Plastic Bags

The city of Manhattan Beach outlawed plastic bags last year.  I think this is a great move.  We are all lazy and want new, disposable bags every time we shop.  Now, I have my stash of reusable bags in the trunk of my car.  Most of these bags are from France.  The French bags are bigger and more heavy duty.  I have one bag that has little holders in the side.  These are for wine bottles, of course.  I guess they could also be used for things like juice or olive oil.  They are very handy.

I even carry around a nylon bag in my purse. It folds and I can fit it into any purse.  I carry it with me all the time. 

I could mention the environment here, but the act of not using plastic bags needs to be extended to all things plastic including water bottles, food packaging and everything else.  I think that the plastic bag ban is a bandaid at best.  

I had no idea that plastic bags aren't given out freely in Paris.  Normally I bring my cart and use it to transport food from the grocery store.  I haven't used a plastic bag in a long time. 

I had a few spare moments yesterday, I dashed into the Monoprix at La Motte Piquet-Grenelle.  It is huge.  I needed a lot of things but I'd never been in the store before so I walked around, aimlessly looking at things for awhile.  They already have huge chocolate displays for Christmas. 

I had an appointment after this trip so I couldn't buy anything perishable, but I found some things in the housewares area that are unique, so I put them in my cart.  As I checked out, the checker said, "C'est fragile..." which is understood in any language, I was buying glass.  I agreed with her, not realizing that she wasn't going to do anything to help me wrap the fragile items up.  Finally she asked me if I wanted a plastic bag, I said yes.  She replied that they cost 3 centimes each and I would need a lot of them. 

So, I refused the bags.  I paid.  All the glassware was at the end of the runner and another woman/customer was shoving me toward the front door of the store.  I used to panic in these situations but I've learned to push back. I took my time and thought.  My solution was across the street -- the metro!  I put all the glassware carefully in my bag and entered the metro.  Inside, they have stands with free newspapers -- so I grabbed about 5 "A Nous Paris" and about 10 "Direct Matin" and threw those in the bag too.  I walked to the seats to wait for the train.  The sign said 7 minutes, plenty of time. 

Like an experienced bag-lady, I took the newspapers and carefully wrapped each item in the free papers, placed them in the bag and had time to spare.  Everything made it home without incident.

I guess I don't need plastic bags after all.  But my recycling is full of throw away newspapers this morning.

La Geode

We've been waiting for the IMAX film, "To The Arctic" (Arctique in French) to come to Paris.  Ted's company produced the film and he is very proud of it.

It finally appeared in the "nouveau films" section of Pariscope this week.  It is only in one IMAX theatre in Paris and in fact, there is only one IMAX theatre in Paris.  Off we went, map in hand, as we had never been to the 19th arrondisement. 

La Geode is part of the Parc de la Villette, on the outskirts of Paris.  When we got off the metro, we thought we'd landed in a different country, at least a different city.  Huge piles of trash, vendors selling rotten looking grilled corn, obvious drug addicts were everywhere.  A few other indolent looking people, many wearing plastic sandals were hanging out.  We hoped to get into the theatre quickly. 

Up and down the street we went, looking for the address.  We asked 4 different people, no one seemed to know.  We didn't think that the Geode theatre was the same thing as that huge silver ball in the distance called the Geode.  We thought it was part of some science experiment. 

Eventually we found two security guards.  They didn't want to talk to us, help us.  They were too busy enjoying their afternoon ice cream sitting on a bench in the shade.  We persisted.  One guy finally told us that our geode (the theatre) and that silver ball in the distance were one and the same.  Now, how do we get there?  The entire area was fenced off, under construction.  I was glad it wasn't dark.  

We hiked it out, had to go up and down lots of stairs, the place seemed deserted.  We went in.

No line at the ticket counter.  We'd been walking around the rundown, scary neighborhood for 45 minutes and the movie was scheduled to start in about 5 minutes.  We bought the tickets and they told us to get in a line which we saw in the distance in the dark.  A Disneyland-esque line emerged.   There were about 100 people in the line.  Finally they let us in.  We followed the others through a hallway, up an escalator, more stairs into a room that was dark with no handrails and a large drop on one side.  There was a woman standing there to make sure we didn't take a wrong turn.

Up a steep set of stairs with no handrail.   Really, really steep. Being afraid of heights, I made us sit in the first reasonable set of seats, not too far up. 

The lights dimmed more and blasts of light and sound came from everywhere.  I wished I had a seat belt, my entire brain was on fire trying to figure out which end was up.  Somehow the laws of gravity worked in my favor and I stayed in my seat.  The real movie, Arctique finally came on, it was spectacular. 

On the way out, we got to see the control room for the film.  IMAX films require a lot of equipment and skilled operators.  It was quite an experience, including the metro ride to and from the 19th, which took an hour each way.

Bad Behavior At The Tennis Club

Tennis Club du 16eme before the courts were covered.

We played tennis this morning at the tennis club.

It's been raining a lot so we're happy that all the courts are covered.

The club has three courts that, when covered, are all in one big bubble (bulle).  Unfortunately, the other two courts were filled with men who were screaming and being somewhat obnoxious, like screaming "merde" and even a couple of assorted "shits"  every time they missed a shot (which was all the time).  Finally we all gave each other enough dirty looks and a few prolonged stare-downs and the guys quieted down. 

Funny, but I think that in the US, you'd need to have an exchange of words to accomplish the desired result.  In France, even though they were acting badly, they must have known it and we didn't have to exchange verbal blows.

It was still a stressful morning and I'm sure that these men will forget all about today and will annoy many other players during the next six months.  Then, the courts will be opened up and the screams will compete with the noise from the Peripherique.  

The Epitome of "Cool"

If you look closely, he's sitting right next to a cigarette butt. 

I think that this is the best cafe dog in Paris.  He works/lives at the Cafe Conti on rue de Buci.  I've been watching him guard his owner's place for years.

It is a very crowded area, but he doesn't budge, people have to walk around him.  As you can see, it took two shots to get his face.

I think he is a Cairn Terrier.

 I don't know his name.

Soutine

The L'Orangerie is hosting an excellent exhibition about Soutine.  It is well worth the wait in line, even in the rain.  Even though there were crowds to get into the museum, this exhibition wasn't what everyone wanted to see.

The big attraction is the museum's permanent collection of Monet's waterlilies which are housed in two large round rooms.  They are beautiful.  I read that Monet chose the setting and designed the rooms to provide an area of peace where people could spend time looking at the paintings.  Yesterday's crowd was so loud that the guard in the room kept having to tell the group to be quiet.  Many people were also taking photos with their cameras which is not allowed.   The only way you could remember these paintings in their environment is if you took a video of the 360 degrees of these rooms.

Pumpkins To Enjoy

These beauties were just hanging out in the patch at the L'Abbaye.  I really wanted to ask if I could have one to take home with me.  I didn't think the nuns would understand.  Since I'd already asked a fair amount of dumb questions (like where is the trash...)  I thought it was better if I refrained from asking.

