on the road again

In the wee hours of Tuesday morning (well, at least "wee" compared to the time we've been getting up in the last few days) we shall load up the car once again and drive far, far away. This time we're going north, to the place my in-laws grew up. Due to a scheduling malfunction (I won't name names, and they do not begin with an "S" or a "V," and I am not pleased, let me tell you) we will be sleeping in a tent outside.

As much as I am glad we will be there at the same time as most of my extended family, I am baffled at why my dear husband would prefer to sleep in a tent when there is perfectly good living room space available.

It is scheduled to rain all week. This is going to be very interesting.

When I come back, I will have some more pictures to sort out and will probably load everything on flikr again, as the benefactor of my photoblog has disappeared without a trace, and will be gooshy and mooshy about our first wedding anniversary on Saturday. You have been warned.

Have a great week!

the birthday barbecue

Saturday evening, we drove out to the country to celebrate my friend Doc's birthday. For those keeping score at home, it is Doc's fault that I am living in France now; she is the college buddy who married a Frenchman and introduced me to the love o' my life. She, her hubby Marc - a very cool guy in his own right - and their adorable son live in a small village in Haute-Marne, about an hour away.

We joined a dozen or so friends at chez Doc for a barbecue extravaganza. Since the weather wouldn't cooperate, we set up tables in one of the garages (Doc's family are farmers so loads of storage space is required), next to the satanic fridge and directly over the champagne cellar. I should mention here that I've tasted a lot of champagne since I've moved to France, and in my humble opinion, their family makes the best - and they only do it as a hobby!

After dinner, Doc totally surprised us by giving us some gifts for our first anniversary, which is next Saturday. Being a traditional sort of girl, we received the traditional first anniversary gift: paper. Lots of paper. Paper towels, toilet paper... you get the idea.

We also received a very useful gift: a clock with the temperature in both Celsius and Farenheight. You'd think that after nearly a year I'd have a handle on Celsius, but so far I've got that if it's over 30 it's really hot, and if it's under 20 it's quite cold. Finally, we received a bottle of the lovely champagne, from her in-laws. I'm really looking forward to cracking that open on Saturday.

Despite the bad weather, we had a really great time, so thanks Doc, and happy happy birthday!

the highs and lows of it

This week, I took the second step in looking for work. After registering at Assidic, I had a month to register at ANPE, the national employment agency. I printed out a copy of my resume, filled out a work history survey, and went to ANPE on Thursday afternoon.

After about a forty-five minute wait with only two people waiting ahead of me, I nervously made my way to my assigned cubicle. I was greeted by a guy who must have been sent from heaven - he was unbelievably nice, complimentary of my French (!), and was very positive about my ability to find a job. We agreed that finding a job would have the added benefit of improving my French, and in any case I should continue taking my French classes when they resume in the fall. In the meantime, we found a job offer that sounded perfect: an administrative job with strong English skills.

Needless to say, I nearly floated out of the office! Suddenly, I was brimming with confidence. This is it, I thought. It's all going to start now!

Well, there's nothing like a Temp Agency to burst anyone's bubble.

The next day, I presented myself to the Temp Agency that was offering the job. I gave the document with the job description to someone who passed it on to someone else. The conversation went something like this:

"Oh, you're bi-lingual!"

"In fact, I'm American. I've been living here since September of last year."

"Oh."

"Excuse me, I know my French isn't perfect, but I do understand better than I speak."

"So, can you write in French?"

"Erm... not very well, actually...."

"And on the telephone?"

"Yes, well... obviously it's more difficult on the telephone for the moment..."

"I see. Well, you'll have to register with our company before we can consider you for this position, and we don't do registrations on Fridays. Can you come back on Monday?"

"Yes, sure, no problem, thank you."

And with that I slunk out the door.

And to think Steph and I were actually making plans if I'd gotten this job. I should have known better.

clear the roads

Yesterday, I kissed another part of my American life goodbye. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time. I've been here nearly a year but yesterday was the first time I really felt like I was giving something up that would make it difficult to go home and pick up where I left off (not that I have the least intention of doing so).

Yesterday, I exchanged my American drivers license for a French one.

This may sound like small change, but in the states, a drivers license is more than a permit for driving, it's the most recognized form of identification. I'd wager that the vast majority of Americans don't have a passport, and if they do, they certainly don't carry them around on a day to day basis. For the time being, national identification cards do not exist (though I understand some people would like to see that happen). Identification cards are available at the Department of Local Vehicles, and look exactly like drivers licenses, and are the preferred form of ID if one doesn't drive. Along with military ID's, these are often the only picture identification cards the majority of organizations accept.

So going to the Prefecture yesterday to get my new driving permit was more than applying for permission to drive here, it was crossing a bridge and not looking back.

Luckily, I come from a state that has an agreement with France, so it only involved about an hour of time, filling out a short form, making photocopies, and of course, turning in my old license. I walked out with a piece of paper giving me permission to drive until I can pick up my permanent license in a couple of weeks.

Last night, I drove in France for the first time since I moved here. After nearly a year of living here, I'm finally starting to feel like I'm home.

camping recap

We got back Saturday evening and truth be told, I'm still recovering, in a classic case of "I need a vacation from my vacation." I'm still exhausted and my legs are like jello, but it was a great trip.

Monday, Steph's colleague Eric arrived, and after lunch we stuffed everything in our cars and took off for the departement of Jura. Our campsite was just outside of the town of Morez, about a three and a half hour drive from Troyes using the toll roads (which were totally worth the money!). We staked out our site and set up our tents - Steph getting one done in the blink of an eye while Eric and I struggled along for a small eternity. We ate dinner and for entertainment, gazed at a multitude of stars I never knew existed. Finally, I made my first nightly pilgrimage up the steep hill to the restroom facilities, which were admittedly better than expected.

Tuesday was hiking day. We drove about half an hour away to the blink-and-you'll-miss-it village of La Fromagerie and hiked to the Cascade de Herisson (Hedgehog Waterfall) and surrounding waterfalls. Round trip was between 4 and 5 kilometers, up and down a valley that reminded me of hiking along the Blue Ridge Mountains. I only fell on my ass once.

That night we lit up the barbecue for the first time, and ate the first of innumerable sausages. I think I'm good on sausages for about six months, thanks.

Wednesday we went to Switzerland for an ice cream.

OK, that's not exactly true. Looking for some lighter exercise after the greuling hike from the day before, we went on a pedal boat hunt. Drawn by the gigantic Lac Leman, we spent the afternoon in Nyon. We ended up just strolling around the town, giggling at the Monopoly money that is Swiss Francs (they are freakin' huge!), buying shoes (bwahahahhaha), pausing for a cool drink at a cafe, taking pictures, and finally, in order to get rid of our remaining Francs, buying ice cream from a street vendor. In the end, it was too hot to contemplate taking pedal boats on the lake.

That evening, we built our first campfire and listened to the fireworks in the neighboring towns celebrating Bastille Day (apparently the fireworks are often the night before) and I introduced the guys to the wonder that is roasted marshmallows.

Thursday was Walking Up Impossible Hills day. We started the day at a lake near Clarveaux les Lacs that had a nice little beachside. After a lakeside lunch, we jumped on a pedal boat and roasted in the sun for about half an hour before heading back to shore. I wish we'd brought our swimsuits that day - the water was freezing but after sitting in the sun I was ready for a dip in the lake.

We then went over to a neighboring lake and hiked down to the shore. Steph suggested we "take the road less traveled by," and it certainly "made all the difference" because I wanted to kill him. Dead ends, twenty foot drops, and a machete would have been nice at certain passages. We took the road back to the top, which was so steep I could only take baby steps in order to keep a steady pace. Once again, it was sausages and marshmallows to close out the day.

Friday was Game day. We loaded up supplies at nearby Longchaumois and parked in the common room of the campgrounds for most of the day, playing Mille Bornes and the like. When the temps cooled off, I played petanque for the first time, and was pleasantly surprised that it is exactly like the Italian game Bocce that I grew up with, except the balls are metal instead of wood. We played cards into the wee hours (which is 11pm if you're at a campsite) and prepared for our return to civilization the next day.

Steph had one more thing he wanted to do before we came home. Saturday morning, we stopped in the area of the town of Baume-les-Messieurs, which is famous for being surrounded by sheer 500 foot high cliffs on three sides. People like to hike up and down these cliffs for the heck of it. It's ten minutes down the cliffs, and around fifteen to go back up. We started at the top with the intention of eating lunch at the bottom before coming back up, and wouldn't you know it, I blew my knees out on the way down. I limped to the hot dog stand with the guys and ate my last sausage for what I hope is a long, long time. Steph offered to get the car and drive down to pick me up, but I knew going back up wouldn't be so stressful on my knees so I said I'd be ok. It took us twenty minutes to get back to the top, with lots of breaks. Eric made it back up in 12.5 minutes (oh to be young!). Then we drove home.

I'm still nursing my knees, and my legs are less jello-like than they were yesterday, but all is good. I did bring a disposable camera which I'm taking to be developed today, so I'll have some pics to put up at the end of the week or so.

Now we have a week to relax before Steph takes me to get my ass kicked in Northern France.

gone adventuring

Tomorrow we're leaving for a week long adventure, which will undoubtably include tents, mosquitoes, hiking and dodgy bathroom facilities. We'll be back sometime during the weekend.

Please take this time to visit some of the people who are listed on the right hand side of the blog, as they are much more clever than me.

