Fête du Miel au jardin du Luxembourg

It's worth waiting for!

I had to get out early this morning and get in this line. Last year I lost out because I came too late in the day.

We were all waiting to buy honey today. It's special honey that you can only buy once a year and only if you get in line early. I was about 100 back and I arrived 30 minutes before it opened. By the time I left with my five 500g containers of honey, the line was about 200 long behind me. It's the honey made by the bees of the Luxembourg gardens.

I haven't tried it yet, it looks like ordinary honey to me, but I'm sure it is a mixture of all the marvelous plants that I pass by every day.

The Strike

We're always prepared for the worst.

A few years ago, the strikes went on for 10 days or so and it became a little bit old. Normally, the strike lasts for one day and it's over.

Yesterday was the second strike in September. Workers and unions are very unhappy about a number of things, but mostly that the French government is trying to add two years to the retirement age -- from 60 to 62. The system will go broke if everyone continues to live longer and longer but still retire at 60, so something has to be done.

The workers don't think so -- let someone else (maybe their children) pay.

The strike was scheduled to be a big one. The unions always try to make it sound worse than it is (more people demonstrating, etc), the government always tries to downplay it.

Life goes on. The French don't complain very much, even if it their day is disturbed. It's part of life here.

We have learned that sometimes a strike will mess up our day's plans. One time during a strike, we got to the tennis club, played tennis but on the way home (one hour on the metro if there are no problems) the entire metro line was stopped and we had to figure out an alternative to get home, unfortunately carrying all our tennis stuff.

Yesterday we played tennis again. We looked on the RATP website to see which metro lines might be the best to use. We plotted the best route. We left early since tennis courts in Paris are not readily available, if we miss our reservation time, we lose our court.

We got to the first metro, line 12. It arrived in one minute and it was empty. We got to the second stop, ditto. The third line, the same. We arrived 30 minutes early.

The way home was just as easy. We wondered where everyone was. Finally above ground after an easy metro ride, we Rounded the corner and there it was -- a HUGE demonstration. We walked right by it, locked our door and watched it on the news.

A Green Lemon

There are millions of ways to get tripped up in the French language. The most obvious is that all nouns are either masculine or feminine and there are no rules to help out with figuring it out. You must memorize them. What goes along with this is that adjectives must (in most cases, don't ask...) agree with the noun in gender and number. The number is easy, one or more than one.

But, there are many words that we English mother tongue French speakers must watch for and worry about.

Today I sent my sister a postcard with citrus fruit pictures on it and the names of each item. The tricky one in the group is "citron vert" which is a lime. But, the word for it means "green lemon". Purely from the standpoint of taste I know that a lime is not a green lemon. Another crazy one is raisin. In french, that means grapes. Prune means plum. Luckily when I grocery shop I can usually look at the item and figure it out. The only time I have a problem is when I need to ask someone where something is.

Other words that are similar or difficult in the grocery store: poire (pear), poireau(x), leek (note the plural, another difficulty), poivre (pepper), poivron (pepper as in green or red), potiron (pumpkin). I didn't have to search very far in the dictionary to make a great soup (potage).

Les Journeés du Patrimoine

This year's "Heritage Days" in Paris was a big bust for me.

I am the kind of person, I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but it's true, that if I go to a restaurant and find a particular dish that I like, I will order it every time I go back to that restaurant. I often think of the restaurant in terms of that meal. I know it's a little bit limiting but there's nothing worse than taking a risk on a new dish and being disappointed, especially when I could have had the meal I knew would be good.

I guess it's the same thing with activities. In the past, I've gone to the greenhouses at the Luxembourg Gardens first thing on Saturday morning, Day 1 of the Journées du Patrimoine. I don't have to stand in line, I get to look at everything thoroughly and I enjoy this activity.

Terry wanted to break with tradition. We have never seen l'Assemblée Nationale. It is nearby, why not? So, I broke with my Plan A and went with him. I was prepared for the line out front.



Yes, it was cold. Yes, there were a lot of gendarmes, which worried me, because the terror threat is high in France right now. The line moved pretty quickly, no one crowded, pushed or tried to cut in front of us. So far, so good.