So, the pumpkins stayed in the patch and I returned to Paris with no pumpkins. 

These pumpkins are HUGE.  Each one probably weighs 10-15 pounds.  I don't know why they are different colors, perhaps they are slightly different. 

One thing I do know -- these beauties will never have the fate of most American pumpkins -- decorations.  They are food.  More than likely, they will end up in soup along with the leeks, the cauliflower the carrots and the potatoes.

More Lost In The Translation(s)

I made two "betises" (stupid, silly things) errors in French in the last few days.  Everyone laughs when they hear what happened and I've told this story several times. 

The first one was mistaking the word "cendrier" (ashtray) for the word "sanglier" (wild boar or hog). 

These two words really sound the same.  The context was that a woman stole an ashtray from a hotel and put it in her suitcase but the hotel found out and searched everyone's suitcases.  Since I heard that she stole a wild boar not an ashtray I listened for the end of the story and was not satisfied.  How big was the suitcase, did the sanglier die...  I was very confused and no one else asked any questions, so I had to ask him to clarify the story and when they found out that I heard "sanglier" not "cendrier" they all went into hysterics.  At my expense, of course.

The second was when I pulled out my lipstick to put it on and someone asked what I was doing, I replied that I was putting on my... I didn't know the word for lipstick in French so I said "lipstick" in English.  Another roar of laughter from the French... they thought I said "lifting" as in facelift.  No idea how a little tube of pink stuff could work such miracles.  

Detente is a relative thing in France

The relaxation area is designated

Hmmm, this doesn't look very relaxing to me

I guess I'll have to get over it

The Club Med Gym on rue de Rennes is probably considered nice by French standards.  It's certainly as expensive as the Spectrum in Manhattan Beach.  Besides the price the two places do not resemble each other.

After my workout, I always go to the "Salle de detente" for women which is located next to the locker room.  These are pictures of the space.  The sign says, Shhh! This is a place for relaxing.  But, the hard floor, the weird wooden bars on the wall and the equipment on the floor make me think this is just another spot to work out.  

But, I resist.  I grab a blue plastic mat, put my towel over it since I'm sure it hasn't ever been cleaned and do my stretches.  No one else is ever in this room.  So, I guess in that way it's relaxing.

Road Trip

The Oyster Market at Cancale

All the people staying at the monastery were astonished that we didn't have a car.

We'd considered renting a car but thought that the peace of a few days in one spot would be nice.  We weren't threatened by being stranded, it was a good exercise in enjoying one place.

Days were spent beach combing, walking through the farm, walking into town.

On Friday morning some people we'd met offered to take us to a nearby town for a visit.  We agreed.  We didn't know anything about them, didn't even know their names. 

We met at the appointed time and place and walked to a very small old car.  The man started the car, we drove off, squished in the backseat sitting on an old blanket.  We had no idea where we were going, but they told us that it was a town called Cancale near St Malo.  It is famous for oysters.

Since I'm allergic to oysters I wasn't overly excited, but figured that between an afternoon of speaking french and a drive in the country side, I'd enjoy myself.

We arrived at Cancale and the couple jumped out of the car and headed down the path.  They came back a couple of minutes later and handed us the key to their car, "in case it rains before we come back..."

The situation -- people that we don't know at all, we don't even know their names have taken pity on us because they think we're stranded and have taken us on a road trip.  Now, they've given us the key to their car.   This is not normal (in our universe) but we accepted the key and again they raced off.

We stumbled down the walkway by the ocean looking out to sea.  We finally found the market where the oyster men (oyster people...) bring in the day's catch to sell.  They had blue and white striped tents on a cement slab near the port.  Terry bought some oysters and ate them on a bench.  Then we hiked back to the car.  We decided to introduce ourselves when we returned.  I took one of my cards and wrote our names and a nice note on the card.  We got back to the car about the same time that they did and we gave them the card and had formal introductions.  Their names were Liliane and Gilbert and they were from the Charantes-Maritimes.

We drove away, visited a few more spots before returning to the monastery in time for a quick shower and dinner with the group.

Life At The French Monastery

Motivated by a few days of peace in a beautiful setting, we searched out and found a real, working monastery in Brittany and planned an escape.  We didn't know what to expect but weren't too worried about it.  What can possibly go wrong in a monastery?  Too much quiet, perhaps?

I have so many different thoughts and themes running through my mind now that we've returned.  I will try to get them all into posts at some point.

French immersion was part of the experience.  Who would go to a french monastery in the middle of nowhere except french people.  Because of the low-cost of the trip (Euro 46 per day all meals included) and the lack of luxury, you can rule out a lot more people.

Out of everything that happened and everything that we experienced, the thing that stands out in my mind the most is the kindness and generosity of the people that we met.  We were the silly Americans who stumbled into the monastery from California.  They were mostly devout Catholics (some nuns and priests and an assorted Archbishop around too).  None of them had been to California and most of them had never been to the US.  I think many of them have never been to Paris.   They didn't seem to have the pre-conceived ideas that many French people seem to have about Americans.  Maybe they didn't like us at first, but we grew on them.

The first night at dinner, we were assigned to a table of 6.  We were the last to arrive so there were two seats left.  It quickly became clear that this would be our table for the entire stay and the seats we were in would remain our seats.  Little did we know that the cloth napkin that we had would be put into a little cloth envelope and safely stored with our table mate's napkins in a drawer marked #3 (our table).  Someone would fetch the stack of napkins before each meal and put them away at the end.  We even had a discussion about the best way to fold the napkin to get it to fit properly in the cloth envelope.  I guess this is part of the life at a monastery.

We were all very polite the first night but no one introduced themselves so we didn't know the other people's names.  If we saw them during the day, we would say hi and smile but not linger.

We each quickly found a place in our table's society.  One man was very knowledgeable about the area, so he told everyone about it.  One woman was absolutely sad and silent with her pill bottles at her place for each meal.  Another couple were joyous and talkative, but we couldn't understand much of what they were saying.  Everyone at the table was older than me.  So, my contribution was simple -- I cleared the table after each course.  The method was quickly made clear to me by one of the servers who yelled at me for not doing it right.  The plates and silver wear are cleared and all food is scraped into a bin.  (Compost I think).  There was a place for silver wear, a place for the plates, glasses etc.  So, I jumped up and down after every course.  I was also became the person who fetched more water and, eventually, wine.

That first night no one talked much and no one drank very much wine.  We were too polite.  Terry and I had packed a bottle of wine, just in case, so after dinner, we went up to our little monastery room and had another glass of wine together before bed.  No internet, no TV except French TV in the TV room.  We had our wine, spread out on one bed and read our books until bedtime. 

Our room was spartan.  Two single beds, rock hard, one at either end of the room with an armoire and a small desk in between.  One window which had shutters for privacy and darkness.   A bathroom with a small shower, a sink and a toilet. You bring your own soap and if you want sheets and towels you have to pay extra.  No maid service, if the trash needs to be taken out, you do it.  If you want the bed made, you make it. 

