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.