Paris-Day 2

I've been traveling quite a bit lately and because of that it isn't uncommon for me to wake up and have no idea where I am. So day 2 of Paris I did just that.  Blinked a few times, waited for my head to clear from the muddled dreams and as the fog cleared I heard traffic far away and the hammering sounds of construction.  "Construction? Where am I?" I looked around the room and remembered....I am in Paris.  

Opening the window and stepping out into the brisk December morning, I drank in the sights and sounds, including the construction on the other side of our street where the Military Academy was. 

What to do with our brief, golden hours of daylight.  We head out to coffee.  Since we have been living in France long enough to understand the way things work, it wasn't difficult for us to find a cafe and order coffee and croissants. Paris isn't necessarily more expensive then any other city, its just as expensive. We drank our coffee and looked over our city maps while waiting for the croissants to come out of the oven. Well, we ran out of coffee before the oven could finish so, naturally, we needed more coffee.  Our bill for breakfast was as follows:

4 coffees

+

4 croissants

=

25 euros

or

$32.34

Needless to say, I wanted to dive out the window while Dennis was down in the bathroom.  Somehow, spending $32 on pastry and coffee seemed extravagant. Delightful but extravagant. 

After our breakfast debacle we walked toward Madame Eiffel to see how bad the crowds were at the tower elevators. And they were bad.  The tour buses parked on the side streets were a good indication. So we continued to the river where we discovered the boat shuttle that would bring you past 7 major sights and allow you to board and disembark all along the river, all day long. That was for tomorrow.

We continued across the river toward The Arc de Triomphe were we watched in fascination as eleven streets emptied out into the round about without direction or order. Complete chaos. I couldn't take my eyes away from the hornets nest of cars and buses, motorbikes and trucks swirling and vying for position around this massive monument that Napoleon commissioned in 1806 to pay tribute to his victories in battle. The foundation alone took 2 years to complete.  Sadly, the structure wasn't completed until 1836...not in time for the Emperor to see it for himself. However his remains were brought through the Arc before they were laid to rest in Invalides. You reach the Arc by passing through a tunnel under the crazy street above.  Walking around and through this beautiful 164 foot historical piece makes you feel tiny and brief.  For a fee, you can also walk up to the top and bask in the view.  It marks the beginning of the Champs-Elysees "the most beautiful street in the world".

From here we took the Metro and arrived at The Louvre were we spent several hours walking through vast rooms filled with artwork that boggles the mind. From Mona to Venus...there is seemingly no end to the painting, sculptures and artifacts. One of the most mind blowing pieces for me was the Egyptian artifact that was dated to the days of Moses. How is that even possible?

In all the guide books and all the blogs you read the advice to plan in advance what you want to see, otherwise you will get overwhelmed and tired.  We tried to do just that but once you are there, surrounded by so much history and beauty, its impossible to stop looking. When you sit down to eat a special meal, you eat and eat until you are ready to burst. That is what we did in the Louvre. We looked and looked and looked until we were so full mentally of art and beauty that I thought I was going to burst. Thankfully the museum closed at 6 PM and we were forced to get up from the art and history table.

Even the view outside was breathtaking with Madame Eiffel always watching us, like the moon following the car. No matter how many times I photograph her, its never enough. I always want to take just one more shot, from just one more angle. When I look back now, I wonder how I managed to walk through Paris at all without tripping as it seems as though I never stopped looking through my camera. Pinch me, I'm dreaming.

Paris-Day 1

My first thought as I climb up the metro steps and surface on a street in Paris, "I can't believe I'm hot and its 30 degrees and raining. I'm sweating". We stop at a perfect pastry shop to ask for directions to our hotel and a kindly women in a clean brown apron points toward the left and nods and smiles at us. So we pull our luggage (mostly my luggage) in the direction she waved us. Its dark and raining. We reach the corner of the street quickly. We look left and see our hotel brightly welcoming us across the street. I turn to Dennis and say "that was easy to find" and behind him I see this.

And then I think, "Where do I go from here? What do you do when you have fulfilled your oldest dream?"

There is so much to absorb. I want to stand on the street and just stare. But the rain moves me toward our hotel. Crossing the cobblestone streets and splashing through puddles. Our hotel is modest and clean. Nothing fancy except for the wonderful bathtub with endless hot water and of course, the view. 

I just want to stand out on that balcony and soak in the moment. Why is this tower of metal and light so magical for me? I can't say, not even standing with her right there in front of me. But I can't take my eyes away and I never get tired of looking at her.  The train ride was lovely, traveling from Nice to Gare de Lyon. Everything is happening so fast. In the blink of my eyes the countryside of France has fled by the window and we arrived in the basement of Paris. Changing from the train to the Metro system was easy, just lots of stairs to climb and tunnels to navigate.  In what felt like a few quick heartbeats we are in our hotel room changing clothes and heading out for dinner. Can this be happening? I am in Paris. I really truly am. I feel like a silly little girl again. I can't stop smiling. In many ways the journey here to Paris took years, long sad years. It was my dream to see this place, to walk the streets and drink deeply of her history and romance. I hoped and dreamed it but never felt certain that it would ever happen. That's how dreams are, right? Elusive. Paris was the theme of every calender and yearly planner I bought, every picture I hung in my room, every movie I watched. Napoleon was my obsession. France was where I always wanted to be. 

And now, I am living in the South of France and I am walking on a street in Paris, with the lights of the city twinkling around me, holding the hand of the best man I have ever known, someone who truly loves me and speaks French. How did this happen? Don't wake me up.