More to come from the monastery. 

The Cloud Ate My Contacts

I still don't know how this happened. 

Yesterday I backed up my iPHONE.  I change the songs, photos and apps quite often.  When I started the sync, a window came up telling me (asking me) if I wanted to download the new software. Yes, why not?

I selected the apps, songs and photos and waited for it all to finish.  Done.  I didn't think about this for another second until this morning.

Part of the good/bad part of having an iPHONE is that you can get your emails anywhere.  So, as I walking down the street, I looked at my emails and found one that disturbed me.  Being impatient by nature, I needed to deal with this immediately.  So, I hit "Contacts" to call the person and settle the issue raised on the email. 

When I got to the contacts, a new screen came up and said to select from a choice of Contacts on the Cloud or Contacts on the Computer.  I selected the Computer.  It was blank.  So, I selected the Cloud, blank.  Back and forth I went until I realized that my Contacts were gone.  All of them! 

Wherever my Contacts went, they weren't in a cloud that I could access. 

A lot of work went into that Contact List.  I meticulously check it, add to it and refine it.  It is an incredibly useful tool.  Note that I'm using the present tense, that's a good sign.

I raced back home and grabbed my computer and the cable.  I plugged the phone in, hit INFO then clicked on everything that said Contacts from Computer and did another SYNC. Voila, the Contacts are back.  I have no idea if someone else's Cloud has my contact list or if my Contact List is going to be updated in the Cloud in the future.  As long as I have my Contact in my phone, where i want them, I'm satisfied.  

The Moment of Truth Has Arrived

My absentee ballot came in the mail today.  I guess I have some time to decide who to vote for.  At this point, instead of picking a candidate that I think is good (for me, my loved ones, the country) I will pick the "lesser of the evils".   Normally I have decided and ready to vote by the time the ballot arrives.

I hope some new information is uncovered that will help me with this decision.

The Weather

I hate to complain about the weather.  But----
Last week at this time, it was warm and sunny.  Delightful.  Everyone was walking around with a smile on their face and sandals on their feet.  Linen dresses and shirts were everywhere.

Now, we've had three days of rain.  One day it was solid all day.  Today is about 20 degrees cooler with wind.  I'm freezing! My tan is fading!  Not yet, it's only mid-September, I'm not ready.

Lost Cards

In the last week, I have lost two different cards that are important in my French life.

This morning as I was getting ready to leave, I grabbed my Navigo (transport) card and realized that I had the outside plastic holder but no card inside.  The plastic on the outside was broken and it had slipped out; probably on the 58 bus coming home last night.  After a futile search of my purse, I realized that a detour was in order this morning. I had to go to the Gare Montparnasse and get my card replaced.  I know the drill for this because I washed my card a few years ago.  It has a chip in it and after washing, it didn't work.

To Montparnasse I went.  Wearing tennis clothes, no makeup and feeling a little bit rushed and unhappy, I arrived quickly at the caisse/kiosk. But the woman at the desk was a trainee and couldn't make me a new card. I had to wait for the permanent woman to return from her break. The clock was ticking on my tennis court time, but I couldn't get there without the Navigo unless I wanted to buy tickets and do this job later.

The woman arrived, processed my card, commenting (I didn't need this) on how much younger I looked in the photo that they had.

The other card had a different fate but the outcome was basically the same.  While doing a big clean out, I accidentally shredded my current Musee d'Orsay Carte Blanche.  Of course,  all the previous years' cards were saved from my manic shredding session.

An email to the M d'O got a quick reply.  They can't replace the card, they can only send me an "Attestation" that I have to present with a photo ID.  I guess this is the best they can do.  It's my fault that I shredded on card and lost the other one.

The Purple Velvet Armchair

An early morning flight last week necessitated a trip to Starbucks at LAX.  I'm not a big consumer of Starbucks. I probably only drink one or two cups per year. 

I was planning to buy the cup of coffee and return to the gate and wait for my flight.  I bought the coffee, looked around.  An oasis of purple velvet flooded my peripheral vision.  Three purple velvet chairs were in the corner.  One was vacant and called my name.  Yum.  To sit in/on velvet is a luxury. 

The chair was big; wide and tall.  Almost a loveseat.  As I wheeled my carry on suitcase over and sat down with an "ahhhh",  I noticed that the other two chairs were occupied by women about my age.  The purple velvet must appeal to our socio-economic group.  Or, maybe no one else is dumb enough to be at the airport that early.

I spent an hour in that chair, luxuriating in the comfort, security and calm that it provided.

Shopping At Goodwill

I had seven huge, heavy bags in my trunk.  A delivery to the Goodwill.

The closet clean out was a success and Goodwill received the proceeds. 

I packed the bags into my trunk this morning.  Packed is the right word, my trunk was overflowing.

There is a new Goodwill near our house.  I dropped by after the gym.  I didn't realize that the drop off point was around in the back so I walked into a Goodwill store.  There were no employees (is this the right word or are they volunteers?) available so I walked from the front to the back of the store.

The store was very tidy, well-lit, quite inviting.

I finally found a man who informed me that I had to drive to the back to drop off my bags.

On the way out the door, the racks of clothes called my name.  The clothes are organized by type (jackets, shirts, pants) and then sub-categorized by color.  So, all black jeans are together.  This is different from a normal store where you search the racks for your size.  Here you have to search by type, then color then hope to find your size. I guess it makes sense, but it's not as easy as a normal store.

I browsed several racks before the thought rocketed through my brain, "What are you doing?  You just cleaned out all your closets and drawers.  There are seven bags in the trunk of your car.  You don't need more stuff..."

The voice won.  I got in my car, delivered the bags and was on my way, empty-handed.

Hoarder or Purger?

I just launched a major clean-out effort.  Two closets were the source of my attention yesterday afternoon.

I feel much better.  I now have three large bags of clothes to take to the Goodwill.  I was nice enough to fold everything and put "like" items together.  I even put outfits together in the bag so that it would be easier to merchandise these items.  Suits, jeans, sweaters and dresses from a bygone era, mostly my life when I worked in an office.  I really had a lot of clothes back then.  Someone will get some nice things, which is great.

Next comes the dresser and closet drawers.  It will feel good to make room for new things.

I think that most people have a tendency to hoard or purge.  I am more of a hoarder, Terry is definitely a purger.  Some of the things in the bags that are earmarked for the Goodwill are probably 10 years old.  I have no use for them but I kept them in a remote closet, "just in case".  There are some old things in this closet that I take out once a year, these items are staying.  They include a red t-shirt with a discreet white heart that I wear on Valentine's Day and two fun Christmas sweaters.

Shamefully, I've found and discarded several things with the price tags still hanging from them.

As I went through the closet, I reminisced.  In addition to the "just in case" scenario, the memories evoked by certain things are too great.  I fear I'll lose that memory if I give the item away.  But, out they go!  Even a hoarder has to clean out and I see the necessity of it as well as the catharsis.

