and everything, including the phones, the fax, the TV, internet and wifi work.

But, the story won't be finished until this afternoon. In the cascade of fixes, we still have to have the security system checked to make sure that it will call the police if we have a break-in. Because, as we all know, one guy fixes one thing, only to cause another thing not to work.

In France, everyone agrees that it is better to never touch any electronic thing that works, even if it doesn't work very well. In the US, we're more brave, I wonder if we should be.

George also confirmed one thing that we worried about. Our internet line is split or shared with several other households. He wouldn't or couldn't tell us who we share with. But, if one person on the line is doing something illegal over the internet, it is as if we all are doing it. They have no way to know who is responsible. I've heard about this in France, too, where internet piracy is so illegal that if you're caught, you're permanently cut off from using the internet. I don't know how they do it, but I have to hope that whichever neighbors share our line, they're honest.

Right now, it all works, but we'll see what happens when the security system guy tinkers with it all.

The Electronic Greeting

They're starting to come in. Via email. Nice little greetings.

They're not e-cards, these are special.

People make the cards themselves. They are all different and creative. They use their own artwork and photos, write their personal greetings. I am enjoying seeing them, receiving them.

One even came with a video of a friend's dog.

I love them all, but I still prefer to get the "snail" mail Christmas cards. I guess it's just traditional for me.

Haven't We Had Enough Renoir?

In Paris this fall, there was a large exposition at the Grand Palais of Renoir. It was very popular. We have season passes to the Grand Palais, so we went. It was very crowded with many tour groups. We made the mistake of going on a Wednesday afternoon. School is out on Wednesdays, and there were many young children's groups as well.

I think the ease of looking at Renoir's work is what makes it so popular. A lot of pink-skinned, healthy looking women, some scenes, like the one above of middle class people having fun and of course, the nudes.

My friend, Caroline, told me a long story about how well-received Renoir was during his lifetime, and how he continued to paint into old age despite extremely bad arthritis.

I tried to enjoy the exposition, but even though the paintings are beautiful, it is not my taste.

Today, I received the bi-monthly bulletin from LACMA (Los Angeles Museum of Art) of which I am also a member. Just like the Grand Palais, they have several major exhibitions every year. Note that they say "expositions" in French and "exhibitions" in English. I always mix the two up.

The cover photo for the LACMA catalog is a huge Renoir painting. Hmmm. I looked inside to learn that LACMA will have a major Renoir exhibition starting in February. This show has been organized in conjunction with le Reunion des Musees Nationaux (France) and le Musee d'Orsay. Hmmmm. Didn't I just see this?

The description of the exhibition claims that this is new. They go further to compare Renoir's later work to the Old Masters, as he moved away from his Impressionist roots.

I'll have to go, it's free with membership. Maybe I'll see it in a new light. I'm open.

I Saw Five Movies

With all the holiday visits, I'd forgotten that I hit the movie jackpot on the flight. I saw five movies and still had time to eat two meals, read a little of my book and take a nap.

The movies are:

The September Issue
Neuilly Sa Mere
Seraphine
Le Herisson
Whatever Works

I had wanted to see them all and I liked them.

H1N1 Vaccines, Thanks, CVS

After having had a very bad virus in Paris a few years ago, I've been very careful to avoid getting sick. With all the publicity about the new H1N1 virus, I wanted to be first in line to get the shot.

This was much harder than expected. In France, we don't have a regular doctor and aren't on the French social medical system. We purchase health insurance for emergencies only. For the normal flu shots, we just go to our neighborhood pharmacy, buy two shots and give them to each other. The H1N1 shots, however, were only available at vaccination centers and only for priority patients. We are not a priority in France. So, we tried to follow all the other rules to avoid contagion, washing hands, eating properly, etc. We didn't get the flu, not even on the cramped 11-1/2 hour flight home.

It's hard to stay healthy in Paris during the cold and flu season. We take public transportation everywhere. It's crowded and people are not conscious of covering their nose or mouth for a cough or sneeze. I feel like I'm holding my breath half the time.

Back in the US, we found out that we are not in the priority categories for getting the shots either. Maybe it's a little easier but not much. So, we waited, using our hand sanitizers like crazy in public places.