We entered the grounds and it was beautiful. The first few rooms we saw were opulent, each one with a theme. Chandeliers were everywhere.

The rooms weren't crowded. We thought we'd gotten lucky. But, it was not meant to be.

About half way through, we were herded into a line, and herded into a garden, single-file. The line didn't move. We were standing on cold cement. We couldn't leave if we wanted to, we were between metal barriers. Maybe it will end soon, we thought. We figured that the line was for the Hemicycle, the debating room.

We plodded along. Smart people brought sandwiches and were munching while in line. We were out of luck. No snacks of any kind. We went on this way for close to an hour, finally got to the debating room. The big hang up was the photo-taking. Every person lingered taking dozens of photos of the interior. And, it is small! We pushed past everyone, raced through the last few rooms which were pedestrian anyway and grabbed the metro back home.

Even though I was tired, I thought I'd make it over to the greenhouses before they closed at 5:30PM. I raced across the Luxembourg Gardens, it was a gorgeous afternoon, with the sun shining through the leaves of the trees. When I got within sight of the greenhouses, I knew I'd made a mistake. The line to enter was huge.

I did not have the patience, tenacity and physical resilience to stand in another long line, I left.

Next year, you will not find me at any monument with a long line, I'll be at the greenhouses when they open to enjoy myself in the way I choose.

A New Market

Our Paris neighborhood is wonderful in many ways. The best part is our proximity to the Luxembourg Gardens, which is less than one block away. When we first moved here, I craved green space and being in nature. Now, I take it for granted, watching the seasons change, the gardeners working and the other joggers every day.

One thing we are lacking is grocery stores. There is a small, dirty Franprix that is about a 5-10 minute walk. The other direction there is a larger one, but it is still fairly small. The best store around is Monoprix, but that is a 15 minute walk to the store and a 20 minute walk (heavy cart) home. So, with the shopping included, I have to allow two hours to go to Monoprix.

After we arrived I needed some things at the store so I decided to go to the larger Franprix on Saturday afternoon. The stores in our area are closed on Sunday, so my motivation was high. Terry went with me to make sure that I bought all the things that he wants that I don't ordinarily buy unless he is there -- juice, cookies, crackers.

Things change in both locations whenever we're gone, even if we're only gone for a few weeks. New neighbors move in, the old ones leave without a trace. Stores go out of business, restaurants are remodeled. The mailman is new.

I'm used to being surprised by new things. As we were walking toward the store, I noticed a sign that I'd never seen before -- G20. That's a grocery store! The front of the store looked small, so I told Terry that we'd go in briefly and if it wasn't any good, we'd just continue on. We have plenty of little stores and "alimentation" places already. But, this is really a grocery store. It's not as big as Monoprix, but it is clean and serviceable and it is one block from our apartment. The employees are nice, helpful, unlike some of the other stores. It is clean and tidy. It has fundamentally everything I need for daily living.

I've already been there twice.

Labor Day Comes Twice A Year

For me, that is...

Labor Day in the US is the same holiday as May Day in France (and most other countries I might add).

This is Labor Day weekend in the US. I'd almost forgotten about it until I tried to drive somewhere around noon yesterday and the street (Sepulveda Blvd) was a parking lot. At first I worried that there was an accident but then it occurred to me that everyone was leaving work early. And at the same time. It's Labor Day weekend in the US.

Typically I am in the US for the summer months.

I try to avoid the major holidays in both the US and France. They all seem to involve crowds, traffic, noisy nights and a general disruption of my life. I am usually successful in missing most of the summer holidays by being strategic when I select my travel dates.

In the US, I miss Memorial Day (traditional start of the Summer) and the Fourth of July (Independence Day). In France I miss le 14 Juillet (la fête nationale) and l'Assomption (August 15).

The only holiday I can't seem to avoid is Labor Day. I'm not ready to miss the last few glorious days of summer in Manhattan Beach to go back to Paris in early September.

I will be staying home this weekend, hoping that it's not too noisy at 2 AM when the bars close.

The irony of this is that Labor Day in France is May 1. I am always in Paris in May.

