shopping and a recipe

After having lunch with my in-laws yesterday, we headed to one of the outlet shopping centers just outside of Troyes. We had a nice stroll around the place, and happily it wasn't too crowded. We both came away with some new blue jeans - Steph with some fancy-schmancy Calvin Kleins and me with some good ole American Wranglers. We're hoping to go again at the end of the month when the prices are truly outrageous (50% - 70% off) to see what's left (often, not a lot!). I did spy a fun coat but I'd like to see if the price won't come down a bit more by the end of the month.

I had a couple of hours to rest before heading back out to Troyes for choir rehearsal. We heard the results from the event I attended this weekend. It seems they were actually competing for three open spots in the country. The candidate who won first place was not a surprise at all, but some of us were suprised to learn that one candidate that we liked very much was not liked at all by the jury. Well, that's why they get to be directors and I just get to sing in the choir (which suits me just fine!).

Yesterday, Pauline who writes about Leon's Life posed a question on her blog: she had 500g of minced beef (I'm ashamed to say I still call it "hamburger meat" - that's an American for you) in her fridge and no idea what to do with it. I offered up my mother's meatloaf recipe, and would like to share it with you (this will make up for keeping back my father's Italian sauce recipe!). This comes directly from an email she sent me after I first moved here, and I'll add notes in italics. This was one of my favorite dishes growing up, and if you do it well, it will be savory enough that it won't need a sauce to go with it. It goes great with a side of veggies and/or mashed potatoes.

Click "Tell me more!" to read Vivi's Mom's Meatloaf Recipe

1 lb uncooked 7% fat chopped meat obviously, 400-500g works just fine
1 egg
3/4 cup plain bread crumbs you can use day-old or 2-days old baguette, grated
3/4 cup skim milk I use demi-ecreme here

catsup (about one tablespoon)
salt
pepper
onion powder
oregano


Spray a baking pan (I use Pyrex or Corningware) with Pam I butter it up - I'm so old-school since I moved to France!. Preheat
oven to 350. That's farenheight - around 200C is good. I just turn my tiny oven all the way down!

Scramble egg in mixing bowl large enough for all ingredients. (I use
about a 3 qt flat bottom one with two pot holders under one side to
keep ingredients together.)

Add milk. Stir.

Add bread crumbs, catsup, and spices. I image shaking the onion
powder, salt and pepper on individual slices....about 1/2 as much
pepper as salt. Be careful because the catsup is very spicy. Also,
be careful with the oregano...I would guess about 1/2 TB...too much
will be overpowering. Too much and it's too late...you can add more
later. Stir well.

Add meat, breaking it up into small pieces as you put in the bowl.
Use your hand to thoroughly mix. I usually taste a small bit to check
the spices...add more if you want, but no spice should be
overwhelming. To form the loaf, tip bowl to have it against the
bottom and side and pat the top until smooth. Roll the loaf to the
other side and do the same. Repeat until it looks uniform. Roll the
loaf from the bowl into your hand, and (if it's not falling apart) pat
smooth. If it seems loose and you're not able to form it in your
hand, just roll it right in the baking pan. Pat it smooth into a
rectangle....I'm guessing it comes out to a little less than 8" x 4".
Try to make it so the middle is just slightly larger than the sides so
that the grease does not accumulate in the center.

Bake for 45 to 60 minutes. When the loaf starts to look brown and a
little crusty, it's done. Let it sit for at least five minutes before
cutting.

of cameras and cleaning

For Christmas, we received very lovely cash gifts (my favorite kind, followed closely by gift certificates) from my Grandma (hi Grandma!) and Dad. Last night I put them to good use and bought a new camera and memory card online. They should arrive in a couple of weeks.

YES!! I will have photos on the blog again!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!

Unless I drop it. Again. Heh.

Fact is, it's not top of the line or anything, so if I do drop it, it won't be too terrible to replace. But because it's not top of the line, it will be sure to last forever. That's just how things work out for me.

I finally got off my lazy butt today and cleaned the upstairs. Once I get going, nothing can stop me. It's just the "getting off my lazy butt" part that holds everything up.