2 more days

"Wanna pack your bags, something small...

take what you need and we'll disappear..

without a trace, we'll be gone, gone

the moon and the stars will follow the car.."

Or in our case, Follow the Train!  In 2 more days Dennis and I head North to Paris. What should we do? Where should we go??  There are countless ideas, of course. The challenge is to narrow it down to 3 days and nights and what we can actually manage to see and do.

A few thoughts we have, besides seeing Madame Eiffel at night, day and afternoon is to take a river boat tour down the Seine. Also walking from The Arche de Triomphe down The Champs-Elysees (the most beautiful street in the world). Of course, being that it is close to Christmas time, everything should be lit up even more than "the city of lights" is usually.

I'm having a hard time deciding what to do and where to go. Going for such a brief time feels impossible. I keep packing and repacking and unpacking my things. Mental notes are filling my head, as I try to remember which temperature it will be in each place I will be over the next few weeks and what shoes I will need.  Try as I have to avoid it, I'm planning on wearing sneakers in Paris. I know I know, its the worst of the worst but with my feet there simply is no alternative. Its sneakers in Paris or a wheelchair.

Anna is giving me that "its happening again" look.  She follows me closely throughout the apartment, right at my heals.  I feel like I am being to live up to the title "Worse Pet Owner" by leaving her, yet again. Hopefully once I leave, she won't remember until she sees me again. Funny how that works with animals. It is true that they don't miss us? Or do they just know how to hide it better.


I've downloaded a Paris guidebook (how modern of me) and I've made notes that I have stuck to Dennis' desk and my mirror..with names of places I can't pronounce. What is it going to be like? Visiting a place I've dreamed about since I was nine years old? Will I be disappointed?

Ready or not, City of Lights, here I come.

Count Down to Paris

Six days to Paris.

The plan is to take the train from Nice to Paris and spend three nights and four days exploring just a few places before we fly to NY and then to Fl.  Winter in Paris. I am, in a word, excited.

Its Monday and the usual rhythm of our week has begone. We spent some time taking a walk with Anna today. Now laundry is being washed and dried, lunch is warming up and soon we will be hunkered down to work until midnight or later (Dennis does the later, I would be asleep sitting up if I tried)

Yesterday after the meeting we had Bernard here cooking for us and our friend Martin joined us for a traditional French Lunch complete with a cheese course.

 Bernard created a feast of pork and kraut, literally every variety of pork product that could be thought of was in this huge pot, filled with cabbage and white wine. It was amazing but I spent the rest of the evening dying of thirst. Very Salty. Like, salty dog, salty sailor. We tried new cheeses from Holland and France, varieties of goat cheese that I have never seen, all topping some crusty bread we picked up in Antibes after the meeting.

It was a wonderful meal. Too soon over.

Uncle Louis arrives in a few days to take over our position here in France whilst we return home to Fl and RI, coming back to France in early January. Home for only a brief visit this time.

I have taught myself to knit (evidently crocheting was a gate-way hobby) and I am attempting to knit a scarf for Dennis before we leave for Paris on Sunday. The clock is ticking.

I've seen Fire and I've seen Rain

I have a playlist of songs entitled "songs that make me cry".  At my old job, during surgery we would sometimes listen to a list we affectionately called "songs to kill yourself to".  Dennis looks over at me and says "why do women do that? Listen to music that upsets them?"  It is crazy. But somehow the weight in your chest that feels like it has no release, when you listen to certain music and let the pain out, the pressure lessens. Or so it seems to.

There is a bottle of water on the table in front of me. And it made me think about how much water we have drank since we went food shopping a few days ago. And that we need more water...and then I thought, my life has gone on. I'm living, breathing and drinking water. How could I when people I love are gone.

"Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone........

I've seen fire and I've seen rain, I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end, I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend but I always that that I would see you again"

Grieving has a process, life moves forward. Its healthy and natural. But it feels so wrong. How can life move on when a huge piece of you is missing? How? There are so many stories I haven't told her, so many things to ask her, so many ways to make her laugh, so many things to get her support on. How can life just keep moving when I don't want it to? How did I let this happen? Am I forgetting her?

And then you think about the people still in your life that you don't get to see. You are missing out on their lives, the moments every day that mold them, change them.  Daily events and decisions. Joy and fears, highs and lows. And no manner of distant contact can make up for not being there. And I am not there right now. I am so very far away, from all the things I love. 

Life is even more fragile then I ever thought, even more fleeting.  People simply disappear and there is nothing you can do. No manner of wishing or wanting or pleading will bring them back again. I went to France in a bubble of newness and joy the first time. And while I was gone, everything changed. And that changed me. I'm sitting at this table staring at a bottle of water, listening to James Taylor, crying over memories I am afraid to lose. Crying over the memories I am missing out on. Crying because I am living when people I love are sleeping. People I need. And no matter how hard I cry, the sun will rise and we will need more water tomorrow and we are forced to live, live without them. 

There is a grief that arises from the healing of a pain. As if the sharpness of the pain was tangible enough to hold you tight to that person. And when the pain fades, will they fade with it? Will you be letting them go? Is their face, their voice, their laugh vanishing? I find comfort in the pain. With the pain I know she is close to me, I can see her tossing her salad with her cargo pant capris and lipstick on. She is alive in my memories, even within the cloud of pain so heavy I can't take a breath. She is there, cheering me on, laughing at my stories. She is still alive and well in my mind. If I heal, I will forget. If I forget, I will die.