Nearly all businesses celebrate May Day. Depending on what day of the week it lands, the holiday disruption could go on for days. If it falls on nearly any day but Wednesday, everyone will try to take off the days surrounding the holiday. If May Day is on a Friday, people will take Thursday through Sunday. If it falls on a Tuesday, forget getting anything done from Saturday until Wednesday morning. At least Labor Day in the US is always Monday so that everyone can plan the long weekend consistently.

So, I am unlucky enough to have to endure May Day/Labor Day twice a year. I guess it makes up for all the other holidays I've managed to avoid.

What To Pack

Our Air France flight allows only one checked bag of 23kg or less. We can pay for extra bags, of course. Each extra bag is $55. Bags weighing over 23kg are OK for an extra $110 for each overweight bag. I did the math and decided that it is much cheaper to pack a lot of medium-heavy bags. Our only scale is on the top floor of our house. It is not portable, so I will be banging the suitcases up and down the stairs to make sure they are not overweight. Maybe I should invest in a normal small scale at Target.

I am used to bringing two very large and heavy bags each way. Luckily I brought mostly summer clothes with me. But, there will be new purchases, supplies and gifts to bring. I need my regular luggage allowance.

For awhile, earlier this summer, I'd made a resolution to limit my packing to one 23kg bag. I was optimistic that I could pull this off. I don't need shoes, I have them in Paris. I don't need books, I have a Kindle. I don't need to shop this summer... whoa! I have to draw the line somewhere and this is it.

The fall clothes are just coming out now. It's hard to tell what I will want to wear in November, but I have to try to picture it. The better I am at visualizing myself in the fall, the more shopping I do. The result is that the one bag is now a fantasy that can never be fulfilled.

On The Way To The Cafe Yesterday

When I'm in the US, I try to practice speaking french. It's difficult because there aren't many native french speakers in Southern California. I don't want to practice with other Anglophones because I will pick up their accent (just like mine so that's easy) and reproduce their grammar errors.

An ex-teacher of mine, Nadine, now gives private lessons in a cafe in Redondo Beach. I share the lesson with a fellow french student, Jean. We speak only in french. We enjoy each other's company, share stories and ideas. It is very convivial.

The cafe, the Coffee Cartel has been around forever. Instead of cafe chairs there are big, overstuffed, kinda dirty couches to sit on. There are no servers, you order your drink at the counter and take it to a couch. Most of the people in the cafe are young, tattooed, and using computers. Wifi must be free with the coffee.

This is our meeting place. It's close to the beach, relaxed.

Jean and I carpool to the cafe. We've known each other for a long time but only get together for our lessons even though she lives a few blocks away.

Yesterday she was telling me (in English and French) about her recent trip to Mammoth.

She went with her son's family. During the trip, they visited a ghost town called Bodie. We took the kids there, maybe 25 years ago and I remembered it very well. It is a place that was abandoned when the California Gold Rush ended. There are still bottles in the pharmacy and the saloon, furniture in some of the little houses, it is a snapshot of what life must have been like 150 year ago in California.

As we talked I realized something. While the US has a much shorter history than Europe, we have some very interesting historical events. I'm most familiar with California history. As we drove, we discussed our history. The California missions are wonderful. The Gold Rush, the railroads, the ranchos. I'd forgotten about this until our drive to the cafe.

Margaritas?

It's been sunny and warm in California -- finally -- after six weeks of gloom.

Saturday night called for margaritas after a day at the beach. We bought the ingredients -- that's easy. But, we'd forgotten where are margaritas glasses were stored. It's been ages since we've had margaritas. We're more on the french champagne circuit these days and I know instantly where the champagne glasses are.

A trip to the garage was needed. I keep many of our older glasses stored in boxes in our storage room. I went through box after box and finally found the margarita glass box, buried about six deep.

I brought the box upstairs and started to unwrap the contents. Eventually I found three of one kind and two of another. At some point in the past, we must have broken a lot of margarita glasses. As I took them out of the newspaper they were wrapped in, I looked at the date on the yellowed LA Times pages. Evidently the last time we used these margarita glasses was in 1993 and 1994. Could it be possible that we haven't made a margarita since then?

How Do The Pros Do It?