Tomorrow we're going to participate in the famous French Soldes, which started last Wednesday and run through the end of the month. Troyes is rather well known in France for its outlet malls so you can imagine the traffic I ran into going and coming from Troyes for the choir stuff this past weekend. Hopefully it will have calmed down a bit tomorrow, but since many children don't have school on Wednesday afternoons it may still be busy. Fingers crossed that they all stay home and we find some cool new things!

of music and babes

As much as I was dreading going to Troyes both mornings this weekend, I have to say I really enjoyed it and would happily do it again. My choir from the conservatory participated in the judging of nine choral director candidates. Those that will pass will be accredited by the National Conservatory and will begin their own careers as choir directors out in the real world. All the candidates were familiar with our repetoire and were told which piece they would be working with and they had 30 minutes to do what they liked with it - to correct, instruct or rehearse as they saw fit.

To be honest, I'm sure that all nine have passed, but the vast aray of techniques is what set each of them apart. The very first one was so nervous, I was very sure she was going to hyperventilate and pass out, but it was clear to all that it was standing in front of a jury that was getting to her, since the more she got into the work the more relaxed she became. My favorites were the woman who had absolutely no fear of the jury and took over the choir as if she'd been with us for years, joked with us and knew exactly what she wanted, and a fellow who also was super comfortable with the jury and asked questions to the choir about techniques (I do like audience participation!) and gave us the clearest and best advice on singing difficult arpeggios (I'm sure there's a better vocal term for them and I can't think of it right now) I have ever heard and we all remarked on it. The ones that left bitter tastes in our mouths were the ones who barely had any life in them at all or the one who would probably be better suited to be a theatre director, for all her movement and odd direction (granted she was directing a contemporary piece, but still).

And then there was the eye candy: the Italian who spoke with a gorgeous accent. *innocent grin*

Then yesterday afternoon, Steph and I drove to St. Dizier so I could hold a beautiful four day old girl named Christine, and of course to visit with her Maman and Papa. Maman, Papa, baby and big brother are all very well, and if all continues to be well, will be home tomorrow. As usual when around itty-bitty ones, I had to resist the urge to yell out "I want one!" but that, my friends, is another story.

musical odds and ends

Not too much to report from the last couple of days. The pain in my neck let up long enough to give the floors downstairs a good scrubbing. This resulted in having an almighty headache for the rest of the day, but at least it's done.

I've also been traveling to Troyes a lot for choir rehearsals. I haven't been in forever. For two weeks running in December, the director was sick and cancelled rehearsals, and then the next week I didn't go because I misread the schedule and thought it was only soloists. Then we had Christmas vacation and then last week I had "la gastro" so I guess it really has been over a month since I made it to rehearsal. So, like a good little choir girl, I absconded with the car Tuesday afternoon so I could go to the conservatory and sit in a little room with a piano and reacquaint myself with the repetoire. I'm glad I did because I'd forgotten that we are singing so much German this year and I find German to be extremely difficult to sing - Brahms is lovely but too many "ichs" and "achs" for my liking, and German just does not fall trippingly off this tongue.

Then Thursday the director asked me to learn an additional piece which is being sung by a smaller group that was going to be rehearsed last night, so I went to the conservatory early to take a look at it. For some strange reason the director likes to pretend I'm a soprano and assigned me to sing the "canto," or second soprano, which has me screeching all over the place. Meanwhile, Steph's niece, who is singing this piece too, prefers to sing soprano but is stuck in the alto section. There just isn't any justice, I tells ya.

This weekend, we'll be participating in the national director's exams, where choir director candidates will direct us in front of a jury. I hate giving up my weekend mornings for this, as that's precious Me & Steph time, but I am curious to see how it's going to go down. My sister-in-law told me that she's already participated in one, and had one director who was really awful and managed to pass her exam, and is currently directing a choir and is still awful. That's a bit shocking, considering the high caliber of directors I've encountered since I've been here, so I confess that I'm looking forward to what kind of future directors show up this weekend.

The greetings grind

One French tradition that I have embraced whole-heartedly is the practice of sending greeting cards to wish a happy new year, instead of Christmas cards. The time leading up to Christmas is so hectic; who needs that extra stress? Now that the holidays have past, I can spend more time on filling out cards (getting sick and falling down stars aside, of course), and we have the whole month of January to fill them out and send them on.