Have a great week!

the appointment

I've just posted a new entry on the tag-team French website, from rooster to donkey. If you'd like to read the English translation (before or after), please click on "Tell me more!"

I should also add that the reason my French looks reasonably good over there is because Steph edits it before I post it. Otherwise, my pathetic French would completely unreadable. ;)



I've been wearing glasses since I was 15 years old. In March 2004, I went to the eye doctor for the first time in four years, because my insurance didn't cover eye doctors (ah, I'll talk about the differences between French and American insurance another time!). I learned that the pressure I felt in my eyes and the headaches were an early sign of glaucoma. He told me that it's very important to get my eyes examined every year.

This year, for one reason or another, we always forgot to call to make an appointment. It seems that every time we remembered, it was the weekend or after 6pm. Finally, Steph called for me last month.

At first, the receptionist told him that the first available appointment was in March.

"March? March 2006?" he said.

"Yes, sorry," she responded. "Oh but wait, we have a new doctor, and she has an appointment available on December 2."

Of course, we took it.

The idea that it's difficult to see a doctor without a long wait is still very strange for me. Especially the opticians, because it seems there are several of them in everywhere you look in the states.

In Troyes, it seems there's an store for eyeglasses on every street downtown (is it like that in Paris, too?). Imagine there was an optician in every store (like in the states), and you have an idea why I'm so surprised.

Well, there you go, that's my new life. It's not bad, just different. In the meantime, I know that if my eyes explode, there's always the hospital...

tour de france

Today is one of those days that I'm smacking myself in the head for dropping the camera, because it's not everyday that The Tour de France departs from your town. Nevertheless, I'll do my best to describe the scene.

Since the route took the competitors only a block away from our apartment, we decided not to go to the departure point in the middle of town and instead headed out at 10:15 accompanied by a sister-in-law and my two youngest nieces down the street. We found a great spot on a corner where the route took a sharp right hand turn. There weren't too many people around, and I'm guessing most folks went to the center of town to see the departure.

Just after 10:30, we were treated to little parade of all the sponsors of the tour. Most of the cars were blaring some kind of music, and were decorated according to their business, and had people chucking trinkets out to the crowd. The kids had brought a backpack, and at the end it was stuffed to the gills.

At 11:00, the parade was over, and we had an hour and a half to kill before the cyclists came by, so we came back home to check out our stash. Some of the things we got included

• 11 (!) assorted hats
• 2 blow up batons for clapping together and making lots of noise
• 2 mini bags of pretzels
• 2 chocolates
• a cheese snack pack
• 1 can of beer (!)
• assorted key chains
• assorted magnets
• 2 umbrella hats

At 12:15, we headed back to the corner to see the cyclists. By now it had managed to actually get colder, making it around 60F and threatening to rain. Happily, we didn't have to wait long, but I'm afraid it went by so fast that if you blinked, you missed it. All the riders were grouped very close together and whipped around the corner like a shot. Someone (who shall remain anonymous *wink*) asked me to check out their legs (rawr), but I'm afraid they went by so fast I didn't even get time to gawk.

And just like that, it was over. Before you could say "maillot jaune," the crowd dispersed and we were off to Chez MacDo with everyone else in Troyes for a celebratory lunch.

news & notes

I've been neglicting my blog. I've got a couple of things in the works that I want to post about, but for now I'm going to leave you with a couple of newsy and notey things:

• In case you haven't heard, London won the 2012 Olympic games. Steph tells me this is the third time Paris has been a candidate and lost, so the French are understandably sad. The French reaction on tv was filled with shrugs and in one case, nearly tears. As for me, I'm a little disappointed, but I'm just glad I don't live in a candidate city!

• The Tour de France departs from Troyes tomorrow! We're not going downtown, but just down the street, because the route takes them very close to our apartment. Be sure to check out the departure (surely it will be on the highlights in the states!) to take a gander at our town and maybe even us!

• I'm in the process of writing up a new post on the French website, from rooster to donkey. I will write an English translation to post here as well. Also, I have been tagged by the coolest Texan I know (until someone else bribes me more), the lovely durteemartini. I haven't forgotten, I swear! The thing is, she's asked me to choose my six favorite songs. That's like choosing my favorite child (providing I had more than one)!
  

Happy Independance Day!

Today is Independance Day in the states, and my first outside of them. People all over the country will celebrate with barbeques, family gatherings, and fireworks tonight. I hope everyone back home has a great time, and light up a sparkler for me!

when bathrooms can be scary

Last night, Steph and I attended the retirement dinner of a colleague of his. It was your typical French dinner, with a hundred courses (ok, five) and lasted five hours. Well for us it was five hours. We were the second couple to leave, missing the coffee service, so god only knows how long the rest hung out.

The thing that struck me as odd, for an American, is that the guest of honor paid for the whole shebang. In the states, a retirement celebration can vary from a handshake and a cake (or in the old days, a gold watch), to a full-blown dinner, but in every case, the guest of honor is just that - a guest. We did chip in for some lovely parting gifts, however.

Finally, if you want to know why, like the title suggests, bathrooms can be scary, and you're not weak of heart, please click "Tell me more!" to continue.

In France, in the older bars and restaurants, there still exist what is commonly referred to as "Turkish bathrooms." Obviously I mean no disrespect to the Turks, but this is the only way I've ever heard of it spoken, so if you call it something else, please feel free to enlighten me.

But what is a Turkish bathroom? Why, it's a hole in the ground, with a horizontal bar (like you might find in a handicap stall) for leverage. Obviously, boys have zero problems with this, but I'm sure you can imagine it poses something of a problem for us ladies.

Nature called several times last night, and I ignored her as long as I could. Finally I just went and did it.

I feel like I've been initiated into some sort of club. Do we get hats or something?

big brother is now tuned in

Today I completed step two in my search for a job: I registered with Assidic, the unemployment office. Because, you see, before I can register with the employment office, I have to go to the unemployment office. This is a process I like to call, "Run, Vivi, Run."

I was very lucky to arrive when I did, as I only had to wait about five minutes, though I was a bit worried at first, since the number on my ticket was 900 and the number currently on the board read 306. Considering there was no one else in the waiting room yet, it certainly confused the hell out of me. Happily, the board changed to my number and I entered into an office containing one man, one desk, and one computer.

I am very happy to report that I understood approximately 70% of everything the man explained to me. This is, no doubt, because he was explaining the paperwork in front of me. I always was a sucker for visual aids. I learned that I need to contact the agency once a month if I haven't found a job, if I find a job, move house, change my name, go out of town for seven consecutive days; basically I need to let them know if I feel a sneeze coming on. It is slightly Big Brotherish, but I'm still feeling pretty good about being in The System.

The next step is to register with the employment office by the end of July, and I have a big book of information to fill out before I go, which may actually take me a month to do.

a small reprieve

It's slightly cooler today, after a night filled with thunderstorms, but you wouldn't know it in our apartment, since we just cooked a hot meal. Very hot stove + very small apartment = hot hot hot! In our defense, we had some food in the fridge that we needed to cook before it went bad, and I don't know about you, but I'm not a big fan of cold potatoes.

Tomorrow is Steph's last day at work for the school year. He'll be cleaning out his classroom since he'll be starting at a new school in the fall. After that, we've got some interesting plans coming up for the summer, including a camping trip (my first time in a tent), a trip to the town up north where my in-laws are from, and the slight possibility of a trip down to southern France in August. In the middle of all this, I'll be slowly putting my toes in the job pool, to see what's out there.

Today we're gonna pick up some new headphones so I can talk on Skype again, and check out some cameras. The difficult thing with the camera purchase is that we've got a couple of memory cards, and it would be extremely helpful if we could find a camera that is compatible. I've contacted the manufacturer of the cards for help, but I'm not super confident I'll hear anything back from them.

Well, that's my story. What do you have planned for the summer?

happy birthday, junior!

In honor of my sister Mandy's birthday, I'm going to share with you a little of her humor, which I have kept without her permission. Thus, I present to you, The Wit and Wisdom of Mandy:

Via Yahoo conversation:

Mandy : hmm .. the stadium in Providence, RI is the Dunkin' Donuts Center
ViVi: that's sad
Mandy : but tasty!

From an email:

Subject: I'd like to thank the Academy...

I did! I thanked the Academy! LOL

For the front page of the South Tampa News, we're running a feature story on a Oscar Night fundraiser for The Tampa Theatre. I had to call up the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to ask permssion to use the Oscar statue. And I thanked them when I was done talking to them. LOL!!!

"I'd like to thank all the little people ... Gary Coleman ... the Smurfs ..."

And finally, proof that my sister is indeed, bi-lingual in English and l33t sp33k, I give you her away message on Yahoo:

Mandy 's status is now "I r teh sl33p!".

Now if only she would start her own blog!! Bon anniveraire, kiddo! :)

you can't make this stuff up

Steph and I got up in the wee early hours yesterday to catch a bus to take us to Paris, in order to meet some fantabulous ex-pats for a picnic. The bus deposited us at Place de la Bastille at 9:30 with strict instructions to meet our bus back there at 7pm, and we were off.

Since we arrived so early, we had time for a leisurely coffee and stroll before descending into the already hot metro to make our way towards the lovely Buttes-Chaumont park. We met up with a friend of Steph's, which ended up being extremely helpful because he has a mobile phone, and we don't, so when we couldn't find the party, we were able to call and find our way.

I'm afraid I'll leave loads of people out if I start dropping names, so I'll just say there was a vast array of delicious food, many exclamations of "Och aye!" and "your arse," lovely bi-lingual children, a beeootiful toddler, and more Anglophone accents than you can shake a stick at. It really was a lovely time, and I was really sad to leave to catch our bus home.