Terry finally found out that if we become patients of a medical group in Manhattan Beach, they would give us the shots, so he got us each an appointment. It seemed like a small price to pay to get the shots. But, three days before Christmas, who feels like meeting a new doctor, filling out the forms, answering all the dumb questions. Not me. Plus Eileen and Aidan had been there yesterday and she reported that everyone in the waiting room was visibly sick.

Today, we got lucky. After the gym this morning, I was running errands and I remembered that the CVS pharmacy has a walk-in medical clinic. So, I decided to try it out. It took me about 10 minutes to find a parking place, but I got one and went inside. I filled out the electronic form on a computer and the minute I pushed send, a door opened and a nice woman called my name. No waiting, I guess. I got the shot and was back in my car in less than five minutes.

Later in the day, I went back with Terry who had a similar experience. No more worries about this pandemic.

I do have concerns though. Why has it taken both the US and France 5-6 months to get a vaccine out to the general public? What if this was smallpox or something more deadly? Keep the hand sanitizer handy.

A Smooth Get-Away

Planning for every known catastrophe, we check and double-check our plane and taxi reservations, we pack early, lock up our suitcases, turn off water, gas, electricity, notify friends. We can never be too careful.

There's always a new wrinkle to every trip. The taxi doesn't show up, there's a greve and traffic is completely blocked, we leave something on or open.

No exception this week. We were taking our suitcases down the elevator in the dark early morning hours. Trying to be quiet for our neighbors. Trying to make a smooth get-away.

I was stationed at the bottom on the ground floor, taking the suitcases out of the elevator and lining them up inside the door to the street. As I watched the elevator, which was supposed to be heading my way with one last load, but instead of going down, it went up. Yikes. Then, I heard an awful elevator noise like the doors were unsuccessfully opening and then closing, frantically trying to expel our suitcases.

I raced up the stairs, grabbed Terry and we went up. The suitcases were stuck in the door.

Evidently one of the suitcases tipped or rolled into the buttons for the floors. When it rolled, it also stuck in the little accordion doors inside the main door. After five frantic minutes, seeing our flight leave without us, we freed the suitcases, got out to the street and into our waiting taxi.

One Trick I Haven't Learned Yet

I'm hopeful that in 2010 I'll be able to keep track of my "stuff".

There are certain things that I don't need in one place or the other. I really don't need a winter coat in Manhattan Beach, a leather jacket and/or a thin jacket will do. Bathing suits, shorts, pareos (those things you can tie in a million different ways over a bathing suit) are exclusive to Manhattan Beach.

The "grey" area is everything else. I have a couple of role models. They make it look so easy. Terry takes literally every item of clothing back and forth. Maybe he leaves his winter coat in Paris, but the rest of it goes right back into the suitcase each time.

Another role model is Mary. She travels between the US and Paris with just a carry on bag. In this one small bag, she carries her laptop and cameras, so there's not much room for anything else, maybe a few gifts. She claims to have a duplicate wardrobe. My hero.

I've tried to duplicate a few of the key items, especially shoes which are heavy and bulky in the suitcase. Books have been virtually eliminated with the Kindle. I have identical tennis rackets in each location. So, the problem lies in the clothing area.

I do leave a lot of stuff in Paris. For example, I don't really wear suits of any kind in the US, so they stay. Jeans go back and forth, it's hard to find one pair with just the right cut, color and comfort, two would be really hard. This time of year, a few sweaters will make the trip. A skirt, just in case. Tennis clothes (not shoes) travel, workout clothes stay. I'm confused already.

When we first started doing this in 2002, I devised an inventory system. I use a spiral notebook and write down the things left behind. Then, I use another set of pages to write down things that are needed. Invariably the one thing that I'm looking for has been left off the list. I looked for a sweater for over a year. I finally found it when we moved from rue de Seine. It had fallen off the hanger and was bunched up under the shoes in the closet.

I think I've improved until the whole system breaks down. Where is that...???

Adjectives

It seems so simple, the use of adjectives.

In French, I can certainly read, write and understand adjectives. They actually slow the sentence down enough that I can grasp the basic meaning of things better. The more adjectives the better.

For me, the hard part is using adjectives while speaking. I can, of course, say that the weather is nice or the water is cold.