Steph suggested that I fill out the cards destined to the States first, so they would have a better chance of getting to their destinations before the end of the month. I dutifully went through my address book and made up a list, and came up with around 40. I suppose I should try to cull some of these addresses, but everytime I paused over a name, I could hear my mother behind me saying "Oh no, not your great-aunt! I know you haven't seen her since you were four years old, but she would LOVE to hear from you..."

Maybe part of it is the fact that my mother never, ever forgot a birthday, which is legend in my family. I'm not kidding; after she died, the vast majority of family members said, "and she never forgot our kids' birthdays." Every cousin in my family received a well thought out toy or gift until they were 18 years old, and then continued to receive a card every year. She was a member of Hallmark's card club, and bought cards months in advance when she saw one for someone in particular. After she died, I copied down all the birthdays and anniversaries from her master calendar and then neglected to send one damn card. I may have had the best of intentions, but I can't bear to go close to her special birthday card box that I brought home with me.

So that's why I endured the strange look from the cashier when I purchased so many New Year's cards, and why there are people on my list that I barely remember. Every card I fill out is another moment shared with Mom.

Now that's what I call a Happy New Year.

whimper

"Hello, Grandma!" Steph greeted me as I hobbled downstairs this morning to see him off to work.

Hmph.

I'm sure I kept him awake last night with all my moaning. Everytime I moved a little, I was rewarded with a sharp pain in the neck. It was so bad that this morning, before Steph went downstairs, he checked my back to make sure I hadn't bruised it. There was no bruise, but the muscles across the top of my back and my right shoulder are so swollen, he could feel them.

Steph actually suggested I call a doctor. This from the man who never goes to the doctor, "because then he'll tell me that I'm sick. If I don't go, then I'm fine." Pfft. Men. But no, I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days, but I did decide to go to the pharmacy to get something for the pain. I came home with a French version of Ben Gay. I haven't tried it yet, because I didn't want to smell like, well, Ben Gay while running errands in Troyes this afternoon. Right now, I'm waiting for Steph to come home so he can administer it. I feel like a junkie waiting for my dealer.

Now if only my fairy godmother would arrive and wave her magic wand around the apartment, so I wouldn't feel so guilty about being in too much pain to scrub the floors.

vivi qui tombe

This morning, I forced my way out of a very strange dream, which involved living in a haunted house with my Dad, and made my way downstairs to say good morning to Steph before he went to work. I must still have been in a reverie about flying stuffed animals (I have no idea, don't ask) because I fell down the last three stairs. I didn't break anything (this time), but I sure did wake up in a hurry. I'm sure there are those that would say that the cause was the fact that our stairs are bare wood, but I'd like to point out that the last time I fell down stairs (and broke my big toe), it was in my old apartment which had carpeted stairs. I am just that clumsy.

Anyway, I shook it off and got on with my morning. After a breakfast of banana bread and juice and checking my emails, I donned some old exercise clothes and went back downstairs to try out my new yoga DVD (this is the first part of "turning a new leaf" this year... in the past I've threatened to buy exercise DVDs... this time I've actually bought two!). Unfortunately, I found out in the first five minutes that I did indeed hurt myself in the fall - suddenly I couldn't raise my right arm over my head without feeling a jolt of pain in my back. Seems I've pulled a muscle. Damn it.

So I've popped some pills (just aspirin, but I wish I had some muscle relaxers right now!) and had a hot shower, and I've got to somehow attempt to walk to the grocery and back and then mop the floors. With one working arm. *sigh* I would love to say "to hell with it" and lay around in a pitiful fashion today but I didn't do a damn thing last week because I was sick and frankly the state of this apartment is making me ill. I can't relax when it's like this. Damn it.