After stopping for a quick coffee before making our way back to the Bastille, we descended back into the hell that is the metro in the summer.

So imagine our surprise when we ascended back onto street level at Place de la Bastille, only to find out that the Gay Pride parade was in full swing, and there were no busses in sight.

Hm.

We consulted with some policemen patrolling the area who were of no help, and called the bus company, which was conveniently closed. By the time we gave up and started to head toward Gare de l'Est to catch a train home, it was past 7pm and the bus surely would have left by then anyway, wherever it was. So, we went back down into the sauna metro (I really cannot emphasis enough how freakin' HOT it was down there), stuffed to the gills with Prideful people leaving the parade area. We arrived at the train station with 15 minutes to spare for the next train home, and we got home around the same time we would have arrived by bus, only 40 euros lighter in the pockets.

You can't make this stuff up, can you?

oh please make it stop

Please. It's too freakin' hot. I can't take it.

Doesn't help much, I suppose, that I stood next to the stove all day and cooked things for tomorrow's picnic.

Brain melting. Cannot concentrate.

Bleargh.

and now for something completely different

Well, it's looks like I'm branching out a bit. Last week, Kim invited me to join her and some other ladies in a project in working on our French, in a very public way.

Thus, from donkey to rooster... was born.

If you'd like to take a peek at us Anglophones trying to express ourselves in another language, or you're one of my Francophone readers (and I do love you guys!) who would like an extra giggle, I heartily encourage you to check it out. :)

cookie monster

After two weeks of staring at the ceiling (or, to be fair, staring at the computer monitor), I was finally ready to get on with it. I called my French professor on Monday, only to learn that the last class of the year was Tuesday, and everyone was bringing a small desert from their home country. I felt like this was the perfect opportunity to try to make some chocolate chip cookies with the chocolate chips Squishy brought me in December.

After a small panic yesterday over ingredients and measurements and a quick run to the grocery (which was still packed to the back of the store, it was crazy), I got on with it. The batter came out fine (but good lord, I have GOT to buy a mixer!) and after a few funky batches (too big, too burnt) I got into a rhythm. It was freakin hot, having the oven going for an hour and a half in this heat, but I finished up just in time to walk to class.

Happily, everyone enjoyed them (or said they did anyway) and a couple of people ate two or three, which to me screams success. Now I just have to do it all over again on Friday for Saturday's picnic.

The funny thing is, I never did a lot of cooking in the states, but now, in order to get a taste of the foods I miss, I find myself experimenting more in the kitchen and doing a lot more baking. I always just ran to the store to pick up cookies or a pie if I needed one. Plus, you can't beat the satisfaction of having cooked something yourself and being complimented for it. The strangest thing of all is that I'm finding that I'm not so bad at it, too!

saturday night fever

Saturday night, we met our friends in the country for an evening of music.

We met Doc and her sister-in-law, Vero, at a pizzeria, which had good pizza but terrible service. Then we were off to the teeny village of Nully to hear Doc's husband sing in his choir, Allegria. We arrived in the middle of the first choir's set, which was... erm... interesting. I confess the four of us couldn't stop giggling. There's nothing in the world like listening to a bunch of French country folk singing Southern Spirituals. I was quite surprised when the audience started to clap along, but we learned later that Marc's choir was actually clapping along to help the singers keep their tempo. Otherwise, they sang common French songs (Steph said they were songs children sing in school) with... erm... interesting arrangements.

Like we say back home, Bless their hearts.

Allegria was, in fact, quite good. They opened with another Southern Spiritual, but they sounded great and not unlike any other white-bread choir (like my high school choir - we sang "Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning" and we were just as... well... white), and went into "I'm Talkin' Bout Feedom" (this was an error in the program that didn't help the giggle-fest). They also did a Mozart piece and a traditional French piece I quite like called "La Nuit" (aka "O Nuit").

For the encore, the choir sat with the audience and we learned a couple of songs en masse to sing in the round (like you do with "Row Row Row Your Boat" or somesuch). I personally think one song would have been sufficient, but by God we were going to do a second which was much more complicated than the first. Do you know, Steph has a lovely, lovely voice and I wish to God I could convince him to sing in the choir with me. Anyway it was fun, but did go on a bit too long.

After the concert, we left Marc to his dinner with the choir and went back to the town where we ate to look for some dessert or something. We ended up at The Bar (yep, the only one in town) across from the courthouse. We sat outside and enjoyed the warm evening, while being entertained by a guy on a drumkit accompanying a cd player.

No, really. Let that sink in a minute: a guy on a drumkit playing along with well-known songs. It was "Tragedy" (Tragedy!) by the BeeGee's when we arrived. Fan-freakin-tastic!

Unfortunately, we had to leave at midnight, so as not to turn into pumpkins (especially since we had the in-laws coming for lunch the next day), but it was so so great to hang out with Doc again. I have to say, Doc has finally started her own blog but it is a private affair, which is too bad, as she's wickedly funny. Here's hoping she'll join us one of these days.

monday madness

I just got back from the grocery, where madness reigned. Normally I know better than to go anywhere near the grocery around noon on a Monday (since they're all closed on Sundays) but as we were perilously close to being out of toilet paper and I wanted to go out before it got too hot (we're bound to reach 90F again today, bleargh), it couldn't be avoided.

The first astonishing thing was that it was so busy, there was someone actually helping folks bag their groceries. This practice is unheard of in France! I even brought my own bag and had only three items, but she took my bag and put my items inside all the same. I thanked her profusely, knowing I'll likely never see it again.

The second astonishing thing I saw was a woman who had her child (he seemed to be around six or so) tied up in a harness, and reminded me very much of a leash, especially the way she wielded it, jerking her son back from a display of candy. Obviously I have no way of knowing the circumstances under which she felt it necessary to leash her child, but certainly everyone murmured when the child pitched a blue fit, arms awailing, over something like the mother giving his bag of candies to the cashier to be rung up. Now, I am the very last person to claim any knowledge of raising children, but it seems to me that if you treat your child like a dog, you shouldn't be surprised if he acts like one.

I usually do a bit of housecleaning on Mondays, but since it's so hot I'm going to beg off until tomorrow. I still have to write about the fabulous time we had on Saturday night, so look out for that very soon...

my two dads

Today the French and American holiday calendars collided, making Father's Day in both countries today.

Unfortunately I celebrated the American Father's Day by sending Dad's package too late so he didn't receive it on time. Heh. Anyway Dad, it was great chatting with you on the phone today, and I love you so so so so much, and wouldn't trade you for a warehouse full of shoes (considering he likes to call me "Imelda," he knows this is high praise indeed!).

For the French Father's Day, we invited the in-laws over for lunch, which was very nice. Unfortunately, it was unbelieveably, freakishly hot - around 90F outside and around 75F inside, which sounds nice, but was stifling. (My father, the comedian, asked me on the phone, "So why didn't you turn on the air conditioning?" Hardee har har, Pop!) There's nothing like stepping outside at 10am and breaking into a sweat, lemme tell ya! Thought I was back in Florida for a minute.

But I digress.

Bonne fete, mon beau pere!

And a bonne fete and Happy Father's Day to all, and to all a good night. ;)

PS I have a very funny story to tell you about Saturday night, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow for that! Stay tuned...

what once was lost

For a time I genuinely believed I had irretrievably lost my voice.

I had no one to blame but myself, recognizing that it was caused by uncontrollable crying jags and chain-smoking. Even so, I couldn't even rustle up more than a croak when relying on that singer's mainstay: singing in the shower. Not even hot steam and perfect bathroom acoustics helped.

As with most things, I suppose, a little bit of time has lessened the need for both crying jags and chain-smoking, and I was pleasantly surprised to have found my voice again, at last, at last night's dress rehearsal for our concert, which will happen tonight.

It doesn't hurt that the concert will take place in a lovely 16th century stone church with lovely soaring arches and amazing acoustics. It also doesn't hurt when you're singing great music with a great choir lead by a great director. Even better, it's conveniently located around the corner from our apartment. I had such a good rehearsal that I nearly floated home last night.

Funnily enough, the theme for this concert is Life and Death. And because the Gods of Irony are smiling down on me these days, we begin with the rock-n-roll, party-hardy lyrics from Purcell's "Funeral Music for Queen Mary" (in the original English, to boot):

Man that is born of a woman
Hath but a short time to live
And is full of misery

Rock on!

In addition to movements two and four of the Purcell, we'll be singing again Charpentier's Easter Mass, this time adding the Sanctus to the Kyrie and Gloria. Rounding out the concert will be the experimental pieces we've done before, Omnia Muntantur (an exercise in moving scales and dissonant tones) and Komm Susser Tot - by far my favorite piece, which is sung at different tempos at the same time and to me sounds like a piece being playing on a piano with the pedal pressed down, and especially in a place with such great acoustics, it sounds amazing.

The Vocal Ensemble (that's my group) is sharing the bill with the Youth Choir of the Conservatory, and they are so good that they remind me of a similar ensemble I was privileged enough to be a member of a long time ago in a galaxy far away.

pick knickers unite!

You may have noticed something new in my sidebar with the word "knickers" in it. This tickles me quite a lot, as the word "knickers" isn't used as frequently in the states as it is in other Anglophone countries. But if I call myself a "pick knicker," what does that really say about me?