"thought I'd see you one more time again"

Crocheting, Eating by the Sea and Food Shopping in Italy

Years ago I made scarves.  I made many scarves actually.  For myself and my family. I just started crocheting and made tons of scarves.  There is a drawer full of them in my basement room at my parent's house (the room I affectionately call "the hobbit hole")

Then the crocheting stopped, just as quickly and mysteriously as it had begun.  Like an intense rainstorm in springtime. And the years passed.  I painted and wrote....and arranged flowers.

Then several months ago....I felt the call of yarn..and I began to make crazy round animals. Pigs and owls and more pigs and then pigs wearing berets. Out   Of   Control.

Then for three weeks I have been working on my first baby blanket. Pastel yarn and patchwork patterns.  Pulling stitches out and hands going numb. But, finally it is done. Sigh

A total of 4 hours passed since the blanket completion until I picked up my hook again. Now...I'm making a scarf.  I can't seem to stop.

I'm not sure why. Dennis had to be bullied into "wanting" this scarf. I needled him, quite literally, into agreeing that he MUST have a handmade scarf.  What is wrong with me?  (Please, that was strictly rhetorical)

We went for a drive today and whilst going along by the sea in Menton on our way to Italy for groceries, we decided..rather spontaneously..to stop for lunch. With Denise in her chair, all bundled up against the possible wind and sun-glassed against the possible strong afternoon rays, we sat along the sea. Between the road and the beach. Next to me was a lovely couple and their pug who was sitting along beside them, as if involved in the meal and the conversation. He was rather well behaved, although somewhat particular about getting lobster on his collar.  It was a lovely afternoon of muscles and fries, and bolognaise. There was a black helicopter coming and going, landing on the beach and then taking off again. No one seemed the slightest bit interested in this event, except for me...who kept snapping pictures of it for no good reason.  Our real destination today was Italy to buy groceries for some company we may have later. Being that it was Sunday, no stores were available in France so we finished our lunch and drove off into another country.

The store was small and incredibly stuffed with things to buy and people buying them. I think I may have knocked several people in the head (by accident of course) with my purse ("bang" "oh I am so sorry" I mean "Pardon" no that's wrong too, I'm in Italy) and was goosed several times (on purpose, one would assume)

We found everything we didn't need, including a basil plant that I am super excited about. I placed Mister Basil right next to Lady Olive Tree when I came home tonight.  They were chatting along quite well when I closed the balcony doors this evening. Our company never came to eat what we bought. So we will have to eat it instead.

Sunday night always makes me sad. The fun is over already. Monday is rearing his nasty head.

Anna

Things are settling into a routine here...pretty much. Anna seems to be adjusting well to her new life in a foreign country.  As far as I can tell, she doesn't seemed fazed. Although she misses my family, I can tell.  She gets these far off looks and I know she is thinking about my mother and laying in the middle of the floor while Jane tried to walk, clean and cook around her. Funny thing is that I like to lay in the middle of the floor too.  I guess Anna gets that from me.

Once I get out of bed in the morning (and this is not at an early hour, keep in mind) Dennis and Denise are already at breakfast and Anna is all "I wanna go out! I gotta go now!!!"..following me closely, bumping into the backs of my knees with her nose...herding me toward the door.  So I dress and drag my feet out the door and down the street.  We pass the local grocery store with the homeless man sitting out front, who always speaks to us but I have no idea if he is saying "have a lovely morning beautiful lady" or more like "can't you spare a euro? I'm starving to death, you fat American pig"...so I smile at him and keep walking. Past the butcher shop, across the street to a grass patch for Anna to do her deed in.  When she is through with that first step we continue on toward the olive tree garden. The street is quiet and we usually pass a few other dogs. One morning a tall and elegantly dressed woman, in dark sunglasses and 5 inch heels was walking what looked like two rats on long long leashes appeared from a driveway.  There was a flurry of French and barking from the rats and the woman....Anna stared and I kept going. Anna kept turning around to stare.  She turned around so much that she walked into a tree, a car, a garbage can and finally she walked right into me, causing us both to trip and end up in a tangle. Anna likes to turn around and stare while still walking.  Not good for me before I've actually woken up.

Sometimes we pass dogs unleashed, which is always an adventure...barking..jumping and lots of disgusted French comments. I can't understand the words but I know what the people are saying. I've said it all myself.

Now as we approach the area where dogs are allowed, just around the edges of the fenced in garden of 500 year old olive trees...I need to pause and add this side bit.  Anna and grass.  If you know Anna, you know that she cannot be responsible for her actions when she is around grass.  The girl is ridiculous. Rolling like a fool in any spot of the green.  She is like a grass addict.  Well, grass is not too easy to come by here in the South of France.  Most places Anna can be have been visited by tons of other dogs and the grass is long gone.  But Anna has turned to more exotic flora and fauna. Still in the grass family, don't get me wrong. She has discovered Ornamental Grass.  The six foot high kind with those fuzzy brown seed things on top.  And she manages to roll into it.. vertically.  Like a big tumbleweed.  So there I am, on any given morning....speaking in hushed angry tones to my dog as she rolls vertically with abandon into this huge bush of ornamental grass.  The grass has been slowly browning and falling over on the ends because its winter here, so after a few moments, Anna is completely invisible and all you could see if you were to walk by is a crazy American woman, talking in angry tones at a quivering bush of six foot tall grass, that she appears to have tied a red leash to.  Thanks Anna, for disappearing and leaving me here to look like a fool, a fool shouting at ornamental grass.