As you can imagine, I don't really understand purgers.  My husband has been known to throw things away prematurely.  Then, we have an all-out APB for the item and never find it.  He purges things one at a time, throwing them in the trash can.  It's not worth a trip to the Goodwill.  Luckily, our cleaning lady usually finds these things and I'm sure either her husband or son are enjoying them and giving them a second life.

Hoarder or purger?  While I want to reform, I doubt that it's possible.

Paparazzi

I'm from Los Angeles; I have lived here all my life (except the French interludes). 

Until today, I've never seen paparazzi in action.  I've seen them on the news, chasing someone famous.  I know that Princess Diana's car was being hounded by some very persistent paparazzi when her driver hit the wall in the tunnel in Paris. 

To be chased by paparazzi you have to be famous, new, hip.  I doubt that the paparazzi chase Regis Philbin around town, but you never know.

I was walking up the street this afternoon in Beverly Hills.  A bit early for an appointment, I was strolling, window-shopping, enjoying the warm, sunny day.  I first noticed that there were several guys standing on the sidewalk in front of me with very large lenses on cameras.  I shrugged it off at first, thinking they were over-equipped tourists.

In a whoosh, about five cars pulled up on the street, double-parked, people jumped out.  All of them had large, expensive-looking cameras with long lenses.  Then it dawned on me -- paparazzi!  Someone famous must be in the neighborhood.

Even though I was dressed and coiffed nicely, there was no mistake.  I was not the target.  I easily walked by all of them, the cameras remained at their owners' sides.  I kept walking even though I wanted to ask them who they were tracking.

I never found out who it was.  I went about my business and perhaps even passed the person without recognizing him or her.  I'm not very current on these things and often movie stars and personalities don't look quite as good as on the screen.

I did notice a couple of interesting things.  The paparazzi have spotters.  These are people in the street with nothing more than a phone.  They look innocent (no camera) so the star won't notice them as they walk by.  There were two of these spotters on the street.  They had obviously called their partners.  I also found out that if the star is in a building, they cover every entrance and exit, just to be sure they don't miss their target.  They don't seem to get parking tickets for double-parking on a busy street in the middle of the day in Beverly Hills.  Maybe they get a ticket once in awhile, but not today.   I guess the fine is just part of the cost of doing business.

I wonder how much money a paparazzi makes for a good photo?  It must be enough to keep them all running. 

An Earthquake Inspires New Vigilance

A 3.8 earthquake hit this morning about 3 AM.  It sounded like someone hit the house with a truck, it shook for a second and it was over.  I braced for another, bigger one, but that was the extent of our seismic activity for now. 

This is a small reminder to tie everything down.  My china and crystal have been used recently so I need to package it all back up securely because the next quake might not be so benign.

It's kind of a chore to have to keep everything packaged up in bubble wrap but it's good protection.  One small earthquake shook every one of our champagne glasses to the front of the cupboard and the next time we opened it, we had a rain of glass from above.  Hopefully we've learned our lesson. 

I also use this stuff called "Quake Hold" that is like museum putty, it keeps objects like vases and even pictures from moving during an earthquake.  The main danger during an earthquake is not that the item falls over it's that it goes to the edge of something (shelf, table, etc) and then falls to the ground and breaking.

Don't Share Your Music With Me...

Our nearest neighbor, Sean, has a keyboard and maybe a drum set in a room that is quite close to our house.  When all the windows are open in the Summer, we can hear him break into song at whim.  This happens day and night.  Luckily for us it doesn't last long.  Today, it's the blues.  Usually it's more rock 'n roll.  In either case, he sings off tune, turns up the base on the speakers and generally annoys me.

The equivalent to this in Paris is the child who is taking up the violin and practices those scratchy notes over and over again.  Or the opera lover who opens the windows early on Sunday morning to share the aria with the entire neighborhood. 

I don't like clutter and in my mind noise pollution is clutter that I can't recycle.  I want to be able to hear what I want to hear, when I want to hear it.  Aren't there headphones for this?

We've tried calling and emailing him and the noise stops for awhile and then, after a week or so, it comes back.  Does he think we forgot that we hate to hear him singing off key, "Love you in the morning, babe, love you every day, love you on the weekend..."  Not a compelling lyric or a true note in our enforced daily concerts.

Aller Simple, A Foreign Concept

Aller simple means a one-way ticket.

Quite a frightening concept for me.  It can mean many things, most literally travel.

It can also mean selling a house, quitting a job, giving something up.  It means you don't plan to go back.

Most things can be reversed or changed, most places can be revisited even if it's not the same the second time. 

Normally we buy our airline tickets aller retour, a round trip.  We're considering booking a one-way ticket for future travel.   It's gotten a bit complicated. 

The airlines haven't made it easy for us to travel in style.  We hoard our frequent flyer miles, trying every possible way to use them to our advantage.  The frequent flyer programs, like the health insurance companies change the ground rules all the time, always to our disadvantage.

The alternative is grim; a coach or premium coach seat for 11+ hours, sharing a bathroom with 50+ people who all want to use it at the same time, terrible food with small portions, tiny seats with enormous next-seat neighbors.

We thought we finally had enough miles to buy Business Class seats round trip.  Yeah!  Champagne and movies for 11 hours.   We'd maximized our miles using a credit card that added miles to our program in addition to the miles earned for travel.  We have one credit card in Euros and one in US Dollars.  We've worked it as hard as we can, we organize, negotiate, research, save.  

We negotiated between each other for weeks, juggling our obligations and interests to select the best travel dates.  We researched the internet to find the best flights so that when we called we wouldn't be pushed into an itinerary with stops in cities we don't want to ever visit.

I might add that even though Air France and Delta Airlines now share planes and code-share, they don't share frequent flyer programs and even though Delta uses Air France planes to go to Paris, they won't book flights as far in advance as Air France will for the same flight.   Unless you specify otherwise, if you fly to France on either Delta or Air France, they will try to award the miles on Delta.   If you call from France, you get Air France not Delta. If you call from the US, you can't speak with someone from Air France, only Delta.  How did they ever figure out this complicated and silly system?  I'm sure a lot of highly paid people spent a lot of time on this. 

We called Air France Flying Blue program.  A nice man informed us that we can't share our miles or gift them to each other so we only have enough miles for two one-way tickets, which he'd be happy to book.  We booked them but haven't bought them yet.  Our idea was that we could call Delta and use our Sky Miles for the other half of the ticket.  Au Contraire.  On Air France using Flying Blue miles, the cost of a one-way ticket is 50% of a round trip ticket.  Makes sense.

Delta's rules are completely different for the same flight, same seats, same plane. On Delta, a one-way ticket using miles is the same price as a round trip ticket.  If we had enough miles to fly round trip, we would have called them first. 

So, now we have a lot of miles that we can't use and a one-way ticket to France.  We'll get back to the US somehow.

On Line Shopping

I prefer to roam the stores, looking, feeling, touching, comparing.  

But my plantar fascitis has roared back, this time on my left foot, making it almost impossible to walk, let alone roam the stores.   I've been shopping on line this Summer, with great success.  My fingers have done the walking for me.