In other news, I'm responding to my first want ad with a cover letter and resume today. The good news is that they're looking for a bilingual (yeah I know, it's still a stretch) person to work with English speaking clients with some admin duties and it's an eighteen month contract. The bad news is that it's an hour's drive away, in a village south of Troyes. The odd news is that I don't know who the business is or what they do (at least in the States you usually know who you're applying to!), and I'm not sure how much it pays - they give an amount in the ad but don't say if it's gross or net. If it's gross, it's not too terrible for a first job, and if it's net, it's what I made (if not more) at my last job, which isn't bad at all. Anyway, fingers crossed, please!

what dad brought me

I had several requests to post what Dad brought me from the states. Well, the customer is always right here at DfF, so here's a list of what I was missing:

• Dad brought me the American version of City of Villains (I've been playing City of Heroes since I moved here), so I can continue to play on the American servers (and I rarely have lag! How's that for computer connections?)
• REAL mayonnaise (tee hee heeeeeee!) I've been wanting to make some tuna fish sandwiches, and they just don't taste the same with French mayonnaise. It's perfect for the chicken salad Dad taught me how to make when he was here!
• Karo syrup - and as promised, I made a pecan pie while Dad was here
• Stove Top Stuffing, chicken flavored - went great with the rotisserie chicken we had yesterday
• Blueberry muffin mix - will probably make these this weekend
• two tins of clams, which I mentioned in my last post
• Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix - Doc sent me a packet back in November so I could make a veggie dip for our Thanksgiving dinner in Paris, and I've had a hankering for it ever since!

Additional requests included:

• I offered Dad's courrier services to Doc, who requested Bridgeford pepperoni sticks, which unfortunately have yet to be delivered (maybe next week?)
• Dad also brought a gift for her almost-two-year-old son
  
• Steph requested a couple of packs of clove cigarettes and Dad went to a discount cigarette place in North Carolina (he doesn't smoke anymore but he does indulge in a cigar now and then, and this place has the biggest walk-in humidor on the East Coast or something outrageous like that) and they didn't sell them by the pack so Steph got a whole carton of cigarettes. Now, I'm not one to talk about smoking, but those clove ciggies make me mighty ill. I'll be glad when they're gone!
  

Well, there you are, that's what I was jonsing for from the States. I could have asked for so many more things but I'm afraid Dad would have tried to bring everything I requested - I had only told him that there were three things I really wanted and the rest was only if he had room in his suitcase, and he still brought everything!

christmas with dad (part two)

I'm happy to report that I'm feeling more human today, so here we go with part two! I'm afraid it's quite long, but I decided to just go ahead and blurt it all out in one go.

Monday we did a little sightseeing and headed west to Provins, but first we stopped to see Steph's friend JP. Armed with a Christmas bottle of Calvados and a fresh loaf of banana bread, the guys caught up for about an hour before we got back on the road. Steph and I have been to Provins before (I think that post even has a link to my old photoblog; that's a whole other story and I'll get back to that!) and it seems that we're always going in winter! This time we walked briskly through the old village and looked inside the church before heading back to the car. It was just too cold and wet to spend too much time outside!

Tuesday we went back to Troyes for more sightseeing. First we went to the hat and glove store downtown, because Dad wanted a hat and a better scarf than the one he brought. The man in the store was very odd; he kept referring to Dad as "the young boy" (now that's old-school, y'all!) and completely freaked me out at one point. The hat Dad chose was crushable, and the man kept saying "so when your wife gives you a hug, your hat will be ok!" and looking at me when he said it, so I kept responding "but that's my father!" Finally I realized that the word for "wife" and "woman" is the same in French, so what he was really saying was, "so when the women give you hugs, your hat will be ok!" *sigh* But when we walked out of the store, even Steph said, "wow, that guy is really weird," I didn't feel so bad! Then it was off to the tool museum. This may not sound like a barrel of laughs to most of you, but Dad absolutely loves anything to do with working with your hands and really enjoyed the displays of tools going back 400 years. We ended the day with a warm drink in a bar Steph and I go to often downtown before heading back home.

Wednesday was supposed to be the day my in-laws came for lunch, but we woke up to snow everywhere! It was bad enough that Steph's mom didn't feel comfortable driving here; even in Troyes the roads were covered in snow. Instead, Dad taught me how to make his clam sauce for pasta - he had brought me two tins of clams, since I can't find clams in a tin here! (If anyone knows where I can find clams in a tin, please let me know!) In the afternoon, we all walked around the corner and introduced Dad to another favorite past time - losing money at Rapido. Actually we didn't have a bad outcome this time - Dad won one Euro and we won six (thanks for the luck, Dad!). In the evening, Dad taught us contract rummy (and we learned that it is really easier to shuffle two decks of cards together when the decks are the same size!).