Cooking with Bernard

Recently Cousin Bernard came over to cook lunch on a Saturday. This is no ordinary lunch but since we are family and  it is the weekend, it takes on a life of its own. Bernard wanted to make mussels and fries (A French thing) for us because the fresh mussels were on sale for 1 euro a kilo but since I am not a mussel fan Bernard brought a piece of fish for me. Dennis and I went to Nice for our meeting and when we returned the house smelled of apple tart and white wine cooking. I did try the mussels and no I am still not a fan but the pot of onions and wine, garlic and mystery herbs smelled wonderful. We crunched on fresh bread and four different cheeses, two different wines and yes, apple tart for dessert.  But it didn't end there.  Bernard took our car home and returned Sunday morning at 10:30 to cook lunch again but this time, I was commissioned to assist him.

The menu? A starter of salad made from "lamb lettuce", which is some kind of baby green, chopped beets, chopped scallions, including the bulb, dressed in a creamy mustard like dressing.




The main course was a pork roast and together Bernard and I pealed apples and potatoes, chopped up garlic and onions and filled the area around the roast with everything. Bernard added pepper, salt, spices of Provence and "oil of olive"..water and of course, butter.  Cooking with Bernard is very peaceful. Since I speak almost no French and he speaks only a little English, we mime what we need to, laugh a lot, gesture wildly and the rest of the time we enjoy companionable silence. I stood between the sink area and the table in the tiny kitchen while Bernard sat at the table, we chopped and pealed while Anna sat just outside the kitchen watching our every move.

The roast was ready and so was the salad. While we waited the hour and a half for Porky Pig to be done, Dennis and I went out for apéritif liquors. The destination was the border store in Italy, just about a ten minute drive from us, if there isn't any traffic.  There we bought whiskey and vodka, Cinzano and Calvados. Well stocked with a box full of booze, we came home to eat and drink and laugh.

Bernard had set the table while we were out and the roast has done, just resting before he attacked it with this crazy electric knife that I am terrified of.  And he wielded it with grace, even after a few whiskey and cokes.

Anna was very well behaved and her reward was bits of discarded cheese and some pork roast with her dinner. Having Bernard with us is always a good time, especially when he brings dessert. The surprise was 2 different eclairs, chocolate and coffee.  Bernard cut the eclairs in half to have enough for each of us but as full as I was, I could have managed to stuff them all in. DELICIOUS!

After dinner, cheese and bread, salad and dessert, white wine and red had all been consumed, we tried some Calvados which is a liquor made from apples and we dipped sugar cubes into it. Wow.

 In total Bernard was with us until Dennis brought him home after 7PM.  Almost an entire day spent in eating and drinking. Ah, France.

Anna's Big Adventure

Let it be known first off that bringing Anna to France sounded like an impossible undertaking. And that was before I even looked into how to do it. Once I did that, I realized just how crazy it could get.

First there are the requirements of the US government...Anna had to have a Health Certificate done by a sponsoring vet (and there is no list of said sponsoring vets). France requires the Health Certificate to be bilingual and Anna needed a micro-chip placed and afterwards a rabies shot. And those things needed to be done 21 days before she entered the country. And then Delta airlines required the Health Certificate to be no more than 10 days old when she flew with them. And she needed to be in a crate that had metal bolts and nuts (which is not available ANYWHERE to purchase so you have to but the crate and then outfit it yourself with the bolts). And Delta charges $200 one way for dogs to travel. And we were flying from Boston, to NY and then to Nice.  So to save money and Anna's sanity, we rented a van...and drove to JFK airport and then put Anna on the plane. She was in airline hands for upwards of 13 hours before we saw her again.

Tired yet?

Needless to say...for the entire flight I was consumed with worry for Anna.  The worse part is knowing that there is absolutely nothing I could do. They had her and I had to wait. And once we cleared passport control in Nice, we waited anxiously at the luggage belt...wondering if she would come through with our bags.  One bag, then another..then another....and no Anna.

I happened to glance over at the far end of the huge room full of people and bags and conveyor belts to see Anna's huge crate sitting in the middle of everything.  Running over, weaving through the people I made my way to her.  As I approached the crate began to shift from side to side..Anna was just fine, wagging her tail and almost tipping the huge crate over.

And customs? There wasn't one single person there to even glance at our paperwork. We just walked right through. I wanted to ring a bell at the counter and say "Excuse me! Could you please look at my paperwork and scan my dog's micro-chip? I worked hard for it and I want to be inspected!"  I know...I'm a crazy American.  So without a hitch and with unimaginable simplicity, Anna is now with us in France.

How is she doing? Just fine. She enjoys being treated like a royal grandchild by my mother-in-law. She walks along the olive tree garden...she is pet by strange French people who coo to her in French and she just stares at them from the corner of her eye. Spending most of her time basking in the sun on the balcony and watching the traffic headed to Italy by our house. She chases the pigeons and naps in a tiny ball on her cushion by the TV while Denise watches the evening news.

Anna does seem sad at moments when I know she is thinking about my mother and father...Jen and Kathryn too.  I know she wonders where they are, why they aren't here with us. It feels good to be together with Anna and Dennis again but I know (as Anna knows too) that we are missing some very important people and there is a hole in our lives and our hearts. That hole will only be filled when we are all together again.