Changing locations involves a lot more than packing a suitcase and canceling the newspaper. We are constantly adjusting. Food, language, activities all differ. Even the time of day when we do things is different. In the US, we eat dinner earlier. Errands take much longer in France. We just adjust.

One of the things that is the hardest to adjust to is the different types of tennis courts. In Manhattan Beach, we only have hard tennis courts. It's what we learned to play tennis on. This type of court is faster (the ball hits the ground and then comes up faster and usually lower), it is usually green. In France the courts are usually red clay although we've seen a variety of other types of courts, usually in a public park. Red clay is very gentle on the body, the ball bounces up higher, giving you more time to plan your attack. But hitting it really hard doesn't insure that the other person won't get it because the court slows it down.

Every time we change locations, we have to figure out how to play tennis all over again. We look like beginners the first couple of times we play in each location, slashing at the ball, overrunning it (running past it), actually swinging and missing. You have to hope no one's watching when that happens.

It's also easier to fall down on the red clay because it is slippery. But if you fall you don't get hurt, where if you fall on a hard court (cement) it will definately hurt.

Tennis pros play on all kinds of surfaces and seem to be able to play on anything. I watch the players week after week, on grass, on hard courts on clay. They always play well, they never swing and miss. How do they do it?

Health Insurance

We had hoped that Obama's healthcare reform would help us with our health insurance needs. Every year, the premium goes up and the coverage decreases. It's now to the point where we might be better off having only the most catastrophic coverage since we spend more in premiums than we ever incur in actual medical costs. This is combined with the need to have a second policy for France. Our US policies don't cover us outside the US.

We've been buying French insurance for a few years that covers the essentials for our trips. We've actually had to use it once, but, again, the premium costs exceed any medical costs that we've incurred.

So, I'm in the process of looking at the whole thing from a different point of view. Knowing that we need insurance in both places doesn't mean that we have to continue doing the same old thing. I'm investigating worldwide coverage through the insurer who has done our travel health in the past.

This is a lot of work, though. Analyzing co-pays, maximum lifetimes, exclusions, pre-existing conditions...It's all so complicated.

This has been on my desk for almost two weeks and I"m almost ready to take the step toward paying much less money to Anthem. I'll still be covered, but only for a REAL illness, not the everyday visit to the doctor for a sore throat. Typically I don't go to the doctor for that anyway. We'll see.

The Getaway

We did not have a smooth getaway yesterday. As usual, the unexpected happened. Again and again. I didn't breathe a sign of relief until we locked the front door last night.

It all started first thing. When we called for a cab, we were told that none were available between 7 AM and 10 AM. Hmmm. They would book our reservation but nothing was guaranteed. Having no other way to the airport, we decided to take our chances.

Our bags were packed and we headed out the door about 30 minutes early, leaving in plenty of time. When we pushed the button for the elevator (lots of heavy bags), nothing happened. The elevator is fairly new, maybe five years old and it has never been broken. But, it wasn't coming. Terry rushed up the stairs to find our guardienne, Maria, huddled on the floor of the elevator. It is glass so he could see her. She said that she'd been stuck for over an hour between floors. Yikes! So, we dashed down the stairs and started pulling the suitcases down, one at a time.

As we got outside with the first load, we saw the elevator repairman going up the stairs. He said he'd have it fixed quickly. Sure enough, in five minutes, Maria came running down the stairs, mumbling in Portuguese but smiling. Crisis solved.

So, I jumped in the elevator with one suitcase, pused the "0" buttom, the elevator started to go down, then with a clang, it stopped between floors.

One more detail, at 9 AM, it was already about 90 degrees and humid.

I yelled at the repairman who yelled back not to get in the elevator, it's not fixed. DAH! I said I was stuck. Eventually, the elevator started to move up. It stopped on the 5th floor and the elevator repair guy started to yell at me, but I grabbed the suitcase, now having to pull it down five flights of stairs.

We got all the bags onto the sidewalk. We have a one-lane, one-way street. Just then, a huge truck pulled in front of our building and stopped, put on his blinkers and the driver jumped out. Terry went and yelled at him to move the truck, as did a guardienne from another building. He wasn't moving it. Now the cab can't/won't get down the street to us.