Adjectives get more complex than that. I've been using adjectives as much as possible. My favorites might give some indication about my life in France. The words shy, trite, guilty and rude come to mind. The "nice" adjectives are the ones they teach during the first few French lessons; beautiful, warm, interesting. Boring, aren't they?

I'll be working on adjectives for awhile, so bear with me.

The Race Is On...Christmas Is Coming

I love the Christmas season.

It is more Christmas-y in Paris than in California, but I enjoy the season no matter where I am.

As an American, I always thought of the day after Thanksgiving as the official start of the Christmas season.

Since there is no Thanksgiving in France (except at our house) all bets are off -- I saw Christmas displays in stores before Halloween.

However, it's really started now. The store windows are decorated for Christmas not for fall. There are many promotions advertising in the name of "Noel".

The stores don't seem busier though. There's time.

While in the US, everyone has a day off on the day after Thanksgiving and the stores have sales, so it's the time to start shopping.

Personal decorating has been put off in our house. I don't think I'm ready yet. I'm not ready to have every spare surface covered with little snowmen, reindeer and Santas. I'm not ready for pine in the house either. The smell is great but the falling needles leave something to be desired.

I've got flowers in the house and all is well. There's Christmas music playing through my iPOD, all is well.

The Pumpkin Pie

After standing in the pie crust aisle at both Franprix and Monprix, I found the proper thing to line the pan for the pie. All the pie crusts are in rolls in France. They're in pie shaped metal tins in the US.

I brought the crust makings home and tried to read the directions. I even got Terry to translate. But, we couldn't figure out if the paper is supposed to be UNDER the crust or OVER the crust but under the beans or rice that are used to weight down the crust while it cooks. No idea. So, we put it OVER and cooked the crust. It didn't seem to be wrecked, so I added the pumpkin pie filling.

The filing was also somewhat challenging. The recipe was partially in grams but then deferred at the end to 1/2 pint of milk. So, I had to recite the childhood rhyme, "A pint, a pound, the world around". So, a pound is 16 oz., so a half pint is a half pound or 8 oz. It all seems to have worked out.

I didn't have all the spices called for, but I think it will taste good anyway.

The leftover crust allowed me to make a little art project for my pie. I cut a small pumpkin, some leaves and also put some cloves on top of the pumpkin pie for the fall-like effect shown above.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Carte de Sejour, 2009

Friday afternoon, I was at the local copier place, making copies of three (3) months worth of financial documents, our tax receipts, and our newly-translated medical insurance policy. I made over 400 copies. I made so many that the owner gave me the student price of 6 cents a copy. She probably just wanted to get rid of me. She doesn't take credit cards, and I hadn't been to the bank recently.

I then collated them all into three stacks. One for us and two for the fonctionnaire at the Prefecture at Cite.

We analyzed and rehearsed our positions. We weren't going away empty-handed again.

This morning, we got up early, had our coffee, showered, got dressed and hit the metro. The paperwork mandated during our previous meeting, fit nicely in one of our flight carry-on suitcases, the stack was too heavy and cumbersome to carry, even in a briefcase.

As usual, we got there too early. We tried to spot the fonctionnaire who had been so brutal with us the last time. She was there again, same guichet, #3. We kept our fingers crossed, breathing little prayers. Go on a break, go to the bathroom, take a long time with the people you're with so someone else will call our number. Our prayers were answered. After waiting for more than an hour, another woman called our number. We approached, gave her the enormous stack of papers, explained them a bit.

She told us to wait (again). More than an hour later, our number was called again. She gave us the approval, without explanation. We packed it all back into the suitcase and hit the metro. A mere three hours at the Prefecutre this morning.

France Telecom

France Telecom is a confusing conglomerate of companies. We use them, under a variety of names for our telephone, internet and television connection. They go by the names France Telecom, Orange and Wanadoo.

During 2009, there have been more than 20 suicides by employees of this company. Job stress, lack of security, and a company that is partially private and partially public, are to blame, according to the press.

What about the customers? While I haven't considered suicide, France Telecom has given me a few more grey hairs on my head.

Yesterday's example is pretty harmless, but still it took an hour of my time to figure it out and fix it.

We had a power outage while we were out in the afternoon. We turned the power back on and didn't think too much about it, until I decided to watch the evening news last night. We have power outages quite often. I normally just re-set the decoder box for the TV or the Livebox (like a modem) or both. But, last night, nothing worked. A new screen, one that I've never seen before, popped up. It said to put in my 10-digit customer number and push OK.