Crochet Crazy

It all began with the idea of a hobby.  You know, a hobby...that thing you do just for the joy of doing something. Its a time waster, lets face it.  In all honesty, hobbies are mostly valueless and everybody you know can't understand why you do it.

Be that as it may, I went to Michael's craft store to discover a new time waster for myself. I was headed toward counted cross stitch because it was familiar, comfortable...I had waster time with that before.  My sister Kathryn mocked me heavily when she saw the pattern for some useless counted cross stitch item in my hands.  And due completely to her mockery and pressure I purchased instead a book entitled:

CROCHET CUTE ANIMALS

Adam

Yes...I suddenly was filled with the need, the fire of desire, the raw hunger to crochet cute animals. With yarn in hand I began my first project.  Now I will say that my first owl was hard for me. The wording was confusing, seemingly written in sand script or maybe Latin. I was fumbling and cursing when my mother patiently explained the basics of the pattern.  Soon Mister Owl was complete, although slightly cross eyed and leaning on one foot and being affectionately called "chocolate jellybean" by Kathryn.  I gave him to my sister Jen and began searching for my next project. Online there is a treasure trove of free patterns for just about every animal you can imagine. 

Marmaduke

And even some fungi, which was my next creation. My mushroom is a    thing of beauty and I gave that to Kathryn, complete with a green grass lawn, flower and an acorn!

Maybe Shrooms aren't your thing? Well, soon after this I began to dabble in farm animals, specifically pigs. I found the pattern I wanted and with it, Charlotte was born. After Charlotte, there have been some variations in both size and color and even the addition of wings for those of you who appreciate the idea of pigs flying. I also created a penguin upon request. Marmaduke came out perfect and sits on a windowsill in the south of Florida, watching over the comings and goings of a dear friend of mine. I hear from Charlotte still and the adventures she gets embroiled in. My animals remain close to me, never losing contact no matter the distance from me and their adoptive families. 

Charlotte The Party Pig

Living at my parent's house for almost a month, separated from Dennis and lots and lots of yarn began to have it's effect on me. 

Horatio

Horatio the Wiener dog.....A couple of Love Pigs for my sister and her husband's 20th wedding anniversary, complete with matching heart tattoos on their bums.

Anniversary Love Pigs

 An Elephant commissioned by my mother for a close friend of hers (all I will say about this one is that the trunk gave me trouble and I had to go beyond what the pattern asked for in order to keep things in the proper perspective)

Ray

The Manta Ray was so popular that first I made Wilbur (as seen here) for my step-daughter Denise and then I had to make another Ray for my father because the picture looked too cute to pass up. I created a panda bear that had such a round belly and butt that he could not sit on his own two ball feet properly but no one faulted him for that. 

There came to be quite a animal family grouped on my mother's table...growing each day and decreasing each day, depending on my production and how many visitors we had. Time without Dennis flew a little easier with my hobby. And as it turns out, there were many laughs and snorts and gifts created from this time waster I took up.  Some of my fondest memories are in the early stages when it was never really clear, not even to me, what I was creating. This would turn into a guessing game from my family which never resulted in an accurate guess. I also found that throwing the animal at my mocker resulted in a nice thud, an unexpected bonus.  I'm still crocheting, working on pigs still in several sizes and a tree frog is next on my list. Thank you to my faithful fans and family who support my wildest projects. Maybe this will be a success story beyond my merest hobbiest dreams and my crocheted animals will take me to fame and fortune.  Or a full cabinet in my mother's house of crocheted animals with the echo of  the laughter they brought. 

When pigs fly

Where Have I Been?

Who knew I would be missed?  It's been some time since I've sat down to write. This is mostly due to my being back in RI with my family.  I guess I haven't had much time to write. Also, there is so much that simply cannot be put in to words (I'm sure you know what I mean)

The month here visiting is coming to a close, Thursday I leave for two weeks in FL.  Dennis has been in France this past month, taking care of his mother without me. It has been a very difficult separation for both of us, the kind that cannot possible be properly expressed with words. Needless to say, we have sworn to each other that it will be the last goodbye. Let's hope we can keep that promise.

So what have I been doing?  Believe it or not, exercising has been a daily event for me since coming home. If you know me at all, you know how funny it is for me to even write that. Working out is not something I do without a fight.  And actually watching what I eat. France, in 7 short weeks, tempted me into more weight gain then I care to discuss here and I am slowly making an effort to eradicate that problem. Hopefully my "cheese roll", "fig roll", and "bread roll" will soon be a thing of the past.  Eating here is so very different...I have slipped somewhat back into eating for survival.  Sad really..but necessary when you consider how porky one can get and how quickly it can happen. As a friend of mine once said, "Sarah, you need to do something".

Besides NOT eating and working out...I have spent lovely hours crocheting all manner of tiny animals. Yes, crocheting. I have heard the jokes...the calls of "old Lady" and "Grannie"  but I can't help myself, I love to make them. Pigs and Penguins...and Pandas too.  So there is a table in my parents' living room that has become Noah's Ark of crocheted animals, if you can imagine such a thing.

Being with Anna again is perfect too.  I worry that she and I will be missing something by always being apart...but she seems just the same, as far as I can tell.  I have been readying her for her French adventure. Tomorrow she goes to the vet for her microchip...stay tuned.  We walk together every day. When I sit by the window to read, Anna will come sit beside me with her head just within reach to be pet. She is a constant comforting presence.