Maybe it means that Steph and I will be arriving in Paris on 25 June to meet up with other silly Anglophone bloggers for a fabulous pique-nique. We are going to bring baseball & gloves, and you're more than welcome to play catch with us, but be forewarned: we are both left-handed! I may even make olde fashioned American chocolate chip cookies, since I have the chocolate chips, providing I can find all the other ingredients.

It also means that, in order to save quite a deal of money, we'll be staggering to the train station to take a bus at 6:30 in the morning. We must really really like you people. ;)

go go go

The best thing for me these days is to keep busy. I don't think I'm moving forward as much as I'm hurtling myself forward. I've already read all the books I brought back with me. I unpacked the dreaded carry on but I'm still looking for places to put all the stuff. The choir concert is Friday night, so the extra rehearsals help. We had a medieval festival in Troyes this weekend, but it was the first time they've had one and it was nothing like the huge festival they have in Provins every year, which was also this weekend. Still, there was a medieval garden and exhibits on machines of war and medicine and the town itself looked very nice. Everything had stopped by 7pm Saturday night, so we missed it when we went for a walk, but we caught some highlights Sunday afternoon. Last night, Steph took me out for a belated birthday dinner, at a creperie right in the middle of the oldest part of town. I love eating on the terrace there. The sun doesn't set until after 10pm (which is still very weird for me) and the weather is so gorgeous that it's simply criminal not to go out and take a stroll.

I can laugh and joke, and go along my day as if nothing in the world was wrong with me.

But every night, when I go to bed, images of that terrible day play in the back of my mind, like a movie I can't switch off. No matter how tired I am, there they are.

And then the next day, jump out of bed and go go go, stay busy. As if I could outrun it.

As if.

a post a la ms. mac

I don't think most of these items really warrant their own posts, so I'm just gonna ramble for minute, m'kay?

• I don't think I've mentioned it, but I took the opportunity to get my hair cut when I was home. It looks and feels so much better, I can't even tell you (especially after it has grown a couple of weeks). And it's curly again! Hurrah!
• I can't take a picture of it to show you because before I left I accidently dropped the camera and it broke. Ahem. Moving swiftly along...
• I could not have ordered better weather than what we've had this week. Sunny blue skies, highs in the low 60's, hot in the sun and cool in the shadows and inside the apartment. I keep making excuses to go run errands.
• Last night was my first choir rehearsal since I got back. We're doing Charpentier's Easter Mass again, with all three movements this time. I was singing the alto solo in the first movement before I left, and someone else was singing it while I was gone. She graciously gave me to solo back, which was so nice and she completely didn't even have to (yes, once you're absent for a significant period of time, nine times out of ten someone else will take over your solo, and it's usually up to the director or new soloist to reliquish it when you return - you should never ask for it back. It's all cool, I've been doing this for a while and I know how it works.) and in the end the director asked us to sing it together anyway. The other piece we are doing is "The Funeral for Queen Mary." In English. That one's gonna be hard. The concert is next weekend and I'll be ready to get that piece over with.
  
• I never really noticed it before, but my sister-in-law Isabelle talks with her hands. A lot. As she drove me home from rehearsal last night, she kept waving her hands around. Did I mention she was driving? So she's trying to navigate this one way road with cars on both sides and waving her hands around and barely touching the wheel to straighten out. She was telling me about the project she's doing at work but I was concentrating more on her hands. I thought I was animated, but she's the queen, I'm tellin' ya!

I think I'm gonna go tackle the carry on suitcase in the living room. More news as it happens.....

soldiering on

I'm feeling decidely less cottoney now, thanks. Monday afternoon my mother-in-law appeared on my doorstep and offered to take me to the grocery store. It was nice to get out a little bit. My suitcase arrived yesterday. I've got laundry going, things to put away, letters to write, French homework to do. Steph is working in town today, so I've got a specially-requested lunch to make.

And yet.

Dad asked my sister and me to take some of Mom's personal affects. They are sitting in a carry on bag in the front room. I can't bear the thought of going through them again. I keep hearing Mom calling me in the back of my head. Walking through town is painful, because I realize she will never know this town, my in-laws, her grandchildren - nevermind that my children will never know her generosity, humor, her love of games and sports. I am overwhelmed with questions I want to ask her. I want to call her and say, "Mom, you're dead, what do I do now?" How ridiculous is that? Every step I take from now on, I won't be able to share with her.

We have been so lucky in all of my family. The vast majority seem to be taken by illness only in old age. Fifty-nine is not old. I find myself seeing older women and becoming upset and resentful. Why should they get to live? Mom didn't do anything to deserve this.

I know eventually these feelings will fade. I know that anger and despair are parts of the grieving process. I know I have to pick up and move on, somehow.

Excuse me if I flounder around a bit, and posting is a bit light. I know this doesn't make very interesting reading - there's loads of good writing in the sidebar on the right that I can encourage you to visit. Thanks again for all your positive and supportive comments. They have really lifted me up.

what a long strange trip

Finally got home yesterday. Thanks to some weather delays at Philadelphia, I (and about 50 other international travelers) missed my international connection, and spent the night in Philly. And of course my luggage is still presumably in Philly. This is the nightmare that will not end.

I am taking a break from sleeping, but I believe I will be returning to that enterprise very soon. Maybe when I'm done with that I'll have something more interesting to say. It seems someone has stuffed some cotton in my head, so I'm a bit fluffy at the moment. Better luck for a decent post tomorrow.

leavin' on a jet plane

I start my journey home this afternoon. As anxious as I am to see Steph, I also know that going home means moving on. I've been hiding in this safe cocoon these last couple of weeks, where reality is a dream interrupted by the occasional nightmare. I know going home will be the opposite. I also know that eventually it will even out, but for now I'm dreading the idea of saying goodbye to Dad and going home and getting on with the business of living. I'm dreading the first exciting thing that will happen and I won't be able to call Mom and tell her about it.

See you on the other side...

the measure of a man

My grandfather Amadeo (known as Army to friends and family) lived to be 87, and lived life to the fullest. He was a professional football player, wrestler, and educator for over 50 years, working until he died. Married twice, he was a father of six (of which my father is the oldest), grandfather of twelve and great-grandfather of five.

My Uncle Steven gave a beautiful eulogy, and with his permission I am including an excerpt below.

The Measure of a Man

What is the measure of a man?

I believe that we are measured by our families, others we have met, and God.

For those of us that have worked in Education, we know that we all have had an impact on the lives of children we have taught or coached. The question we might ask might be, was it a good positive impact or did we have very little influence in their future? Or perhaps a better question could be, did we say or do something that changed the direction of someone's life? Remember Robert Frost wrote, "I chose the path less traveled." Did you ever help someone go in the right direction?

It is the quality of one's nature that sets you apart. When the time comes for you to stand up to the plate and make a difference, do you know what to say, do you have the courage to say it, and do you say it with conviction? He had all those qualities and I am glad he was there at those turning points in my life.

Only God can measure a man for Heaven, but we can speculate. Have people gotten into heaven that have made mistakes? The answer is yes, if we have tried to right those mistakes and ask for forgiveness. Have we loved our neighbors and given our love to our family? I know that he has. My family and I loved him very much and his opinion meant a great deal to all of us. We have confided our fears, troubles, and worries to him and appreciated his responses. I feel like picking up the telephone and calling him right now.

In the days after Mom died, Grandpa and Uncle Buddy drove up to Asheville to spend some time with us. Moved by Mom's passing, he told us that when it was his time to go, he wanted us to have a party in his honor, and that's exactly what we did last weekend. I hope you were smiling down on us, Grandpa, and that we sent you off right.

happy birthday mom

Imagine my horror when, after spending one day away in Greenville visiting my friends, I returned to Asheville to learn that my Grandfather had died, only ten days after Mom. We left immediately for Florida and have just returned to North Carolina.

I'm going to write more about my Grandfather tomorrow, but today is reserved for Mom, who would have been 60 today. It's only been 15 days since you left us, and there just aren't any words. I miss you terribly.

today is my birthday

So far today, I've celebrated my birthday by throwing up whatever was left from dinner last night.

That pretty much sums up how I feel about the whole thing.

it was a good day

Yesterday, my sister and I took some time away from going through Mom's stuff to do some things that she liked very much. First we drove 45 minutes west to the Cherokee Reservation, to take our chances at Harrah's Casino. I'd never been, but Mom and Mandy would go spend an afternoon when Mandy came up to visit. Even as frugal as she was, she enjoyed taking a chance on games of luck and skill, no doubt learned by her parents, who enjoyed an afternoon with the horses at Belmont Park in New York. I had a little bit of luck: I walked in with $20 and walked out with $38.50 and Mandy broke even. Luckily, we were under time constraints or I wouldn't have walked out with anything, but even if I'd lost it, it would have been $20 well spent and was a nice time.

We returned to Asheville in time for an evening of minor league baseball, which Mom simply adored. Mom was a life-long sports fan, particularly of baseball, and enjoyed coming to these games. We met up with some family who also live in Asheville, and not five minutes after the game started, Mandy's name was called. Her entry had been picked for sitting in the best seats in the house: two leather recliners on the first base line and a free dinner. We all took turns rotating up there with her, and we got a couple of pictures. Mom would have been tickled pink.