We've had the France Telecom system for four years. I've never been asked for my customer number before. Into the files I went, found a very thick file (as you can imagine) and went through it. I tried every number I could find, pushed them all in, nothing. Finally a screen came up on the TV that said I had to go to the Orange.fr website to find out what to do. Luckily the internet worked! I did this and it told me that the customer number I was looking for was on my "welcome" letter when I signed up for the service. I found it and pushed it in, voila, another screen came up, asking for my password. Yikes. I put in all the normal passwords that I might use, nothing.

Back to the internet. The password should be with the customer number. Yes, it was, in it went, OK. Turned off the decoder and the TV. Turned it back on. It worked. But, all my settings for English, sub-titles, etc. were lost along the way. Back to the buttons, another 15 minutes later, the TV was restored.

If we had to call France Telecom, we would have been charged, by the minute, for the call. If they had to come to our apartment, they charge a minimum of Euro 77.

Compare this with our US system, Time Warner. When we have a problem, we call. They try to fix it over the phone. No charge, of course. If that doesn't work, they come out to the house, replace whatever needs to be fixed, no charge.

More On Thanksgiving

I just realized a few days ago that my meal accessories are more suited to serving a french-style meal than an American meal.

I have enough plates, forks, and spoons for lots of little courses.

Thanksgiving is one big meal. All the dishes are served at once. OMG. I need a lot of serving bowls, right away.

This morning I calculated all the items on the menu and what sort of serving dish they'd need. Then I checked my inventory. Sorely lacking.

Off to the stores. It's never easy, but it's especially hard if I have to walk everywhere or take the metro or bus.

The first few stores I hit didn't seem right so I pressed on. It's Saturday and the buses don't run as often as during the week.

I've just gotten home with a bag of stuff. It's 3 PM and I've been out since about 10:30 AM. But, I think I have everything for Thanksgiving dinner except the fresh foods and the wine (that's going to be hard). I got a muffin tin (now silicon), hopefully it won't melt, several serving dishes and assorted other fun things.

So, the meal is organized. I wish I could say the same for the new stuff. I'm out of room in my kitchen to store these new additions. The cave is not that easy to store things in, but I won't need any of this until the next meal I prepare that has 7 or 8 items served simultaneously.

Thanksgiving To The Rescue

Thanksgiving is a week and two days from today. I've ordered the turkey, it will be great, since everything we buy from our local butcher is tasty, fresh, and top quality.

This morning, I decided that it was time to start accumulating the other components of the dinner. We've never made a true Thanksgiving dinner before in Paris. I made a list of all the things I needed, including a pan that is small enough to fit in the oven but large enough to hold the turkey.

Mid-morning, I hit the Epicerie at Le Bon Marche, thinking that I would be able to find everything in my own neighborhood. I got a cart at the door I was so sure it would be filled to the brim. As I made my way up and down the aisles, I couldn't find one thing needed for the meal. No stuffing mix, no cranberries, no pumpkin in a can to make the pies. I went through the whole store twice, thinking that I wasn't being open-minded. I left empty-handed.

I came home, had lunch and hatched a new plan. There are several stores in Paris that sell Anglophone food products. I've been to one, "The Real McCoy" on rue Grenelle and it wasn't very good. But, there is another store called, yes, "Thanksgiving" in the Marais. It's a little bit out of my normal route, but I was getting desperate. I checked the map, grabbed my cart and Terry and we hit the Marais. We found the store in an area called, Village St Paul, a charming corner near Il St Louis. The store was incredible, a veritable Thanksgiving cornucopia. I found everything I needed and more. Yes, it was expensive, but it is worth every centime.

Next stop, BHV, a short but crowded bus ride away. I found the roasting pan and it even had a rack in it.

So I'm set for Thanksgiving in Paris.

Carte de Sejour Hell

We are law-abiding citizens. We try to follow the rules, really.

We've had our "carte de sejour" (french resident permit) for a little over one year. We had difficulty getting it the first time, but that was partially our fault.

This last go-around, which started in September, has been even more taxing than normal. We can't even really complain to our friends because they think we're crazy or incompetent. Why should this be so hard? We're just renewing an existing card. They've already let us in the country for a year and nothing bad has happened.