Its amazing how slow and how quick a month can pass, isn't it? It drags at night...one sleepless minute crawling past after another. But once the sun rises, I can't hold on to the hours and whole chunks are gone before I can stop for a breath.  I am ready to go and I am dreading goodbye.

The weather has turned cool...not that I am complaining by any means! The leaves aren't brilliant this year but the change in seasons is still enjoyable for me. The crunch of oak leaves under my feet, the frosty grass in the early morning, the need to wear a sweatshirt even indoors.  The sky is heart-stoppingly blue this time of year. Its my favorite thing about Autumn in New England. It feels like it could crush you or carry you off, all at the same time.

So I am hanging around at 36 State Street, with my parents and my sister Kate. Just enjoying the familiarity of the people whom I call home, enjoying my mom cooking for me and chatting with her every day, enjoying the sound of Kathryn's music streaming out from under her door and the smell of candles in the air, enjoying my father searching for music online every night and tapping out the beat with his feet while he is lost inside his noise-deafening headphones. I am back. It isn't foreign to me, it is where my people are. This is my tribe.

Just last night, Dennis, Denise and I were invited down the street to our friend's house for dinner.  Mary-Beth and Gordon are a loving and giving couple who lavish their kindness on us in many ways.  Eating dinner at their house is a special treat.  Another couple from Biot, Louise and Roy, were also there.  As usual the food was spectacular as was the cheddar cheese :) and for me a treat of vodka that Gordon purchased for me to try.  It had a lovely hint of summer grass with sweet clover.  Amazing.

But more than the food and drink.  The time spent with people who really care and open their hearts and homes to you, sharing all they have with you, is what I still feel wrapped around me this morning.  It lingers around my heart like the bouquet of a favorite perfume that clings to the clothing long after it has been applied.  A sweet hint wafting around me.  To know and enjoy the company of true companions, people who will laugh with you and cry, visit your mother in the hospital and stay with her so that she is not alone or scared.  People who give and give without ever asking for a return, who shake off thanks and refuse compliment.  I feel humbled by the love we have been shown here.  When we need help or we have questions, someone unfailingly comes to our rescue, expending themselves for our sakes.  On our first visit to France, a family we had never met invited us to dinner but when we explained that we didn't have a car to drive to their home, they gave us theirs to use for the entire month. And then again invited us to dinner.  What a brotherhood, what a family of loved ones we have here protecting us and sharing what they have with us.  Thank you to each of them for the lovely meals and sleepovers we have enjoyed, thank you for the love they have shown Denise, a stranger to them in many ways, and thank you for trying so hard to speak to me in English so that I am not too lost and confused.  Your kindess and compassion should be marked and remembered.  It will be, forever, by me.

We are headed home to RI and FL at the end of this week, to be pampered and cared for by long known friends and loving family.  Dennis and I feel blessed beyond words by the friends and family we have, here and in the States, that have worked so hard to support us and help us so that we can help Denise.  Thank you from the very bottom of our full hearts. No matter where we are, we never feel alone.  And we are always home.

Reflections

What is home? Beyond the cliques and the poets, the song lyrics and the comics…what makes us feel home?  For my mother-in-law (my belle-mére) this apartment with the views of the sea is home for her.  With the collections of  pictures on every surface and every wall, with the piano in the corner with the bust of Beethoven sitting on top, staring sightlessly out at me.  With the orange awnings that must be wound up or down throughout the day depending on the location of the sun. The sound of scooters and motorbikes zooming by and the parking lot below her balcony with its constant traffic to keep her occupied and entertained.  Home to her is here, in France.  No matter how hot it gets or cold, no matter how far it is from her children.  This is where her sweaters are and her slippers.  This is where her memories are. This is where she wants to be.

I remember most the smell of home.  Earliest memory tells me that the smell of safety and home was imbedded in my mother’s sweater.  Not just any or every sweater she had. It was one specific sweater, ivory colored with big buttons.  Not scratchy wool, most likely cotton and it smelled like mom.  Like comfort.  Not a specific perfume or product.  Just the essence of my mother and no matter what, with that sweater I felt everything would be ok.  It was powerful.  It was home. When I felt scared without her, the sweater calmed me down.

Here, living in a foreign land with no markers of my own, I feel like I’m drifting through a current, in someone else’s home.  I have no mom sweater.  I’ve heard people say that home is where your love is.  Well, my love is here.  My heart is in France.  But my spirit is adrift. Maybe I am without physical location currently and therefore am not at rest.  I have been rootless for so long, drifting from roommate to parents to living with my in-law…perhaps my soul is in a holding pattern..like a hummingbird not ready to land.  For me, home is what I carry with me, deep inside me.  The stories I know, told and untold, the memories I cherish and the dreams I hold dear.  And some day I will have walls to pin those memories up on and slippers to keep.  But for now, home is a goal, a distant hope and the reality is constant movement and change,  the sweet nectar of a passing flower.

Heat Wave

It's a heat wave.  The weather has turned on me and we now are enjoying 90 degree days with tons of humidity and no breeze.  The water of the Mediterranean is still and the tops of the trees outside my window are likewise motionless.  The fan I depend on in our room stopped turning, just began to slow and then completely gave out a few days ago and refused to move.  So we were forced to move the portable AC unit into our room and we keep nice and cool while we sleep.  Denise is not bothered by the heat at all and so when I woke at 2 AM for a drink of water I noticed that every door was shut in the house and Denise was sleeping deeply, covered up in her flannel sheets and several wool blankets.  I quickly ran down the hallway and dove into the cool bliss of our room.  An added bonus is that the whir of the AC blocks out almost all scooter noises at night from the road. We live along a very busy route between Monaco and Italy with constant traffic coming and going.  Even in the small hours of the night, scooters and motor bikes throttle along on their way to where ever but with the cool wind from the AC unit I've named Gus, I am not disturbed from my dreams.