Thursday was the big cooking day, and the one I was most looking forward to. All of my life, my favorite meal was my father's tomato sauce and spaghetti. Before I got married I was pretty terrified of the kitchen but now that I've gotten a bit more confident I felt ready to take on this new recipe (my sister's already been making this for years now). All afternoon was spent making meatballs and crushing tomatoes - I'm sorry I can't tell you more, as it is at this point a family secret! In the evening we had a couple of friends over and everyone enjoyed it - I think Steph was pleasantly surprised as I think he was a bit skeptical when he saw what was going inside! The best part is that we've got lots of sauce in the freezer which will last us a few months!

To continue reading this post, please click "Tell me more!"


If you ask me, Friday was an absolute disaster but Dad swears up and down that he had a great time. Let me explain - Dad told me before he came that what he'd really like to see is some Gallo-Roman ruins in France. There just happens to be a Roman arena and an intact mosaic from the period not too far away, and everything I read online said that they are open during winter, so we picked up Steph's mom and off we went. First we stopped in Neufchâteau and went to the first restaurant we found for lunch. This ended up being the best pizza I've had so far in France - it was really a pleasant surprise! Dad and I stuffed ourselves with pizza while Steph and his Mom feasted on steak and fries. We rolled ourselves out of there and headed on to our first tourist stop, the house where Joan of Arc was born. Which was closed. Hm. A stone's throw away is La Basilique Sainte-Jeanne-d'Arc de Domremy-la-Pucelle, a basilica dedicated to Joan of Arc. Good thing Steph found an open door, because there weren't any obvious signs that the place was open. I was really happy that was open, as I think that the paintings of the life of Joan are just gorgeous. It's definitely worth a stop if you're ever in that part of France. Then we were off to Dad's part of the tour, the arena and the mosaics! Which were closed. Obviously. I could have thrown myself under the car, I was so upset. But the day was not lost - we were then on our way to visit Doc and her family, bearing Christmas gifts. Doc's husband, Marc, warned us that it had started to snow at their house, but we were undeterred because, up until that point, most of the streets had been cleared of the snow that had been falling for the past few days. We slowly made our way there, trying to stick to the bigger roads, and the snow started to fall faster and faster. By the time we got the national road that leads to their village, it was falling so hard that we couldn't even see the road, and the executive decision was made to head to the auto-route and make our way home, and I had the unhappy task of calling with the bad news. I was inconsolable, and even on the auto-route - the toll-paying four lane highways that cross France and are the first to be plowed in a snow storm - it took us two and a half hours to travel what normally takes an hour.

To make matters worse, when we woke up on Saturday, all of the snow had melted. Damn it!

Saturday, of course, was New Year's Eve, and we were invited to attend the concert of Steph's niece, who plays the violin. We arrived in Troyes a little early, so we hunted up a bar to duck into before the concert started, and found ourselves transported back home! Well, Dad and I did, anway. As we walked in, we were greeted by the R&B classic "634-5789" and we knew all was gonna be right in the world, y'all. By the time the live version of "Viva Las Vegas" came on, however, Dad discovered The Truth about my husband - he ain't got no rhythm! It's tragic, I know. How anyone can just sit there when "Money (That's What I Want)" comes on, I just can't fathom. Then it was on to the classical concert (what a switchup!). It was a really lovely concert, which also featured the organist who played the organ in the cathedral on Christmas, and a string quintet. The bad part was that we all assumed it would only be an hour long, since it started at 8:00, but no, two hours later, and after an excrutiating audio-visual presentation on the parable of the prodigal son, we were released headed over to Steph's brother Thierry's home to eat a traditional New Year's Eve dinner of seafood (crab legs and oysters and shrimp, oh my!) and just as we were getting ready to eat desert, the clock chimed twelve, and we all kissed each other and wished everyone a Happy New Year!