On behalf of my father and sister, thank you so much for your kind comments and well wishes. We're moving forward as well as we can. I can't (and won't) speak for them, but I'm still on the roller coaster. Guilt, relief, grief, anger, and peace all rotate around like a Ferris Wheel (she really liked amusement parks too). I know it's natural, and will settle with time, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Finally, I have received word this week from several relatives that they are reading along but are unsure as to how to leave comments via this webpage. At the bottom of each post, there is a link called "Write a Dispatch" or if a comment has already been left, "## Dispatches." Clicking on this link with bring up a new window. At the bottom of this window you can enter your information and your comment. The only thing I ask is that you please remember that this is a public forum and I have chosen to keep some aspects of my life, such as my real name, anonymous, and I only ask that you respect that. Other than that, anything goes.

Right, back to work and light posting. Thanks for hanging on with me during this time. I'm sure witty and amusing observations of life in France will resume at some point. In the mean time, please call up your Mom/Grandma/Auntie/Sister and tell them you love them very much.

in memoriam

Barbara Lee Tomaini
May 30, 1945 - May 15, 2005


My mother passed away Sunday afternoon. Happily, I had the opportunity to spend some time with her that morning, and she knew I was here.

While we are grief-stricken at our loss, we are also relieved that her struggle is finally over.

Scleroderma is a rare disorder, affecting primarily women. I would like to ask that you visit this page, and make a donation to the Scleroderma Foundation, in her name. Your small donation will go toward research and may help prevent others from suffering the same fate.

the call i've been dreading

I've been asked to come home as soon as possible. I hopefully will be home by Saturday night.

Please let me take this opportunity to thank everyone for your lovely comments and outstanding support. You have truly lifted me up when I really needed it. Thank you so much for sticking it out with me.

I don't know how much blogging I can do between now and whenever I leave, and certainly when I'm actually there, but I will update as I can.

Update: Friday morning
I went to choir rehearsal last night, partly so I could tell the director what's going on, and partly because it honestly hadn't hit me yet. The rehearsal (sectional really) was fine, and then I explained to the director the situation. And then my sister-in-law walked in and I had to drag her outside so I didn't fall apart in front of a bunch of people. I've been all over the place ever since.

The tickets have been purchased; my journey starts tomorrow morning at 8:30 at the train station and will last until 7:30pm EST (Actually later than that because then we'll have to drive for a couple of hours after I arrive). Must run errands and start to pack. Most likely will write again on the other side of the ocean.

cat vs. bird

I couldn't resist taking this photo, even if it didn't come out very clearly:



The cat's tail was wagging furiously, I can tell you. The bird won, as he flew away moments after I took the picture.

the numbers game

You know, it's hard enough wrapping my brain around a new language, but I really despise the fact that on top of that, I've got to do math in the middle of a conversation. And Math and I were never particularly close friends.

You see, a long time ago, some enterprising Frenchman (I can only assume a mathematician, grr) decided it would be really funny to leave out important words like "seventy," "eighty," and "ninety." I suppose he figured they had enough words, thank you, and we'll just have to make do with what we've got.

The fallout of this madness is that if I need to give the year of anything that happened in the last thirty or so years, I have to pause and stare blankly into space while I calculate the proper formula. Here, let me show you what I mean:

Counting numbers is all very simple once you get up to seventy. This is because the word "seventy" doesn't exist. If you want to say "70," you actually say "sixty-ten." Fun, eh?

You would think a simple formula like this would continue, but oh no no, my friends. Of course "eighty" doesn't exist either, so to say "80," you say "four-twenty." This is multiplication, people, and is completely unnecessary!

Finally, they figured that these two great tastes would taste great together, so for "90" we have "four-twenty-ten." Aaargh!

So here is an example of a few important dates that leave me counting on fingers and toes in the middle of conversations:

I was born in: sixty-thirteen
We moved to Florida in: sixty-ten-nine
I first came to France in: four-twenty-nine
I graduated high school in: four-twenty-eleven
I graduated college in: four-twenty-sixteen

Get the picture? It's madness, I tell you! All I can say is thank goodness we've passed into a new millennium, because at least "two thousand five" makes perfect sense!

vivi grabs the bull by the horns

I slept in pretty late today, which I don't really like to do. I don't know if I'm still feeling the effects of gastroenteritis, or stress about Mom, but I'm finding it hard to get inspired to do just about anything. I've managed to turn on the dishwasher and put the bed sheets in the wash, and I'm pooped. I didn't even have the courage (I love this French phrase, it's so much nicer than "I couldn't be bothered") to walk across town for my French lesson today. I had to do something so today wouldn't be a total wash.

So I did it. I called ANPE to register with the employment office. All by myself without Steph holding my hand. I answered a few questions, and a package of papers will arrive in the next couple of days. I have an appointment at the office next Tuesday.

A part of me is telling me I'm not ready yet, I'm not comfortable with my level of French, I'm going to make a fool of myself, etc. The rest of me is tired of waiting for life to happen, hiding behind my husband, and is ready to jump in with both feet. For now I'm going to let the rest of me lead for a little while and see what happens.

a pleasant evening

We had a really great visit last night with Seb and Mylene, who are old friends of Steph's. They live in Grenoble, and were in town to celebrate Mylene's father's birthday and the marriage of her cousin.

They arrived a little eariler than expected and Steph hadn't returned from work yet, but they were very kind and graciously listened to me prattle on in my terrible French about my mother and other things. After Steph got home, we settled in to a lovely evening of conversation and fajitas, followed by apple pie.

Even though this was the first time we met, I felt like I knew them already, as we've been communicating a little for ages, whether it be chatting online or when we all played Dark Age together (they've since moved on to World of Warcraft). They were just as nice and funny as I expected them to be, and I was so happy to finally meet them in person, and I'm really looking forward to spending time with them again.

distraction

I got word this morning that Mom was moved out of intensive care last night, which is excellent news. Except for a slight case of pneumonia, which my nursing cousin says is normal after having to use a breathing tube, she seems to be recovering fine. Maybe this time they will actually keep her in the hospital long enough for her body to stabilize with its new condition before they send her home.

In the meantime, I've got a busy day ahead of me, as we've got guests from out of town coming over for dinner tonight. I've got an apartment to clean, errands to run, a pie to bake, and a dinner to prepare. And I've only got nine hours before they get here! Aaaugh!

Actually, keeping busy is the best distraction. Obviously thoughts of Mom are always running in the background, but not focusing only on that keeps me from melting into a puddle of goo every ten minutes. Falling asleep has been particularly difficult recently.

Right, off to scrub the bathtub. I know you're achingly jealous of my glorious French life right now. :wink:

v-e day/mother's day

Today is Victory Day in Europe, celebrating the 60th anniversary of the end of World War II, but more importantly (to me), it is Mother's Day in the states. Unfortunately, my mom won't see any wishes I leave for her here today.

This is a situation I have hesitated writing about, out of respect for the privacy for my parents, because although I am mostly anonymous here, I still have friends and family from back home who visit from time to time. But I feel I am leaving out a huge chunk of what I'm going through right now. Part of becoming an ex-pat is being so far away from home and family, and now more than ever I am feeling that distance.

Recently, my mother was diagnosed with scleroderma (en francais: sclerodermie). In the last month, she has been in the hospital more than she has been out of it. The biggest life change she has been dealing with is that her kidneys are now only working at 10%, and since transplants are not possible, she will have to do dialysis three times a week for the rest of her life. In the meantime, my parents are doing their best to stay positive while her body struggles to stabilize itself. I should say that the disease is not immediately life threatening, and can be controlled with medication and therapy, but so many changes have happened, seemingly one thing right after another, that sometimes it does in fact seem extremely dire.

My parents have asked me to wait until such a time that she is more stabilized for me to come home. Also, my dad would like to move from their second floor (non-Americans read first floor) apartment to an opening first floor (non-Americans read ground floor) apartment, and when they're ready to make that move I will surely go home. But since I learned yesterday that she spent the better part of this week in intensive care, I confess my patience is wearing thin. This morning saw Steph and I making plans for what to do in an emergency situation, which is something I didn't think we'd have to do inside a year of moving away.

As for me, I'm all over the place. I'm scared for the worst, I'm jealous of my sister who can be there in a matter of hours, I'm guilty that I'm not there myself to help my father carry this enormous burden. All I can do is wait and pray, and it's the hardest thing of all.

I wish more than anything I could be there in person to say this, but for now, this will have to suffice: I love you Mom; happy Mother's Day.

vengance is yours

I'd like everyone who was jealous of our 5 day weekend to know that they can relax now, because I've come down with gastroenteritis, or at least that's what the doctor said. You know it's bad if I don't even want the chocoloate (my favorite, even) that Steph bought at the store. I just ate a bowl of soup, prepared by Steph, and it's the only thing I'll be eating today. The only reason I'm typing this now is because my desk was a very convenient place to put the bowl.

Oh, but you can be jealous again, because the doctor's visit and three medicines (including the "purple pill") only cost 1.35 euros.

So um.... I'll be back in 24 - 48 hours.

L'Ascension

Today is another Catholic holiday, Ascension Day. I still can't get anyone to explain to me how we still have Catholic holidays in a country that prides itself on its secularism, but if the uproar over the possibility of the holiday of Pentacost being taken away is any clue, I suspect that we still celebrate them because the unions see changing these holidays as a threat to their precious days off. That's just an outsider's point of view, so any comments are certainly welcome, as usual.