For this year's renewal, we got an appointment, well before the expiration date of the carte. We got the letter from the Prefecture de Police with all the things we have to bring. We followed it to the letter. But, in a little box at the bottom of the page that outlines what we need to bring there's a note that says that the "fonctionnaire" (civil servant) that handles our case has authority to demand more things than the items listed on the form.

We got to our meeting, nicely dressed and early. The receptionist handed us two folders, one for each of us. We were given instructions to put copies of all relevant documents into each folder. It's kind of a stressful moment because you don't know if you have five minutes or half an hour to complete this and it requires shuffling through all the paperwork that you've brought.

We filled our folders and waited. Eventually our number came up on the screen. The screen is a digital thing in the waiting room that dings when it changes so that you look at it and then it has two sets of numbers, your "ticket" number and the cubicle number that you should go to. We went to the cubicle noted on the screen and I immediately realized that the woman fonctionnaire who had put a note in our file that caused us a lot of trouble at the border earlier this year, was going to handle our case. We are finished. She is horrible.

Needless to say, she tortured us for about 30 minutes. We retorted to the best of our abilities but finally she sent us packing with an extension on our cartes and a huge list of things that we needed to produce the next go-around. We actually had to negotiate several points, at first she asked for six (6) months of financial statements, plus 2 copies each (4 total copies). The original statements for six months are probably four inches high. It would have been impossible. We negotiated her down to three months and felt lucky to get out the door.

We staggered home, ready to sell our apartment and move to Italy. I'm sure they wouldn't hassle us this much.

So, now the appointment is next month. It took us two months to get an appointment. We're about to leave for Christmas.

Tomorrow, I'll head to the copier place to make all the copies. I hope to make one "master" and then put the "master" through the machine so that I don't have to collate them all by hand. Then, when I get home, I'll have to put all the originals into a separate place for safekeeping. I am very afraid to lose things like my birth certificate, which can't be replaced.

Then after the meeting, we'll have to re-file all the originals and put the extra copies in a safe place for next year's meeting.

Is it all worth it? At this point, we're not sure, we're very close to telling them to keep their "carte de sejour", we'll pay taxes and buy stuff in another country, a country that wants us.

Thanksgiving In Paris

November is full of Fall activities. Even though it's not on the French calendar, my favorite day in November is still Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is the fourth Thursday in November, the date moves with the calendar.

It is actually more fun in France because no one else knows about it. So, the grocery stores are not packed with last-minute shoppers and the newspaper is not filled with ads for discounts on food. In the US, Thanksgiving marks the start of the "holiday" season. Everyone starts to buy more, eat more and work less it seems.

Thanksgiving is a fun holiday in France, but I have to work a little harder to celebrate. I'm not sure if a whole turkey will fit in my oven. And, if it does, I don't have a big enough pan. So, typically, I buy a couple of turkey leg/thighs and roast them.

Cranberries don't exist here in the same form and quantity as in the US. So, last year, we used Odile's apple compote as a delicious substitute. I can make some this year and I probably will. There's no stuffing for the turkey, of course. To help things a bit, I usually substitute a little pate for some of the other delicious things that we used to eat. Champagne helps, too.

So, our Thanksgiving here is a nice meal. The only thing missing is family and friends. We typically don't invite anyone over, we would have to relive the whole Pilgrim/Indian story.

The other fun activity, centered around the bountiful fall harvest happens on the third Thursday in November-- the Beaujolais Nouveau. It marks the release of the young 2009 red wine. Even though it seems that no one really likes the taste of this wine very much, it's a tradition which is marked with dinners to honor the day.



We try to buy a bottle and to celebrate with a fun activity of some kind. Last year we went to our tennis club with friends for dinner. It was fun, but neither the wine nor the dinner were memorable, so we'll have to find something else to do.

Countdown....

10,9,8,7,6..

It's one month until we leave Paris. We might be gone for awhile, that's unusual. We're not happy.

So, we now have one month to do all the things that we know/want to do/are on the plan, but haven't done.

This includes:

Entertain friends
See all temporary museum expositions
Clean the apartment thoroughly (ICK)
Visit all the restaurants that we have on our list (impossible)
Take advantage of various tours, exhibits, etc.

Oh My!