I just "hit" the Nordstrom sale.  I got a pair of boots and a pair of jeans.  Can't wait until it's cool enough to wear them.  I've also ordered from Talbot's and J. Jill recently.  I've been so successful that I had to go out and buy more hangers.  As soon as I can stand up for an extended period of time, I'll have to "weed" the closet and make room for all my loot.

I'm also looking at a great North Face down jacket which comes in black, navy and white.  The white isn't practical but it is beautiful. 

No Hablo Espagnol

My sister and I decided, independently of one another, to study Spanish this Summer.  She bought some  tapes, I bought some books, we've shared.

It's already gotten a bit competitive and she's in the lead.  She started speaking Spanish to me on the phone and I didn't understand and was frozen, zombie-like, unable to answer in Spanish.  Deja vu, franciais.   No comprendo Espagnol!

Today, I decided to apply myself to this long-term task.  Earphones and iPHONE in hand, I listened and repeated Spanish phrases for 45 minutes and some of it stuck.

The pronunciation is really hard for me.  I've had to compare the pronunciation with French in order to remember.  For example, in French, "pardon" is the same as Spanish, "pardon" (not sure of the Spanish spelling since it was on a tape).  In French, it's pronounced, "pahr-don".  In Spanish, it's "perrr-dohn".  I can't roll the r's either.  In order to remember the pronunciation, I have to compare it to the French.

There's a problem with this method.  Speed.  We're now learning and putting together short sentences.  Because I've been comparing the words to French, I have to translate the English into French (remembering the pronunciation) and then translate the French into Spanish.  I don't know why I'm doing it this way, I'll have to try to stop.

In a real-life situation, people don't ask me a question and count to 100 while I do a double-translation, check the pronunciation, smile and blather out some semi-coherent response. 

I thought learning another language would be fairly easy for me.  Au contraire!

I'm Glad I Did This In The U.S.

The Apple Store Genius Bar.

I made my appointment, I showed up on time.  The place was teeming.  I knew I had to check in, but where?  I found a guy and asked, he told me to go to the Genius Bar.  I went there, had to wait, a guy told me I had to check in with another guy who was in the center of the store.  I did.  He checked me in. 

There were about 15 people ahead of me.  Isn't that what an appointment is for?  Obviously not in Apple Land.  I waited and waited. People jostled me, there was nowhere to stand.  People kept crowding in at the Genius Bar, hoping they could get helped right away.

After waiting for about 15 minutes I checked back with the original check in guy who told me that I was late for my appointment, I'd have to wait! I wasn't late, even after circling the store to try to find the check in guy.

At the 20 minute mark, I was about to cry in frustration.  Finally my name came up.  The guy was nice, he helped me, he fixed my problem. 

I had considered buying an AppleCare insurance plan but after this, I think I'd rather take my chances.

As I was waiting, I wondered what it would be like to try to do this in France with the language barrier and cultural differences.  Would I have even understood that I got bounced from person to person without getting helped.  Certainly I would be jostled more, French people tend to crowd more.  They also cut in line if they can, but at this store, all the people were trying to cut in. 

It was a gorgeous, sunny afternoon.  Why are all these people in the Apple Store instead of 1. work 2.  the beach.  Even the dentist is better/easier than this. 

Health Food Stores

I just got back from Whole Foods.  "My" WF is gigantic, maybe 200,000 square feet.  It has an olive bar, a mozzarella bar (fresh), lots of regional, vegan and ethnic choices.  It has fresh soup, two different kinds of pre-cooked chicken, bins of grain, nuts, cereal.

Every time I go to this store, I end up buying less than I expected, I get a bit stalled by the sheer size and quantity of goods.  I just needed a few things.  They also have lots of vitamins, a machine that makes butter out of a variety of nuts, fresh meat and fish, lots of gluten-free selections.

I don't really like this store, but it's the only place around to get some of the things I eat.

Naturalia in Paris resembles health food stores in the US circa 1980.  The first thing you notice is the health food store smell.  What is that?  A combination of spilled health foods, I guess. 

Naturalia is so small (maybe 1500 square feet) that two people can barely pass in an aisle.  Lots of the really good stuff is on the bottom shelf so people are hunkered on their knees or crouching, looking for their products.   It has the basics, even some health food wine (maybe made with organic grapes?). 

Consistent with Whole Foods, I never buy as much as I expect.  Either they don't have it (even if they had it last week), or I can't find it and no one is available to help me. 

They have a few bulk products, like WF but no convenience, pre-cooked stuff.  You buy it, you take it home, you cook it. 

They are both more expensive than regular stores, which is to be expected. 

Computer Problems, Genius Bar, Here I Come...

I have a computer that is less than one year old.  It started having problems about a month ago.  The fan started running and it started to heat up (a lot).  I realized it was the battery, it's under warranty, I didn't worry about it, I just plugged it in.

Today, I tried to plug something into the USB drive and it was dead, too. I have two and I think I use the same one, probably never tried the second one before today.

I called Apple and spent 50 minutes on the phone with a guy who finally determined that I need to take it to the Apple Store.  I think this could have been determined in about 5 seconds, since it needs a new battery and it's under warranty.  Oh well.  He said that they can't look at the USB port until they fix the battery.

Tomorrow you know where I'll be -- at the Genius Bar.  Ready or not.  Genius Bar is  the (adjective omitted) name for the Apple repair at the Apple Store.  In the past when I've gone to the Apple Store, I've noticed that the employees really think they are geniuses and let you know that you're inferior. I detest this attitude, especially since they are basically working in a store.  But, they hold the power in this situation. I can't get my computer fixed without getting an appointment (they won't see you without an appointment), showing up at the designated time, computer in hand, self-esteem in check.  

I will try to put up with their attitude, but as you can probably tell, I have an attitude, too.  My attitude doesn't respect the Geniuses standing around in the store in their "hip", computer-person looking clothes, glasses and hair styles.  Hopefully they can help because the next step is to mail (yes) the computer to Apple, which could take a long time.

I've had many Macs.  I bought one of the first ones, in 1984.  It was terrific.  Besides an occasional battery problem, I've never had a problem with a computer like this before.  I dropped my previous laptop while going through security at LAX.  After that, the case was bent and it wouldn't close properly but it still works.  It is not modern, but it works.   I don't know if this new one is a lemon or if they aren't making them like they used to.  We'll see.  The Apple rep on the phone tried to sell me a $249 Apple Care extended warranty in case it breaks again.  Hmmm.  That means I'd have to go back to the Genius Bar again. 

Normandy

 

The weather was glorious in Normandy.

 I only took my iPHONE, thinking that any photos I would take would be of us doing an activity.   Silly mistake, although I prefer to experience the environment without looking through a lens, it is also nice to have a few memories.  

These were all taken in Honfleur, a beautiful setting. 

The Bulles Come Down

All the tennis courts are covered with big (building size) bubbles from October 15 to April 15th, allowing everyone to play tennis all year.