Because this holiday is on a Thursday this year, many people are "bridging" the holiday and taking Friday off as well for a nice long weekend. Since Steph doesn't work on Wednesdays and he worked in an extra class last Friday to make up for tomorrow, he's got a very nice long 5 day weekend. This is his last big break until the end of the school year, so besides the barbeque we're going to in a little bit, we will be taking it easy, especially since we're both getting over colds now and the weather isn't cooperating anyway.

we're falling apart

I'm feeling better today, albeit weak and puny, and it looks like I'll be making an appearance at the barbeque we've been invited to. Chicago suggested in the comments of my last post that I spread the joy and sneeze on the barbeque, and while I'm not sneezing too much, I may have no other choice than to cough all over it (Mom did always teach us to share). At least I'm feeling a little better.

Steph came home with a bounty of fish: 13 regular sized ones, and a whopper weighing in a 3.1 kilo! And guess who had to clean them all? No no, he's not that cruel. I did help a little, 'cause you know there's nothing better when you're sick than scooping out fish guts. He also keeps cupping his right eye, and it turns out he was a victim of his mom's pole-casting, and took one for the team. For now he says his vision is blurry in that eye and it hurts to close, but we can't find a specific wound, just redness. We're going to try to find a pharmacy that's open, because today is a national holiday.

I'll write some more about the holiday in a little bit.

it never fails

I'm supposed to be on my way to go fishing with Steph and the in-laws, but I got Steph's cold. Let's just say that I'm not too pleased. It had better clear up before tomorrow, because we've been invited to a barbeque, and if I can't go to that too, I'm going to be pissed.

I'm going to take some NyQuil and go back to bed. Over and out.

vivi takes a big step

Yesterday, Steph felt well enough to go to the bar next door, but it was too hot for coffee, so we had cool drinks instead: a coke for Steph and a diabolo fraise for me. We sat under the Rapido monitor (we won 10 euros, woo!) and listened to the cacophony of patrons around us betting on horses. Then Steph dropped a bomb:

"I think it's time for you to start looking for work."

Click "Tell me more" to continue...


Alright, here's the thing. It's not that I don't want to work. I have ants in my pants to get out of the house more. The thing is, I don't think I'm ready. My French is abysmal, and I can barely follow a conversation. When someone does speak to me, more often than not, I freeze up and all the French I know flies away.

He continued: "Here's what you should do this week: You should go to the ANPE (unemployment office) and register. All you have to do it go and ask for information. You don't have to look for a job right away. Plus you will get discounts on bus passes and the library and museums. But you need to do this alone."

I sat in stony silence. I know he's right. It's time for me to be more proactive and stop hiding away in the apartment. I've got to get the courage to interact with people more.

Steph doesn't let me sink too low. "What's wrong?"

"I'm scared."

"Why?"

"I don't think my French is good enough."

"Only your boss can decide that. And think of all the things we can do if you get a job. We can save enough money to go to the states this year. We can go visit more places. You can buy more shoes (well he's got me there)."

So I did it.

This morning, I marched right over to the ANPE, which is right next to the local Intermarche, going over phrases that I thought might come in handy. When it was my turn to talk to the secretary, my heart was in my mouth. The conversation went something like this (and I feel I should say that for the part of the secretary, I am certainly paraphrasing and writing what I think she said. Heh.):

"Hello, I'd like to take some information for registering. I think it's obvious that my French isn't so great, so please excuse me..."

"Oh, that's ok. What is your nationality?"

"American."

"But you have the authority to work here?"

"Yes, I have my titre de sejour..."

*Blank stare* (probably from my crap pronunciation)

"But you do have authorization, yes?"

"Oh yes!" I hurriedly pulled out my passport with my titre de sejour glued inside, which says "autorise son titulaire a travailler" or "authorises this person to work".

I think I offended her a little. "Oh, yes yes, I didn't need to see that, I just wanted to be clear if you were authorized..." She produced a card with a free number on it. "So, you must call this number, and they will send a dossier to your home, and you will make an appointment to come back to speak with someone."

I looked down at the card and studied it for a moment, and then I understood. This was all I needed! "Well, thank you very much!"

I fairly skipped out of the office. I picked up a few things at Intermarche, and decided to reward myself with a chocolate bar with cherries and a can of coke. This is huge, people! I just took another huge step.

in the kitchen

Today is a perfect day for a rice salad. This recipe is so easy, even I can do it without assistance, so I thought I'd share.



2 cups (uncooked) rice, cooked and cooled
1 tin tuna fish (drained)
1 small tin corn (drained)
1/2 (or if you're in the states, 1 small) cucumber, peeled, seeds removed, diced
1 avacado, peeled and diced
2 or 3 small tomatoes, diced
mustard vinaigrette to taste

Serves 4 - 6

Obviously, there's only two of us, so we know we're going to be nibbling on this dish for a couple of days. As long as it's covered so it doesn't dry out, it keeps very well in the fridge.

Enjoy!

fete du travail

Happy May Day!

Today is Labor Day, or Fete du Travail in France. It is always on May 1, so bad luck for falling on a Sunday this year. That's ok, because there is another holiday later this week (which I will write about in another post).

In this region, in addition to the inevitable manifestations, or strikes on the Town Hall, it is celebrated with selling lilies-of-the-valley in the streets. Today is the only day of the year that anyone can sell these flowers, which grow wild in the woods here, in the streets. In fact, on my way to the boulangerie this morning to pick up a baugette (which was warm from the oven, I might add: miam miam!), I passed two people selling them, and that was just within a block of our apartment.

It is a gorgeous and warm day today! I would be surprised if it didn't hit 80 degrees today. Happily, this apartment which kept my fingers blue all winter will be a cool retreat for the summer. Without the aid of an air conditioner, we can keep it cool just by opening the front and back window to let a breeze through. We had hoped to join the in-laws at a vide grenier today, but Steph has succumbed to a terrible cold. Last night I introduced him to the wonders of NyQuil (man I love that stuff!) and he felt so much better today that he suggested we could possibly take a little stroll through the neighborhood later this afternoon, albeit at a "grandpa's" pace, as he said. I may even bring my camera, if I'm feeling touristy.

(school) year in review

I had an interesting conversation with my sister-in-law on the way home from choir rehearsal last night. As the school year begins to wind down and our final concert of the year approaches, we had a moment of reflection. SIL, who never sang before joining the choir last September, told me how much easier it was for her to sing now, and she doesn't have as much trouble reaching the high notes as she did when she started. Then we talked about how far the choir itself had come. We sound like a real ensemble now, and I'm really proud to be in this group.

Then SIL shocked the heck out of me: she told me how far she thought I'd come with my French! I was surprised because the last couple of days I've been feeling a bit like I'm not getting anywhere at all, but that may be because my French class is still on vacation and while I'm trying to keep up the pace while studying a bit online, it's just not the same. But she insisted! She pointed out that she doesn't have to explain so much when she talks, and she thinks my vocabularly has vastly improved. When I think back to those early days of riding with her back and forth from the Convervatory, I can definitely see a difference.

I know I still have a long way to go to achieve anything close to fluency, but it's nice to pause for a moment and see how far I've come.

a cry for help

I've got a serious problem. It's been coming on for months now, and getting worse all the time. I thought maybe I could handle it on my own. I did what I could to prevent it from getting worse, but there's only so much I can do myself. I really think it's time I seek out professional help.

Click "tell me more" to continue...


I desperately need a haircut.

A part of me genuinely wanted to let it grow. I can't remember the last time I let my hair grow out, but I'm starting to remember why I haven't done it in so long. It looks like absolute shit.

Nine months ago, my hair possibly looked the best it ever did. Cut just below my jaw line, layered a little in the back for fullness, wavy curls framing my face. Maybe I'd put a little something in my hair to encourage the curl, or help keep it from frizzing up in the humid weather, but mostly, it was good hair.

Now, the curl is falling out, and my hair is permanently frizzy. Nothing I do helps, and the more crap I put in my hair to help solve these problems, the worse it looks. I am fed up, and I want my nice hair back.

Only now, I'm faced with a new problem. What the heck am I supposed to tell a hairdresser? I can barely say I want it cut, never mind the actual details. Also? There are easily 10 hairdressers within a five mile walk of my apartment. How on earth can I pick one?

So, I'm asking for *gulp* help. (Admitting I have a problem is the first step, right?)

First of all, how do I pick a hairdresser? What should I be looking for to avoid the one (you know there's always one) who will hack up my hair? Also, what should I ask? How do I say "layered, but not great big chunks please"? Is it appropriate to bring a photo from nine months ago? How about if it's my wedding pictures (they're not professional, and I did my hair myself)?

I know this will sound incredibly frivolous to some of you, but dammit, I'm sick of cringing when I look in the mirror. I've got to face the music and the cutting shears, but I don't mind telling you, I'm scared to death. Help!

Update: I just thought of something else. What kind of prices should I be expecting? What is considered reasonable and what is outrageous? If someone is offering a lower price should I run away in fear? I get the feeling it's more than going to good ole SuperCuts back home (yes I did and my hair looked great, thank you) and it may be why Steph keeps telling me my hair looks fine and keeps threatening to cut it himself with his beard trimmer!

turning a new phrase

Once you get to know the fundamentals of a new language, the challenge (as far as I can see) is to make it come alive, by incorporating local phrases and colloquialisms. This is not as easy as it sounds. You would think you could just translate phrases you used to use, but they just don't make sense in your new language. I'm probably not doing my husband any favors by tossing around a few southern phrases, but he's certain to impress my southern family.

The reason I bring this up is that Steph's English has improved so much that I don't always watch what I say anymore. "I'm gonna" and "y'all" are slipping back into my vocabulary, and I had him absolutely stumped when I told him last week that I was going to "run down to the corner store." Other personal favorites (southern and otherwise) include:

"I'm so happy I could be twins."
"I was born on a Wednesday, but not LAST Wednesday."
"It's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra."
"It's hotter than a whore in church."
...And the ever popular "Well, bless your heart."