A few nights ago, we had taken Denise for a walk down by the water at dusk.  With the setting of the sun, the tourists and locals take to the streets looking for food and entertainment.  It was about 8 PM that we found ourselves on the cliff walk listening to the waves crashing along the rocks, sneaking a peak at an outdoor restaurant with tables set right on the rocks and the smell of barbeque wafting up towards us.  Once the land begins to cool a heavy scent of wild jasmine fills the air.  We have searched  for the flowers themselves but can never seem to find them. However, the scent is every where like a mist hanging about your shoulders as you walk at night here. Only at night.

Once we could no longer maneuver Denise's chair in the dark along the sidewalk and around the ancient trees that break through the pavement and hang toward the water, we came home and ate a late late dinner on the rear balcony, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle in the distance.  With one candle lit on the table, we sipped wine and listened to Denise tell us stories of the farm she lived in as a child.  Of washing clothes over the fire, of reading by kerosene lamps at night.  For entertainment, her step-mother played the piano in the evenings. She spoke fondly of the 'modern' house in Marseilles that they moved into after her father sold the farm/vineyard and how she remembers how excited she was by the bathroom with its running hot water. When Dennis would ask something that Denise could not remember she would say to him in her French accent, "I don't remember Denny, I didn't think to write it down". And when we spoke of how different life is now she said, “we did not know what we were missing or what we did not have. We didn’t miss electricity or running hot water or washing machines because we never knew of them. We were happy as we were”.  And as she spoke with the soft candle light flickering on her face, with her eyes cast back through to the years of her youth, I could see a glimpse of the young woman she must have been, smiling at her future, living in a simpler time before war came to the country and changed everything.

"Who sees this?"

It something Dennis and I had begun to say to each other during our first visit to France together last summer.  Every direction we looked, we saw something amazing.  We experienced things that most people just never get to.  It left us feeling awed.  And we feel it still.

This visit is no different.  So far the weather has been very kind to me. None of the humidity that I feared. Clear skys and cool breezes.  We haven't needed to plug in our tiny portable AC unit, not even once yet.  And now that we have the mosquito net, I am practically without bites.  Horray!!

Yesterday we spent the day allowing cousin Bernard to drive us up and into the Alps.  We wove in between France and Italy, winding our way through roads that disappeared into nothing just beyond the edge of the car. The air was cool and clear, it gave you the feeling that you were the very first person to breath it.  We drove right to the top, above the tree line.  There were quite a few people along the way but its not surprising since this is the vacation season for most of Europe. Cyclists and 4x4 drivers alike, rumbling along roads that have been carved along the side of the mountain. The view constantly changing as you turn each corner and always the feeling that you should be yodeling.

Dennis loves all things historic and especially WW II artifacts so we walked through a desserted army barracks.  With the roof and all other bits of wood gone and only the stones to testify to where man had left his mark, we wandered through the ruins. Amazing that this building was placed at the very top of the mountain, surrounded by nothing all around. Where did the stone come from? What was it like to be here over 60 years ago......all that work for the sake of war. It felt so gloomy and desolate, walking in the shadows of those walls.

Even with the hot August sun in the cloudless sky above us, there was a feeling of chill that I am certain never completely leaves this ruined spot. Only imagine what it must look like in the darkest hours of winter.

We stopped in a local sky lodge area and feasted in the sunshine as only the Europeans can. Lamp and fresh veggies, bread and bread and more bread along with local cheese and a blueberry tart that my husband fought me over every single bite. Lunch took several hours and the break from sitting in the car was lovely.  Soon we were off again, driving roads that no 20+ Mercedes should be able to handle.  Bernard, our fearless guide, knew the story of every nook and cranny we passed.  There was always a waterfall to investigate or a mountainside farm to stop at and buy cheese and honey.

Literally, we were driving one moment, climbing along when we crested the very top of the mountain. Along a valley to our right was a tiny house and one car parked in the drive. There were the sound of cow bells tinkling from the cow herd walking by.  Bernard urged us to go buy some cheese.  'From where?' I thought.  But without hesitation, we left the car behind and walked down to the house.  There was no sign and no sign of life. But sure enough, within the open door was an Italian woman wearing an apron and gesturing for us to come in.  She let us sample her stock and we purchased not only cheese but honey as well. 

Back into the faithful car and off we go again.  Winding through tunnels and rock strewn roads, drinking in the view until we became intoxicated and still we wanted more. Always, which ever way you looked, you thought "who get's to see this?, who does this?"  Well, we did and we still feel amazed. 

Thoughts

A photograph is one second of one breath of one’s life, frozen.  A glimpse, just from the outside. We see a shell, a flash without substance. It can speak to us and yet says nothing at all.  The picture can be taken without the subject even knowing or remembering.  Violence, beauty, death and judgment.  All in a single frame. 

It feels powerful to have a camera in my hands.  It’s always been this way.  I think even before I had a camera I saw life through the lens….still images..caught on the film of my mind, suspended …with me, viewing them at a distance…an observer in my own life. Frozen and alone.