Panic averted as the cab came, put our stuff in the car, the truck moved and we were off.

The autoroute was a mess and it took more than an hour to get to the airport. We got there, found the line to check in and it was about 100 people long. We waited, no movement. There were two people working behind the counter, there were loads of people, wheelchairs, luggage. Everyone is going somewhere. Or nowhere.

We changed lines, thinking we'd found a better one, but no luck, two workers, big problems. We eventually got through it, got to security. We'd left three hours at the airport and now we had one hour left before our flight left. I put all my stuff into the plastic bins, went through without a beep but then a woman looking at the stuff in the machine told me to send my bag through again. I started to take it back and a guy barred my way. One woman told me to stay, the other one told me I hadn't passed. We went back and forth about four or five times before they finally let me take the bag back, take more things out of it and then pass through again. I must look suspicious (probably because I was so sweaty from all the commotion) because then they really searched me thoroughly.

We passed, hit the terminal. Inside, it was about 100 degrees, but our flight would be leaving soon. We thought.

The plane was supposed to board at 12:45 but at 12:40 they said that there was a delay, it would board at 1 PM. This went on, in 15 minute increments for two hours. In the heat for two hours, waiting for the plane to board. Luckily we'd grabbed a snack because the 1:30 flight didn't take off until almost 4 PM.

In the air, our luck of the day was consistent. A woman with three children sat one row away. The entire flight, they all yelled at each other, trashed the entire area and the baby cried.

We got all our suitcases, so that's a relief, but the Immigration Officer flagged our Customs Declaration with a BIG BLUE "A". We didn't know what that meant, but it means "agriculture". We'd need to have our bags checked for contraband food. This last drama of the day involved the only nice person along the way. He kiddingly told us that if we had any contraband from France (the usual pate, cheese, etc) we should dump it now. We didn't, our bags passed and we were free from this horrible day.

Regime

These happy women have been dancing in the Luxembourg Gardens for several weeks now. I went this morning to visit them and try to take a better photo, but the workers were taking them away.

They are happy, joyous and beautiful. They are alive with action. They are naked. (Remember this is France).

The best thing about them is that they're not afraid to show their "stuff". And, there's a lot of it. Bellies, boobs, butts. All beautiful, curvey, voluptuous. Womanly.

But, not our culture's ideal. (... meaning both the US and France). In both countries, thin is the standard. Young is also good. I even think that thin women, as a general rule, look better and healthier, their clothes certainly fit better.

So why didn't the artist create a sculpture with thin women dancing? I can only guess.

I personally don't think this would be as interesting or as beautiful if there were runway models depicted in this dance.

But, this brings up the topic that's ever-present, in every ad and pharmacie window right now, probably on most people's mind -- weight loss or body improvement.

There are tons of products in pharmacies in France for cellulite, stomach fat, dieting. The push is on to look less like these women as we pull out our bathing suits and head for the beach.

Reporter Sans Frontieres

Out with my iPHONE for my morning exercise in the Luxembourg Gardens, I came across this scene. I feel like a reporter myself sometimes. When I see something newsworthy, I try to capture it. It seems like every day something is going on here on the blvd. St Michel side of the "jardin".

Today, a group of reporters were out to bring awareness to the issue of reporters who have been captured and held hostage for political purposes. Some have been held for a long time.

I think this will be on the news tonight, as there were several camera crews capturing this.



I feel like a reporter sans frontieres myself, equipped with my iPHONE and ready for whatever is happening.

Gay Pride In Paris

This is a big deal in Paris every year, but I've never seen it before. Today, just by chance, we heard music and walked toward it and, Voila!, Gay Pride. They had floats of a sort with balloons and music. Everyone was dancing, singing, parading.




Le Parisien says that between 500,000 to 700,000 people participated but we only saw a small part of the crowd that passed by us. Quite a show.

Fete de la Musique

I think, after all these years, I've finally found my personal "rhythm" for the Fete de la Musique.

While I would want to think that I would enjoy going out at night and mixing with the young people in the street, this is just not fun for me. The last time we went out on the night of the Fete and stopped to listen to a street band, a group of drunk young men started to drop their pants while dancing. This is just not what I had in mind.