For various reasons, I wouldn't dare attempt to translate these into French and introduce them in polite society.

Slowly but surely, I am adding new French phrases to my growing vocabulary. Some are exactly the same, and others are so whimsical to me that when I learn them, I laugh out loud. My current favorite is "Elle est aimable comme une porte de prison," or, "She's as nice as a prison door." Funny, huh? Steph swears his father says this all the time.

So my question for my fellow ex-pats/students of new languages is: What new phrases have you learned that made you smile when you learned it? Which ones do you actually use now? And finally, which phrases do you miss that can't (or shouldn't) be translated in your new language?

La Motte-Tilly

Hey! My images are back! See?



Yesterday, Steph, my mother-in-law and I visited the chateau at La Motte Tilly. We arrived just in time for a guided tour of the chateau, which is in remarkable condition and houses many antiques from the eras of Louis XIV, Louis XV, well most of the Louises after the Sun King, up to the Empire Period. The rooms have been left much like the last Marquise left them some thirty years ago. The tour was in French, and I understood a great deal, and Steph filled in the gaps.

After the tour, we took a turn out in the gardens before coming home. I took some pictures, and they can be found at the photoblog. All in all, it was a lovely way to spend an afternoon.

car culture

It seems to me that the French have a totally different relationship to cars than Americans do. Here in France, cars are not coddled, like a beautiful child, nor are they always looking good in their Sunday best to show off. While cars in the states are status symbols, here there are a means to get around, and that's about it. My French friend, who lived in the states for several years, laughed until she had tears in her eyes, when she remembered Americans lovingly washing and waxing their cars every weekend, even in the dead of winter. "What's the point?" she asked. "In winter, with all the snow and the mess, I waited until the bad weather passed, and my car was just fine."

Here, dents and dings are not things to be lamented. No one races to the body shop to have a dent beat out before someone sees it. They are a fact of life, particularly when living in a town with tons of public parking and a dearth of private garages.

I confess, even I was not immune to American car culture. I had a 2000 Ford Focus, which I bought used in 2002, and that car was my baby. I took better care of that car than I took care of myself. I never missed changing the oil within 3000 miles, I never let the gas gauge fall below 1/4 tank, I took her to the best car wash in town on a regular basis. Maybe it was because I was making astronomical payments, but if I'd ever dinged or dented it I would have been mortified. In my American mind, your car and the state of it are reflections of you, so you'd better show your best face when out in public. These are things I've had to let go of since moving here. People I've met just don't feel that way about cars.

The reason I bring all of this up is that we saw the funniest thing yesterday, when driving back from a visit with the in-laws. Steph pointed them out, and I wouldn't have noticed them if he hadn't. It seems a car ahead of us was sporting some spinning rims, yo. It's the first time either one of us has seen them in France. The reason I couldn't see them at first was because they were absolutely filthy. Dirt was caked all the way up to the bumper level. And you know no self-respecting playa back home would allow that to happen.

spring break marches on

Yesterday we made another attempt to find a spring coat for me. The weather was still crappy and cold, and the sky looked like the apocolypse was coming, with low dark clouds and heavy rains on the horizon. We ducked into E.LeClerc to pick up a few essentials, and by the time we got out, the rain had passed us by. Off we went to another shopping mecca, McArthurGlen. Unfortunately, Messirs Armani, Klein and Lauren still don't offer clothes in fluffy sizes, so we went home empty handed again. Everything I found was either too thin (can you imagine making a jacket with no lining and still charging 89 euros?) or was the wrong size or the wrong style. The search continues...

It seems the weather has brightened up quite a bit, so it looks like we're a go for visiting a local chateau tomorrow. This will be the second or third attempt at going, so I am cautiously looking forward to it. Finally, some fodder for my photoblog!

In other news
I still can't see my images and cannot get onto the photobucket.com website. If anyone has any tips or hints on what the hell is going on, please enlighten me in my comments box. Thanks!

what the.....

Ok, is anyone else not seeing my ex-pat buttons in the right column, or is it just me? Also, is anyone else experiencing issues with not seeing images from photobucket.com? I can't even get onto the website. Please tell me I'm not going crazy.

everyone is doing it...

In an effort to distract myself from illness reports from home (alluded to in the last post), I've done my linguistic profile, like her and her. Here's what I got:

Your Linguistic Profile:

55% General American English

30% Yankee

10% Dixie

5% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

30% Yankee? Lemme 'splain!!

I can think of two reasons for this. First, my Mom is a full-blooded Yankee. My family moved south more than 25 years ago, and she still sounds like she never left Long Island, God bless 'er. The only time I really "sound" like a Yankee, is when I'm on the phone with her or talking in her presence. My college roommate always knew when I was on the phone with my mom, because it's the only time my Yankee accent comes out.

The other thing is, I grew up in Central Florida. Florida is generally considered a southern state, but if you ask me, only the top third of the state can really be considered southern. Once you get down to around St. Augustine or Daytona Beach (I was a Space Coast girl myself) you start to find yourself back in northern territory. This is because there are a great number of retirees in Central Florida, and also because of the influx of Yankees who worked in the Aerospace industry (which is how we ended up there). Among my group of friends, only one or two were actually born in Florida. Southern accents were to be mocked. Certainly there were hotspots of natives (good old Bithlo comes to mind) but the vast majority seemed to be from out of town. Generally, we had standard American accents, with northern colloquiallisms ("hey you guys" instead of "hey y'all," etc.) .

Things started to change when I went away to college in North Carolina. I didn't realize how much I'd changed until I arrived home after one semester, and found that my friends had come to surprise me at my house. "I'm so happy to see y'all!" I exclaimed. My friends looked at me as if I had just landed from another planet. "Y'ALL?!" The transformation had begun.

So, after four (and a half) years of college and seven years living in South Carolina, I have defininately picked up a southern drawl. But thanks to a good ear and training in the Dramatic Arts, I am able to turn it off and on at will. This has also helped with my French accent, though it does little for actually picking up vocabulary.

Well, there you have my explaination of why I sound the way I do. If you don't believe me, next time you see me, ask me to talk like my mom. You'll think I'd lived my whole life on Long Island too.

Oh, and as for the 5% Upper Midwestern accent: I have absolutely no idea, especially considering I've never even been there!

a tranquil spring break

I seem to be going through a bit of a dry spell where posting to the blog is concerned. Part of the reason is that we're just enjoying a quiet spring break and piddling around the house. Over the next week and a half, we can expect more of the same, with the possibility of a day trip to a random chateau or two. I can report that last night we went to Romilly-sur-Seine, where Steph works and the Gang of Colleages lives (that makes them sound like super heroes, doesn't it?) for an evening of pizza, beer and tarot. In spite of the fact that I haven't played in several months, I held my own and was even complimented for winning a game by myself. That felt pretty damn good. We got home so late (early?) that I slept through my last French class before a two-week break. This was not particularly good news, as I'd spent two and a half hours finishing up homework especially so I'd be ready for class.

Another thing is (and excuse me for not going into too much detail here) someone I love very very much back home is currently in the hospital. After some frantic phone calls the last couple of days (made by me), I have learned that they are expected to be fine but I am still on pins and needles while tests are done and diagnoses are made. This, my friends, is the hardest part of being so far away from home.

Finally, we've been trying, for the last few days, to look for a lightweight coat for me for the Spring, because all I have are a heavy wool winter coat and a rain jacket. We're still prone to a have cold snap now and then and it still can be a little chilly in the evenings in the summer. It seems we started looking at the wrong time, as I can't find a damn thing. Everything is either too lightweight or too heavy, and if I do find something I like it's either too big or too small. Meanwhile, Steph had a gift certificate to a men's store downtown, and of course he walked in, found a jacket in five minutes flat, tried it on, and bought it. And then, to top it all off, he got 20% off. I swear, men have it dead easy.

sunday in Paris

I got a huge surprise in my email last week, when a friend of mine from back home wrote to tell me that she'd be in Paris this past weekend. Would we like to meet up for lunch?

Are you freaking kidding me?

So Steph and I took a train into Paris and met up with my friend at her hotel. After a lunch of crepes (mine was stuffed with chicken and mushrooms and cheese, miam miam!) we did a little sightseeing and went through the Cluny Museum, chatting and catching up all the while.

After meeting up with my friend's best friend, whom she had come to Paris to meet, we were met by fellow blogger Kylie. After saying goodbye to our friends from home (who promise to send popcorn, bwahahahahha), Kylie, Steph and I wandered around town. We stopped at the Memorial des Martyrs de la Deportation before wandering some more to find something to eat. Since dining options are a bit more limited on a Sunday, and we found ourselves back in the Latin Quarter, I suggested the Greek restaurant Mythos, where Squishy and I went in January. Unfortunately, the rowdy loud atmosphere didn't seem to be the right choice, and the charm of the place wore off quickly. Like Kylie said, "I don't like being obliged to YELL in my conversation!" Indeed.

After dinner, we said our goodbyes at the next metro stop and headed back to the train station. All in all, it was a fantastic day, and a wonderful way to start Steph's two week spring break.

cold mountain

I just spent a good portion of the afternoon watching the movie Cold Mountain, based on the book of the same name, by Charles Frazier. I guess it's not surprising that a movie, based on an area of my home country that I dearly love, could affect me so much, considering it stars an Australian, and Englishman, and in the starring role of Cold Mountain, a mountain range somewhere in eastern Europe.