Even my memories are like snapshots that I am viewing with a critical eye.  I am the subject in the picture but somehow I feel detached from the image. I can look back and see this young girl, maybe around seven, climbing a huge oak tree, for example.  She has a book and a blanket tied to a rope that she is hauling up into the tree with her.  She keeps climbing until the branches are close enough together were she could sit jammed in between them…looking out over the neighborhood….reading her book.  She sits up there for hours until her legs go numb.  The breeze rustles the leaves…she feels completely peaceful. She feels safe.  And alone.

I am the girl.  I recognize her face in my memories as my own face, my own hands holding on as I am climbing the tree, yet I feel as though I am watching her from a distance…she is framed behind glass and hanging on the wall in front of me.  The label on the wall just below her reads

“Sarah- age seven, climbing the oak tree in the front yard of her childhood home”.

I think my total detachment for life started with my name. It feels like a name that should apply to a small, lovely creature.  Shy and demure. With a lovely voice and a laugh like bells tinkling. Needless to say, that’s not me.  Or at least that isn’t how I feel.  I kinda wish my name were Roxy.  Maybe my life would have turned out different.

But knowing me, even with a name like Roxy, my life would have been exactly the same. Riddled with mistakes and ugly photographs.  Or at least it seems that way to me. 

I'm sure I'm not the only one to feel not completely myself. Not real.  I spend whole days not really feeling real. My mind will flit over and under, around and through a subject, a memory, a fear, a thought and never ever really land.  Almost like a hummingbird. 

Lunch has been cooked and consumed.  The dishes are done, the clothes are folded.  Dennis' shirts need ironing but I am avoiding them.  I feel like they are staring at me over on the dresser.  Sitting in my room, the window is open but the awning is pulled down to block the heat of the sun.  I can hear the jackhammer sounds from the house across the way.  For two solid weeks men have been tearing down the front walls of that house.  Every day the holes where the windows were are getting bigger and bigger.  We daily try to guess what the end goal will be.

What have we been up to?  Yesterday, after breakfast, Dennis and I spent 2 solid hours emptying, cleaning, organizing and restocking just one cupboard in my mother-in-law's tiny kitchen.  We came across glass jars filled with rubber bands and pieces of string.  Containers of leaven dated 2007.  Tons of jello packets (not the friendly fruit flavored and wiggly variety but the non-flavored kind made from boiling some poor animal's bones, no doubt)  I discovered a huge bag of ancient cookie cutters, ranging from the obvious Santa Claus to the not so usual bat and owl.  The pig, naturally, is my favorite.  I have the overwhelming desire to make sugar cookies now.  And speaking of baking, I had a little run in with the celsius oven when I tried to make banana bread yesterday afternoon.  I popped my bread out to cool...yet found that parts of it were cooked and parts were quite raw.  The sad part of this story is that I was so preoccupied yesterday that I didn't make this discovery until an hour after removing the bread from the oven.  MMMmmmmm.. not to be outsmarted and have my bread worthless, I simply turned the oven back on and placed the pan back in and 20 minutes later the bread was cooked.  Interesting looking but tasting just fine. No one ever need know.

The highlight for me yesterday was Dennis drilling a hole in the ceiling above our bed in order to hang my mosquito net.  The ladder, which he dug up from the magical storage unit I have begun to hall Mary Poppin's bag, looked like it was home made...by elves or gnomes.  It has a weight limit for sure.  So we pushed our tiny bed out of the way and Dennis begins to drill through what must be the oldest plaster ever.  His mother is in the hallway, propped up on her walker, shouting to Dennis while the drill is buzzing and dust is covering him  "But what if the upstairs neighbors don't like it?"  Dennis tried to explain that the ceiling must be a foot thick and there is no way a half inch screw will bother anyone.  I can only imagine what my World War II survivor mother-in-law must think of me and my need for netting around the bed.  Needless to say, the net is up and Dennis hates it.  He calls it "The Tent".  I think its lovely but what do I know?  I can't even get banana bread right.

Well, that was a little bit of yesterday.  This past Sunday we enjoyed the company of some Italian friends Dennis has known for years.  In order to reach their home we drove up a seemingly endless road that climbed drastically uphill and around and around blind corner after blind corner.  You actually have to beep the car horn in order to warn oncoming traffic of your presence.  Very entertaining as a passenger.  Once we arrived, Dennis and a few fellows had to push Denise in her chair up the remaining hill to the house.  What I love about it is that nobody thinks its unusual to do so.  She is in a wheelchair and we live on the side of a mountain..no problem, we just push her up the mountain.  Easy. No fuss.

We enjoyed a lovely meal of pizza cooked in an outdoor oven along the outside of Tatiana and Tony's home while drinking in the view and the sunset.  It was comical to have a group of people together, enjoying each other's company, without one fluent language between us.  I speak only English.  Several of the guests spoke only Italian.  Tatiana speaks Italian, some French and very little English.  Dennis speaks only a little Italian.  Denise goes back and forth between French and English without realizing it.  And everyone was speaking at once. I felt right at home. The smile and nod hasn't failed me yet.

We ate until we burst and then we had gelato and then we went inside their cozy stone house to have coffee.  Everything was handmade by Tony himself. Every stone, every timber of that house was planned and built a little at a time, as the money presented itself.

Serous pizza oven

 We enjoyed every moment with our Italian friends and, as is often the case, the hour became late long before we were ready to say farewell.