We didn't have much rain until, you guessed it, April 15.  So, the uncovering of the courts progressed slowly this year.

In the foreground are courts 4, 5 and 6.  They are covered by one big bulle (balloon).  That came down first.  Then a single court, court 3 was opened to the sky.

In the background, behind all the players are courts 7 and 8, the last to come down.  On a very, very windy day last week, here is how it went.  The bulle deflated, it inflated, it moved, as if organically.  Man vs. nature vs a very big piece of plastic.  The men finally won, but I'm sure it wasn't a fun day for them.

Spring Cleaning

Every ten years, all buildings in Paris have to be cleaned on the outside.   That's why, even if the buildings aren't perfectly clean, they're much cleaner than buildings in Italy that are often almost black on the surface.  You see all kinds of cleaning, but most often the scaffolding goes up, the shutters come down and in a few months the building looks great again.

Until recently, I'd never seen statues being cleaned, but there's a rash of them right now.  Often they are done in place.  One is being done under a cover, I think they have been sandblasting it on the inside of this tent.  Someone that's involved with these projects puts a sign out explaining what's going on. 

Some statues really need to be cleaned.  This one is so mossy it almost blends in to the scenery.

 All in all, the statues are well-maintained, and grace the gardens of Paris with beautiful artwork and reminders of famous people and mythological creatures.  The Statue of Liberty is gone.  Don't know if it will be returned. 

When I Was Young

We were in the middle of the "Cold War".  We had drills in school in case the Russians pressed the "red button" and sent a nuclear bomb into our playground. In the drill, there was a loud, whining siren which was our cue to get under our desks and put our hands behind our necks to protect our heads.  I closed my eyes, just to be sure.  I was scared of the threat, even though I didn't really understand it.

As kids, we were told that the Communists were going to get us, nuke us, take over the world one country at a time.  I believed it. 

When I was a little bit older and looking at various universities, my parents were firmly against my sister and I going to UCLA because Angela Davis was a professor there and she was a "Communist".  By this time, I knew what a Communist was.  I wasn't really sure why that was so bad, but I didn't go to UCLA. 

The Berlin wall has been torn down, but we have new threats to our safety and security.  They now fly airplanes into tall buildings.   They don't need a "red button".

Even though the threat has changed, somehow the idea of a Socialist as the President of France still doesn't make me feel good.  At all.

He's only a Socialist, not a Communist!

The French see it differently.  They are used to the government playing a big, helpful role in their lives.  Even with a more conservative government for the last 20 years, French people have had a generous set of benefits including health care, 35 hour work week with 5+ weeks of paid vacation, a monthly allowance for each child, free education through university, it goes on and on.  I'm at the stage in my life where I could use a little bit of help from the government, from time to time, but of course we aren't qualified to get it in France and it doesn't exist in the US.

So, we'll wait and see how it goes.  Often the situation is dictated by reality.  Can the French pay for the benefits without increasing taxes?   Can they balance their budget without austerity measures.  Do we all need to get under our desks and put our hands behind our necks?  That is, after we send our money to Switzerland for safekeeping. 

Désinsectiser

Every year, a sign is posted outside our elevator telling us that our building, and all the apartments in it will be "debugged" today, April 30 in the afternoon.

The first year this happened, we didn't know what to expect.  We didn't have any bugs (that we knew of).  But, we didn't really know how to refuse when the man with the canister and the guardienne came to our door.

We let them in and the man sprayed a small amount of stuff under the sink in the kitchen and the sink in the WC.  We told them we didn't have any more sinks, a lie, of course.  The little marks are still on the wall from this event and it happened five years ago.

In principal, I am against insecticides.  They kill the bugs but poison us at the same time.  We die from something other than having a bug in our cereal, we die from the result of the poison, just like the bugs.

To avoid the bug guy, we use a number of schemes.  The easiest is to not answer the door.  Our guardienne doesn't have a key to our place, so they eventually tire of trying and leave.

But today, we were coming home just as the guy was coming down the stairs in our building.  He didn't recognize me, so he knew he hadn't "hit" our place yet.  He asked me where I lived.  Ah ha!  For once, English is quite handy.  I just looked him right in the eye and told him that I'm American and I don't know what he was saying to me.  He pulled out about five English words, not in a sentence, so I didn't answer.  Then, he asked, in French if I lived on the fourth floor!  I won't be fooled, I just looked at him and told him (English) that I didn't understand.  So, I jumped in the elevator, pushed our floor, but to cover up our floor (he seemed pretty persistent), I hit floor #6 so that after I got off, the elevator continued on up to the top floor.

So far he hasn't knocked but we're keeping a low profile.  I guess just like everything, if the rest of the apartments are debugged, the bugs will be dead and won't come our way either.  Or, perhaps all the bugs will parade into our place because the rest of the apartments have been poisoned.  We'll take our chances.

With A Holiday Coming...

April and May have a lot of holidays in France.  How much a holiday messes with my life depends on the holiday itself and the day of the week that it falls on.

We've just suffered through two weeks of "vacances scolaires" in the Paris region.  These are school holidays which happen for two weeks, three times a year, not including the Summer.  The result of these holidays is that there aren't a bunch of teenagers smoking and talking, hanging out in the street in front of all the schools.  Many French people, even if they don't have school-age children, leave Paris during this time.

Now for the real holidays.  We also just had Easter (Sunday so that's easy, most things are closed anyway) and Easter Monday (less and less people get this holiday).

Next Tuesday is May 1 -- a biggie.  It's Labor Day.  I notice that most museums in Paris are closed, I bet the grocery stores and restaurants are closed, so I better prepare for this day.  I can use the day to do some clean out.   We have now marked 10 years of life in Paris.  At the beginning of our life here, I was terrified to be without American products.  So, I imported almost everything -- even things I "might" need.  So, these things are now 10 years old and have to go.  I have a box of medicines in this category; never-used Pepto-Bismol, Ny-Quill, Tylenol.  Vitamins that are past their prime.  It's not that we don't get sick, it's that we can find what we need here without a problem.  The one thing we can't replicate is Excedrin.  It doesn't exist here so we buy and bring a huge jar for Terry every time we come. 

The following Tuesday is May 8 -- don't remember what it is, but I think that there will be less disruption.  Then the following Thursday is also a holiday, again no real idea what it is.

Since all these holidays are on weekdays, French people try to extend the weekend by taking the "pont" or bridge.  For the Tuesday and Thursday holidays a four-day weekend can be realized by taking only one day off.  I'd do it too.

I'm always glad when this holiday period is over.  June is pretty calm and then everyone leaves again for the Summer.

A Day In The Country

We are city folk.

I freak out if a pigeon tries to make a nest in my window box.

While we love everything that a big city like Paris has to offer -- a fabulous public transportation system,  a huge choice of museums, stores, movies, concerts  and restaurants to visit, we crave green space.  I walk/jog in the Luxembourg Gardens most days.  It is pleasurable to see the trees, the flowers and to watch them change every day.   On "off" days, I'm at the tennis club.  Even though it's right next to the "Peripherique" there are trees, flowers and plants around the courts; even a grapevine that produces grapes every Fall.