Sunday, Dad's last day with us, was spent at my in-laws', where we were invited for lunch. We were joined by Steph's oldest brother Phillipe and his family. Phillipe and Dad got on like a house on fire and I had a great time acting as translator for the two of them. Dad announced that he wants to come back in the summer of 2007 (as we are likely going home for a visit this summer) and Phillipe invited him to see Europe from the cab of his moving van. God only knows what kind of madness the two of them could get into in Europe!

And of course, Monday was Dad's day to travel back home. I suppose I've always been lucky at Charles de Gaulle airport, as I've never had a problem myself, but we arrived two hours before Dad's flight and they told him that the flight was already overbooked! Then we had to run to the other side of the terminal to the Wait List line, where they told him that it wasn't a problem and they took his bags. Then, the lines to pass through the ticket and passport checks were insanely long, and Steph and I were running around trying to find the shortest line, and finally left him twenty minutes before his plane was scheduled to leave, but Dad told us not to wait and he'd be alright. The plane ended up not leaving for an hour, but that's a whole different story.

Whew! My god, did you actually read all of that? You are a champion! I wish that I had some pictures to share, but to my shame, we still haven't bought a camera so I don't have any photos to document his trip, so forgive me for being so detailed; I wanted to get down all that we did while it was still relatively fresh in my mind. It was absolutely wonderful having Dad here with us, and I'm looking forward to his next visit, hopefully in the summer, when we can really do some great sightseeing!

try again tomorrow

It seems that my digestive track is trying to turn itself inside out. Hopefully, it's a 24 hour thing and I'll be able to continue part two tomorrow. Back to bed...

Christmas vacation with Dad (part one)

So as you know, Dad arrived on the 22nd of December after not getting any sleep at all on the plane, so we decided it was better to leave Paris for another time and head straight home. I'm rather happy we did, as not only did he pack too many clothes for such a short trip (but he knows better for next time!), but he also brought every single thing I'd asked for. I'd sent him a list of foodie things I've been missing, telling him to choose a few that would fit alright in his luggage, and damned if he didn't bring every last one. He nearly pulled his shoulder out trying to drag them up the stairs in the metro. Thank god we were only going to one stop!

So the rest of the day was travel and rest in the evening. The next day, the three of us walked around the Friday market and picked up a rotisserie chicken for lunch and Dad chose some flowers to bring to my in-laws for their first meeting. Lucky for us, the guy at the flower stand told us that the flowers he had chosen were traditionally used to place on the graves of loved ones! Steph and I had no idea, but his mother sure would. Happily we avoided this international incident and headed to Troyes after lunch for the momentous meeting. Afterwards, we walked downtown for a bit and Dad had his first look at Troyes, which he liked very much.

Saturday was Christmas Eve, and we headed back to Troyes to celebrate with the whole family. We were sixteen altogether, with Steph's oldest brother and his family spending Christmas with his partner's parents. All the food was amazing - youngest sister Corinne made some amazing hors d'oeuvres (she even stuffed the cherry tomatoes!), followed by a delicious zucchini soup, and then the escargot which Steph's father had prepared by hand. There were 180 of the delicious things and nephew S. ate 25 of them! This was followed by the main course of guinea fowl with vegetables. Poor Dad passed on the cheese course (there was really an insane amount of food!) and we finished with the traditional desert of Christmas, a cake in the shape of a yule log, whose name escapes me at the moment.

Finally, it was time to open presents. As always, my French family showered gifts upon their extended American family, and Dad received lots of gifts, included chocolate (of course!), a beautiful beau livre, or coffee table book, about Aube (the departement where we live) with English captions, some more chocolate, and finally the big gift from Steph's parents and us: a gorgeous carving knife and fork with bone handles in its own wooden storage case. Since Dad really loves to cook and takes a lot of pride in his cookware, it was a perfect choice from my in-laws and Dad was really touched. In turn, Dad gave my in-laws some beautiful hand-made goblets from the Southern Highland Craft Guild. Happily, they made it overseas intact and my mother-in-law pronounced that they were "vraiment beau!"