I read the book five or six years ago, and at the time I had only been making the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains my home for a couple of years, having followed my parents there. I was falling in love with the mountains, with the people, and I loved the book as well. That winter, my father was invited to attend a grand opening of a Boy Scout camp in the mountains south of Asheville, and my mother and I came along. It was the end of January and bitterly cold; I remember the temperature readout in the car said it was in the teens (farenheight) by the time we got to our destination. A ranger offered to take us on a small hike to look at more of the campgrounds, so we piled into a van and rode part of the way up.

After walking for a while, we reached a clearing and could see other mountains in the area. He pointed out one or two, and pointed to the next, "And that's Cold Mountain." The book was still fresh in my mind, but I confess I didn't realize Cold Mountain was an actual place. From far off, it looked blue. It certainly looked like it had earned its name.

By this time, my parents had moved to Asheville, and the mountains became my escape. Half the reason I went to see them was to drive through the gorgeous scenery, my windows down (when appropriate) to breathe in that sweet air. My father always liked to take the car and just drive, to see what there was to see. I loved those rides. I miss them.

So, the movie. I won't bore you with a review, especially since by now the internet must be crawling with them. I wasn't overly moved by the scenery, because I knew in the back of my mind that they weren't my mountains, though they were pretty enough. Nicole Kidman was just ok and Renee Zellweger was wonderful. I also thought Jude Law made an excellent Inman.

But what was it that got to me so? Perhaps it was the idea of a thing, rather than the thing itself. When Inman cried (and I'm paraphrasing here), "How can I miss something that is only a name?" I cried along with him, knowing exactly what he meant. By the time the end credits rolled, I was filled to the brim with my own memories. I was preparing to take the movie back to the video store, and when I heard Alison Krause sing "I'm gone to find my true love," it all came crashing down. It occurred to me that I had found my true love, so far away from that place I love so much, and all the emotion came tumbling out at once, and a feeling of homesickness swept over me so fiercely I cried out. And then, like the movie, I put it away, and walked through this new town I'm growing to love, and continued on down this path I'm creating with my own true love.

last saturday

I would be very remiss if I didn't talk about what a wonderful day we had on Saturday. What a gorgeous day it was! Blue skies, warm temperatures, and a fantastic day to wander around town.

We started off at lunchtime to go to a favorite kebab place. I was surprised that they didn't have their tables set up for dining outside, like a lot of other places had, but I was craving kebab, so we decided to eat inside. We were shocked when we were invited to find a place downstairs, and discovered our favorite take-away place wasn't a take-away place at all, but a full fledged restaurant! For a menu of less than 10 euros, we ate like kings! I started with an entree that was exactly like tzatziki, but with a different name, and was so delicious I had to restrain myself from licking the plate. We both had a doner kebab plate, which had the most food I've ever seen presented on one plate in France. A generous portion of kebab meat lay on a bed of couscous, surrounded by salad and fries. Neither one of us could finish, and I ended up putting the wonderful pita-like bread in my purse to carry home (which was Steph's idea)! We were so full we couldn't finish desert, which Steph ended up putting in his bag to carry home. We are really hoping we can get some folks together during the spring break to come enjoy this little treasure we discovered!

We waddled out of the restaurant and into the sunshine. Good thing we had planned a walk around town! First we stopped at FNAC, which was just around the corner, just for a little peek, and then off to the downtown area. It looked like all of Troyes was out in force to enjoy the gorgeous weather. Steph told me that this area will be streaming with tourists during the height of summer, but it seemed to me that this first beautiful Saturday of the year was reserved just for us locals.

During our wandering, we happened upon the Maison de l'Outil, or House of Tools, which is a museum of common tools used as far back as the 17th century. As something of a history buff, I enjoyed it, particularly the pictures from the turn of the 20th century situated near the tools they were associated with, but if that sounds boring to you, you might be interested to visit just for the amazing building the museum is housed in. It is a three-story (two-story, for you Europeans) half-timbered building with a large courtyard in the middle, and it has been restored beautifully. I found my mind wandering, wondering what this building was in the past and who lived there.

After an hour of marveling at the past, we stepped back into the sunshine and headed back to the center of town. We stopped at a cafe in front of the Mairie, or Town Hall, to sit in the shade and have a cool drink while we watched the world go by before wandering back home.

gisbe: guest post

I received an email yesterday from my sister, who received her GISBE package in the mail yesterday from Denise, who writes Do you have that in my size? Mandy doesn't have a blog (yet!), so she sent me her response and a picture of her goodies.

I received your GISBE package this morning! Hooray! :) Thank you so much for your gifts. The Padres hat is super-cool! I actually sent out a Devil Rays cap for my GISBE partner in France. lol :) I actually interviewed Bruce Boche, the Padres' manager, when I was in community college when he was named the manager lo these many years ago. He went to and played baseball for Brevard Community College, and I was the sports editor of the school paper when he got the job. That article helped me win a college scholarship later that year. :)

I'm sorry to report, though, that the salt shaker didn't make it across the country intact. However, it's a clean split, so a bit of super glue will fix it up with no problem. :)

The picture frame is also very cute. I hope I have a picture small enough to fit inside it. :)

I've attached a couple of pictures for you. Please pardon the quality of them, as I was using my web camera. (I thought I was only going to be using that camera for stuff for ebay. Who knew?) I've also copied this message to Vivi (my sister .. yay!!) so she can spread the word of your kindness.

Thanks again and best wishes,
Amanda

vivi goes to the dentist

I'm very sorry to report that this isn't the horror story it could have been. I hope you're all not too disappointed. And all you non-Americans who make fun of us for our "perfect" teeth? You're not gonna like this too much either. ;)

I am one of those happy few that have never had problems with my teeth. My mom took my sister and I religiously to the dentist every year (or was it six months?), and she stuffed us full of vitamins with fluoride (which, we believe, has more to do with the good teeth than good genes, as both my parents' mouths are filled with metal). I never needed braces, and I've never had a cavity. I had my wisdom teeth out when I was 20, and then I went seven years without going to the dentist, either because I didn't have insurance or I couldn't be bothered. When I finally went again, I only needed an extra good cleaning. Since then, I resumed going every six months again, though now I'm motivated more by the fear of the drill than anything else.

The last time I went to the dentist was a week before we moved here. Since Steph has been going to the dentist every week since December (his three bad teeth have been repaired in stages), I thought I'd take the opportunity to go with him and have mine checked out. Yesterday my appointment was right after his.

Considering that I had to beg him to come to the doctor with me for translating, I was very surprised when he followed me into the dentist's office, and explained to her that I'm American and didn't speak French well! Now I think maybe he didn't want to come to the doctor's office with me, because I was going about "female issues." Well, that's a whole other post. Back in the dentist's office, she invited me to sit in the big scary chair and asked if I was having any problems. I said no, and she poked around a bit. After saying something like, "Wow, they're really good," she offered to remove some of the tartar that had built up behind my bottom teeth (always a problem area).

She removed the tartar with some kind of electric scraper which was a surprise, as my dentist back home was still using Ye Old Dentist Pick, and was done very quickly. She laughed and said, "I have nothing to do!" and then polished up my teeth a little bit. That was it.

I was out of there in under 15 minutes. I thanked her profusely and we headed out the door. In the elevator, I admired the lovely new gold and silver fillings in Steph's mouth, and said a silent prayer in thanks for my good fortune.

a beautiful day in the neighborhood

First let me say thank you, on behalf of Steph, for all your birthday wishes yesterday. Truth be told, his first reaction was "I don't know these people!" (and I thought, "Oh, but you will! bwahahahahahha") and he's a bit bewildered by the whole blog thing, but he really appreciated it. I skipped choir rehearsal last night and we just had a quiet evening at home. Oh, and he loved the muffins - I managed to grab one last night, and they were all gone by the time he left for work this morning!

This morning, I had some errands to run, and I had a really great walk around town. Of course, I realized about half way through that it would have been an excellent opportunity to carry around the camera, but I will be sure to remember for the next time. It was very foggy and a bit cool, but still a nice morning for a walk. My first errand was to drop off our taxes, so I headed through the middle of town. A new carousel has been erected in front of the town hall. I walked down the main shopping street to do a little window shopping. I wondered a little bit, down some lanes I don't know very well, and discovered some new half-timbered houses I hadn't seen before. When I arrived at the tax office, There were a lot of cars parked precariously on the side of the road and many people around, putting their paperwork in the two boxes designated for dropping off taxes. They are due next week, and it reminded me of the post office on April 15 back home.

The next errand was to go to the post office close to my home to pick up a package and drop off a letter. I took a different route, one that we've traveled many times in the car but I've never walked. It's possibly a shorter walk than going through town, but I think because there's not as much to see, it seems longer. Still, there are a few stately homes from the late 19th/early 20th century to gawk at. Most of these are now businesses or separated into apartments, but still lovely to look at all the same. Once I got past the downtown traffic, I crossed the Seine (yes, we have the Seine, too!) and walked along the bank, past the petanque playing grounds. Now that the weather is warming up again, this area will be populated by men and their sons (I have never seen a woman hanging out while petanque is being played; it is definitely a man's game) in the afternoons, but all is quiet at 10:30 in the morning. After I do my business at the post office and pick up a baguette, it is a mere five minute walk home.

It was an hour long walk and it was wonderful; I haven't walked like that in ages. I think I'm definitely going to make some time to walk like this more in the future, and remember to take my camera!