When we were invited to our friend's house outside of Paris  for lunch, we jumped at the chance.  What could be better?  We hopped on the metro which took us to the Gare de Lyon and off we headed, south of Paris.  The countryside that whizzed by was green, it's Spring.

We arrived at our destination station and easily walked to our hostess'  house through a charming little village.   It was noon and it looked like nothing had opened yet.  Of course, if I lived there all the time, it would be hard to get things done, but it's also charming and harkens back to another, earlier epoch when things were all got done but not at light speed.

The town is on the Loing river, which crosses the Seine at some point.  It has been raining so the river was beautiful. There were swans and lots of ducks in the water, all oblivious to us.  There is a chateau and a church that date from the 12th century in the town.

It seems that no one notices.  There was a wedding going on in the church.  The chateau was open.  There were no tourists, only us.  All these things will be around for another 1000 years, there's no rush.

On Va Gagner

On the metro this morning, we encountered a large group of young people (20's), heading toward the Sarkosy event (demonstration) that is planned for today at 2 PM.  They were all nicely dressed, no obvious piercings, no dreadlocks, no BO (of course, it's really cold outside).  They were having a good time, getting ready to support their candidate. They were chanting, "On va gagner"  (We are going to win...). 

I got the feeling that I was in a young Republicans club meeting.   Some of them were wearing a t-shirt that read, "Jeune Français AVEC Sarkosy".  OK, we get it.  They also had plastic panchos in red, blue and white in case it rains.

Not to be cynical, but I wonder if they're all going to this thing today to meet other young people with similar conservative interests or to support their candidate. 

Evidently and predictably, the demonstration for Francois Hollande, scheduled for the same time at the Chateau de Vincennes, will draw 2-3 times as many supporters, many of them young.  He is scheduled to have a picnic area, bands, etc., kind of a small, French, political Woodstock.  Weird, but in action and appearance, Hollande seems more conservative than Sarkosy. 

Just like in the US, the party to the left of center tends to attract the most young people.  They're idealistic, full of ideas, poor.  Will they vote next Sunday?  To be determined.

The French are at a crossroad.  Things aren't good.  Who will win?  Who knows, but it's interesting that some of the young people are in favor of the conservative candidate, of keeping things the same. 

On va voir.  We'll see.

Shopping for Dogs

No, I don't have the go-ahead to get a dog. I wish...

But, I believe in being prepared.  If Terry ever says "yes", I want to be ready to get a little brown-eyed companion very quickly.

So, to this goal, I spend my time when walking and jogging in the Luxembourg Gardens checking out all the dogs.  Dog shopping.  They are all cute and I'd take any of them.  The short list is:

Pug
Bulldog (the french don't say French Bulldog, that's redundant)
Cairn Terrier
Westie
Schnauser (grey, small)
Wire fox terrier
Wire hair daschund

I'm adding to the list of names everyday too.

Timothy To The Rescue

We are hopeless when it comes to household stuff.  Anything more than a spider that needs shooing out and we consider calling the fire department (in France, Pompiers).  A handyman is essential.  A discreet handyman is even more essential because they see some silly and embarrassing things in our household.

Yesterday was no exception.  Terry bought a new office chair.  It is beautiful; black leather with beige leather piping.  It swivels, rolls, tips and turns.  It has lumbar support and a head rest.  He was very excited when he bought it.

The chair was delivered yesterday when I was at a meeting.  When I got home, I noticed that the new office chair was in the middle of our bedroom rather than in his office.  I moved it into the living room as a hint that I don't want an office chair in the bedroom.

"Why is the office chair in the bedroom",  I asked.  "It's a long story".    "Well, can we put it in the office soon", I asked.  "No".

The problem with the office chair is that it is too big to fit through the doorway.  While I was still gone, Terry tried to take the arms off but failed.  He was waiting for me to see if we could lift it sideways and get it into the room.  It was late so we decided to wait until the next day.

In the AM, the office chair greeted me as I went out to get the newspaper.  As soon as we'd had some coffee, we decided it was time.  We pushed and pulled and finally got the seat and back of the chair through the doorway but the legs would not make it.  The chair was now stuck in the doorway, half in, half out.  The wall was scraped, my knuckles were scraped, my shin was bruised.  Unhappy, we figured out how to get it out and back into the living room it went.

A million things went through our minds. How to solve this?  Call Timothy, of course.

Timothy is our Sri Lankan handyman.  He's helped us with everything -- hung drapes, fixed windows, put together shelves, you name it.  Terry called him and he came at 3 today.

He came in, spoke to his associate in whatever language is spoken in Sri Lanka and they took the legs off, put the chair in the office, put the legs back on and were gone.  Cash only, no problem.  Timothy always comes to the rescue for us.

In Search of Caille

Something I learned quickly when buying quail, the term, "sans tete".  These pictures are from our  first quail dinner in Paris. I bought these beautiful birds, brought them home to find that they still had their heads attached.  As I prefer not to look my dinner in the eyes (guilt), I cut their heads off easily with a serrated bread knife. 


We will be having quail for Easter dinner this year.  We don't eat much red meat these days and quail is easy, nutritious, Spring-like. 

  Today, I started out early to do my grocery shopping and to find the perfect quail for tomorrow's meal.  I wanted to get finished with all my shopping before it got too crowded.  I went to Monoprix, where I've found nice quail before.  None at the butcher, none in the already packaged section. I finished my shopping, remembering that Picard, the frozen food heaven is right around the corner.  In I went and found quail stuffed with foie gras.  Not exactly what I had in mind, even though it sounds fabulous.  I finished my shopping, went home with the load from Monoprix, continued on to my local G20 for the basics. 

By this time, it's already 1:15 PM.  Monoprix is a good 20 minute walk each way and I spend a lot of time there, looking and enjoying the big store.  I still need quail.

My butcher is closed at noon time, I know for sure.  So, I do some other chores around the house and head out again at 2 PM to get the quail at the butcher.  The butcher is in the exact opposite direction of the other stores, and it is a 10 + minute walk.  I arrive and find a sign that says they re-open at 2:30.  The sign is a clock and I can't tell if it says 2:30 or 3:30, I hope it's 2:30.  So, I decide to walk around the lovely streets of this neighborhood.  Most of the stores are closed and I don't feel like sitting with a cup of coffee or tea, I'm still running the morning errands.  Window shopping, I spy a great pair of shoes at a reasonable price.  But, the sign on this shop says it doesn't re-open until 3.  I'm possessed!  I need quail and now I need/want the shoes. 

At 2:30, I go back to the butcher. All the shades are still drawn, the place is dark inside. I peer through a crack between the window and the shade, I can see the quail.  No one comes, the place stays dark and after about 10 minutes, I realize they won't open until 3:30. 