We will pack more into one month than you can imagine. With a smile on our faces!

Fall is Fabulous

Before all the leaves are gone, I had to shoot some photos today. I can see every color that nature provides, sometimes all on the same tree.



I don't know if it's the color or the cold air, but it takes my breath away. Enjoy them while they're here.

My Day...

It's been both a good and a difficult day, a normal day in Paris.

I had a great walk in the Luxembourg with sunny skies and cold, brisk air. All the leaves have gotten the message and are falling. The gardeners can't keep up. And it rained all day yesterday so a lot of the leaves are crushed and wet. Slippery!

Next I had chores to do.

Xeroxing for WICE involves dealing with the local copier place. I've always had good luck there until today. But today, the machine kept jamming. I didn't know the word for jammed!!! My papers were stuck in the machine, so there was no way out. In my favor, the machine had a little screen that said, "papier coincé", Ah Ha! I can figure this out. I told the woman who works there, she ignored me. Not a big surprise.

So, I continued to break into her conversation with another woman, telling her I was in a hurry, her machine was broken and my papers were inside! It's her fault. Really!!!?? Not in her world. Eventually she came over and unjammed it. But, the next copy caused another jam. So, I told her to get my original out, I was changing machines.

It goes on from here but suffice it to say, we had words when she tried to charge me for all the jammed up pages as well as someone else's copies that she made during the chaos.

My next stop (I AM BRAVE, aren't I?) was the bank. I needed cash, put my card in the machine, asked for the amount I wanted and out came only Euro 50 notes!!! This is about US $75 in each note, not exactly easy for my small purchases in cash. So, inside the bank I went, demanding 20 notes. I was given 2 20's and 1 10 and the rest of my 50's back. Oh well. Why would I expect that the cash machine would give me 20's after getting only 20's in the US with no hope of any other denomination.

After all this, my day ended on a good note, at Odile's apartment. She is always happy and energetic and today was no exception. She was in the middle of making crepes for Terry using her new pan. Of course, I had to have one! We talked, she cooked, the apartment was warm, the sun came out. She gave me a bunch of crepes to take home to Terry. He loves her crepes.

So, all in all, a good day, a normal day in Paris.

"Tech Girl" has fallen behind the times

I haven't thought much about my iPHONE or iPOD since I've been in Paris. They are there when I need them, I charge them, that's it.

I started out today with one simple thing -- I added a CD (french language lessons) onto my computer and wanted to put it on both the iPOD and the iPHONE.

Being sensible, I bring only one cord for all the Apple things, so I had to go on a big search to find the right cable for this activity. Found it, plugged it in, transferred the CD to the iPOD quickly and easily.

Now for the iPHONE. There is a more elaborate set up to do this on the iPHONE and there were some photos on the iPHONE that weren't on my computer. The computer knew it and insisted that I download them. Then, the computer figured out that the iPHONE needed a software update. OK, I did that. It took a long time.

Now, I still had to download the CD. I clicked on the music I wanted to add and it is now humming away, putting the music on my iPHONE.

While I was doing all this, I decided to look at the iTUNES music store. Big mistake. I did not know that I could download TV shows from the US into my iPHONE iPOD or computer. They don't cost very much, either. I decided I needed a little "cooling off" period before I start adding TV shows, so I'm blogging.

But, I'll be back to iTUNES very soon, I'm afraid.

While I realize that I am not very current on this part of the computer world, I should be grateful for my innocence. Now I will be watching US TV shows instead of reading a good book, studying french or visiting with other people.

Fall in North Carolina

This beautiful photo was taken by my sister.

Cooking With Cecile

We spent the afternoon yesterday in Cecile's kitchen. It's a remarkable place. Quite big for Paris and very welcoming and charming. Not at all like a kitchen in the US. The floor is old tile, everything is functional. The spices are all within reach, everything works perfectly even though it's not new. No granite here, just great cooking.

There is a big table in the middle of the room, good for eating or, in our case, for assembling b'stilla. Cecile teaches us Moroccan and french cooking.

Everyone that participates enjoys the activities. We all know how to cook and really just come to see the new preparation and enjoy a lovely October afternoon in a warm kitchen.



Here's the work in progress. It took over three hours to make this dish and Cecile was already cooking when we arrived.



Here is the finished product. We all had a wonderful dinner last night.