I prefer to sit and listen to some nice music in a pretty setting.

So, once again I chose the Luxembourg Gardens. There were two different venues for music and we spent a lot of time at both of them. On one side of the garden, groups performed traditional songs and dances of different regions. There were five or six regions represented and it was charming.

The other side of the garden hosted groups from Latin America, including Peru (maybe the guys in the Metro?), Bolivia, Paraguay, etc. Amazing music, the young and the old were dancing and enjoying the event.

The Mouse in the Grocery Store

I'm sure that in the US, if someone spotted a mouse running around the aisles, the entire store would be closed by the health department. I'm sure they have their share of rodents, but we never see them.

Yesterday we were in Franprix at lunchtime. A mistake in itself. There were lots of people in line, all with their lunch items. Suddenly there was a commotion. Everyone was assembled in a circle, laughing, pointing, talking.

The object of their interest was a tiny tiny grey mouse who was obviously scared to death by all of us. It was confused, running around, trying to find a place to hide.

The cashier asked me what was all the excitement about, so I told her it was a small mouse.

What would I expect to happen? Of course, I would expect her to pick up her phone, call the manager and fix (ick) the problem. But, she did nothing of the kind. She rolled her eyes a bit, yawned and remarked, "C'est normal".

And, I think she's right. What better place for a mouse to live than the grocery store?

Taxi Bleu

Another transportation strike is taking place today and it is raining. Not the little french rain that lasts for five minutes and then gets sunny, it's been raining all day, fairly steadily.

We have a cocktail party tonight. It's a dress-up activity. We've decided to take a taxi. We may take the metro home, we'll decide later.

There are two main taxi companies in Paris - G7 and Taxi Bleu. Taxis are not always available and on the day of a strike, there is a huge demand. Terry decided to call for the cab yesterday to assure that we'd have one. First he called Taxi Bleu. It was an automated system and he didn't feel completely sure that the taxi would come, since he didn't talk to a person. So, he booked a second cab with G7. Very bad move if two cabs arrive at the same time. You can only get in one of them and the other one is furious, as you can imagine.

I asked Terry to cancel one of the taxis. He tried and tried, but since it's the day of a strike, the lines are busy, even on the automated system. It's getting later and later in the afternoon and we haven't canceled one of the taxis yet. I decided to put my new cordless phone with a speaker phone to work. I dialed the number and got put into the recording/music system to wait for an operator. I walked around the apartment with the phone, did my chores, listened to the recording. The phone was my companion for a very long time.

Eventually an operator got on the phone. I started to explain that we needed to cancel the cab and when I got to the end of the sentence, I completely blanked on the work "cancel" in french, which is "annuler". Luckily the woman clairvoyanced what I needed, just as Terry rushed in the room to save me.

The taxi is canceled. Let's just hope the second one shows up.

May

May is not the easiest month to be in France. There are five (5) holidays in May. The first two this year, May 1 and May 8 were on Saturdays. This is both good and bad. I would guess that for the people that work Monday through Friday, a Saturday holiday is a nightmare. No day off, but the one day a week reserved for errands and shopping, Saturday, everything was closed. Yikes! That's worse than a holiday on Sunday.

While there were more closures on May 1 (everything was closed, even museums), the May 8 holiday had a lot of demonstrations which interrupted traffic.

Tomorrow is another holiday. Being that it is on a Thursday, all of France is in transit today and tomorrow and they will be again on Sunday. Traffic will be a disaster because everyone takes off on Friday to make a four day weekend.

The other two holidays are more than a week away, so there's a little time to re-group between holidays.

May is a big month in the US too, with Memorial Day at the end of the month. Many people take off on the Friday before Memorial Day to make it a four-day weekend. It is also the official start of summer, although Manhattan Beach is normally shrouded in "June Gloom" (fog and clouds) until the 4th of July. Luckily we only have one holiday in the month and we've had the intelligence to put it on a Monday so everyone knows they'll get a day off.

As I scramble to get bread (bakery will be closed until Monday they told me), check my activities to make sure things are open, I'm grateful that May is only 1/12th of the year.

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.