My aching legs walk back home and Terry and I go on yet another errand.  We successfully buy movie tickets and check out a new area of town.  Then back on the bus, stopping at the wine shop that doesn't have the champagne we want.  By this time (4 PM), the butcher is open.  We buy the quail, happily walk down the street.  I try on the shoes, they're great, they're mine.

The quail are waiting for tomorrow.  The shoes will have to wait until it stops raining, they're suede. 

Sophie, The Giraffe

This is Sophie The Giraffe.  It seems that every French baby has one of these.  I'll be heading out to buy two very soon, for our two new American babies.  Hope they like them as much as the French babies do.

My sister wrote to me that the company makes 800,000 of these a year.  There are about 785,000 French babies per year, so the rest go to lucky "foreign" babies. 

A few people have asked me if the paint is safe for a baby to chew and suck on.  I have no idea, but this toy has been around for 50 years. I see a few "Sophies" around with no spots left, oh well. 

You can get this at Amazon, in case you were wondering.

Can't Speak English, Can't Speak French

My sister called me the other day on my cell phone.

We live near a very steep hill and cell phone reception is spotty. So, I told her I'd call her right back using my home phone because my cell phone is "fragile".

I called her back immediately and she was still laughing. "Fragile", isn't that a french usage? Hmmm, I thought, I guess she's right. I should have used a term like "unreliable". I'm not sure "fragile" would have been right in French, either. Maybe a better term would have been "faible", meaning weak.

Weak, now there's a term that defines my language skills. "Fragile" in English, "Faible" in French.

People that are truly bi-lingual don't have these problems. The word just comes out in the correct language, right verb tense, using the proper adverbs and adjectives. They don't even have to think about it.

Now, I feel like I'm losing "it" in English. I have a Kindle and I have to use the dictionary all the time to look up words in English. Here's one that neither Terry no I knew the spelling of this morning. It was in an article in the LA Times. We both thought that they'd made a spelling mistake, but we were wrong and the paper (big surprise) was correct.

archetypal |ˌärk(i)ˈtīpəl|
adjective
very typical of a certain kind of person or thing : the archetypal country doctor.
• recurrent as a symbol or motif in literature, art, or mythology : an archetypal journey representing the quest for identity.
• of, relating to, or denoting an original that has been imitated : the archetypal believer, Abraham.
• relating to or denoting Jungian archetypes.

At least we knew the meaning of the word and could use it in a sentence.

Order is Restored

I love technical things and I embrace/buy/use as many of them as I can justify.

I waited and waited for the iPHONE 5 to come out, nursing my 3+ year-old original iPHONE 3. It was on the way out for months but held on. Of course, I had to get the iPHONE 4S. I got it, I love it, I rely on it.

So, today as I was racing out the door for an appointment, I looked down at my new phone and the screen was dark except for a weird half circle in the center of the screen.

No biggie. I threw the phone in my purse, figuring that by the time the appointment was over the phone would have recovered from whatever trauma it had sustained.

Later in the afternoon, I took the phone out and the same screen was on. But, the phone was very hot. Maybe it was working overtime to try to restore harmony.

Trying not to panic, I worried that I would be phone-less, maybe for days! After a bad experience with two Amazon Kindle Fire devices, I could see the same hellish round of phone customer service tag that I'd just unsuccessfully gone through.

I found the Apple Support page on the computer but my iTUNES password was not working. So, I had to stop everything and re-set it (and try to remember it). I got through and the next screen told me that I could book a time for a phone call with an Apple tech. OK, time choices arrived. I could have an immediate phone call, which is not fast enough but I accepted it. A guy called. He cracked a couple of dumb jokes, I tapped my foot (he couldn't see it). But, in about four steps, he got the phone going again.

Order is restored.

Modern Art Hidden in Ancient Places

France's archaeological past can be seen everywhere you look. It's almost impossible to miss the crypts, Roman ruins, thousand year-old stone walls.



These treasures are stored outside St. Chapelle in Paris. No idea why they have X's on them.

Modern art is around too, but not all of it is attractive. The best part is that the modern is juxtaposed with the ancient, making our brains work a little harder to understand and appreciate it all.


My friend, Christine, found this chapel in a beautiful hidden church on rue de Sevres. The church was renovated in 2007. Everything but this chapel is ancient.



We found this modern chapel in Rouen, it is the church dedicated to Joan of Arc. It was build in 1979. It is light, angular, modern.



The iron branch holds the traditional church candles. It is beautiful.

Chloe's Birthday

"Playing with new toys is just exhausting...", says the birthday girl.

Smog

That layer of brown between the blue sky and the blue water is smog.

When the wind blows from east to west the smog from LA blows out to sea. Normally it sits at the base of the mountains, far away from us.

Awfully Quiet Around Here...

The holiday doesn't start until tomorrow, according to my calendar.

I think the "official" day off for people is the 26th, Monday this year since Christmas falls on a Sunday.

Out and about this morning, I was impressed by an unusual sound -- nothing. It's quiet outside. Not many cars, not many kids playing on the playground. A couple of dogs barking. I could get used to this -- quickly.

It won't last. Maybe we'll have some peace until January 3rd. I think January 2nd is the "day off".

I went about my usual business today. The holiday starts tomorrow.

A New Coffee Activity

Coffee is one of my first thoughts every morning. If I'm an addict, at least it's legal and available everywhere in the world.

I have (had) a great coffee maker. It ground the beans and then brewed the coffee so it is (was) always fresh. In the middle of the night last night, Terry heard a weird noise and when he investigated it turned out to be the coffee pot. He unplugged it and forgot about it.

When I got up and tried the grind cycle, nothing happened. It made a weak noise, attempting to grind the beans but nothing happened. I cleaned it out, tried again. Re-set the machine's functions, tried again, the same. So, we had Nespresso.

I thought I had a spare coffee maker in the garage. I dusted it off, washed it, set it up, set it's clock and tried to make a test pot. The "on" button wouldn't work. The "off" button wouldn't work. It's gone, too.

Shopping was on the agenda anyway, it's a week before Christmas. So, this afternoon, I entered the world of the french press. I've wanted one forever but had a hard time justifying one with a coffee maker and a Nespresso machine (in both places). I bought a 12-cup model (shown above). Twelve cups of french press coffee equal about 36 oz total, or maybe two Starbuck's medium cups (I think it's called Venti but I'm not well-versed in Starbucks lingo). But, it's the biggest model they make.

I saved the brushed stainless thermos carafe from the old coffee pot, perfect to keep french press coffee nice and warm. I'm set.

I dashed home, tore open the packaging to my new french press. I'm not one to read and follow directions. Even when I get something complicated like a computer, I unwrap it, plug it in and play with it until I get stuck before reading anything. Reading is for the details, not macro usage instructions.

But, looking at this thing, I was a bit stumped. How does it work? How do you keep coffee grinds from getting (ick) in the coffee? I had to read the directions. Twice. They still didn't make complete sense, so I decided a late-afternoon pick-me-up was in order. I followed the directions to the letter. Tested, tasted the result. Fabulous.

I'll never go back. It's all set up for tomorrow's first real test.