Christmas Day was mostly spent recovering, but we were able to stumble out the door in time to make it to the annual organ concert at the Cathedral in Troyes at 5:00 in the evening. As always, it was actually colder in the Cathedral than it was outside, but we were able to hang in there for half an hour before we gave up and ran outside. From there we headed downtown and, since it was a bit early for dinner, we ducked into a bar for a quick drink. We were just in time, as we had found one of the only bars open on Christmas Day and we had about forty-five minutes to warm up before they closed (and man, did the waitstaff look ready to head for home!). Unfortunately, our favorite restaurant was closed on Christmas, but we found one open on the same street, which turned into one of the "happy accident" surprises of Dad's visit. We were among the first to arrive for dinner, but the place quickly filled up. It was a really wonderful dinner and we all enjoyed our meals very much. Also, we were pleased to learn a little about the history of this restaurant in the back of the menu - it seems that one of the recent proprietors of this establishment recently traced the history of the owners of this restaurant, and it turns out that it has been a running restaurant in one form or another in the same building for over five hundred years.

I'm going to wrap up this part of the visit here or I'll ramble on forever. Part two should show up some time tomorrow!

Bonne année

Vacation is over and I'm exhausted. I suppose that's the sign of a good vacation, right? Dad is, even as I type this, winging his way back state-side (well, as far as I know, anyway; we haven't heard otherwise and the trip to the airport this morning is a blog entry in and of itself).

I'm not even going to attempt to tell you everything that happened over the last two weeks right now, as the gray matter between my ears is rather more frazzled than normal, but I can give you some highlights, including:

• teaching Dad the joys of playing Rapido while drinking a coffee in the local PMU
• Dad teaching me how to make my favorite home made meal of all time, and then subjecting it to our friends (it was a thumb's up all around)
• the look on my Dad's face when he opened his Christmas gift from Steph and I and Steph's parents
• finding the Best Pizza in France in the last place you'd think to look
• stumbling into a bar in Troyes that exclusively plays Blues and Soul music, and Dad discovering that his son-in-law has no rhythm
  
• the very odd man that sold Dad a new hat
• Dad increasing his French vocabulary from zero to ten phrases!

and more where that came from.... possibly tomorrow. For now, I want to wish every single one of you lovely folks who stumble upon this mess a very Happy, Fabulous, Outstanding, Insert-Your-Favorite-Adjective-Here, 2006!

joyeux noel!

I hope everyone is having a great Christmas! Just a quick update of what we've been up to...

I didn't have any problems finding Dad at the airport, but since he didn't sleep at all on the plane, jet lag got to him at the same time as me, so we decided to come straight home. Sorry I never found out about keeping luggage at the train station! Since then, we've been mostly hanging out with family with a little bit of sightseeing, sticking close to home. We're still recovering from the big Christmas celebration last night with all the family, and in a few hours we'll return to Troyes for the organ concert at the Cathedral and treat ourselves to dining out. This week will see a bit more sightseeing and more chillin' and hangin' out.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go do some more chillin' and hangin' out. Best wishes to everyone, and if I don't make it back online, have a wonderful New Year!

woo christmaszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Today I have:

• swept/vacuumed/mopped the floor
• decorated the Christmas tree
• done laundry (the last of which is still in the dryer)
• made up the new futon for Dad
• won the battle of stuffing the new bedspread into the duvet
  

and I still have to clean the shower. Steph's great contribution to this last bit of cleaning before Dad arrives was to go to the end of the lane to get our Christmas tree, and shove it into our new Christmas tree stand. *sigh* When do I get a vacation again?

You're damn skippy we're eating pizza tonight. I can't be bothered otherwise.

I will be leaving the house at the butt-crack of dawn (if not before, now that I think about it) to head towards Paris to pick up Dad. I suspect that posting will be light through the end of the year, so have a very Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays (yeah, I said it!*) and have a wonderful New Year's!

*That's a joke for my fellow Americans

i can see!

We have just come back from picking up my new glasses. What an enormous difference! Already my eyes feel better. Unfortunately, we still don't have a camera so I can't show you what they look like, but I can tell you that they don't have frames, so not only does it seem that my vision is no longer blocked by chunky frames, but, looking in the mirror, it seems that I'm not wearing glasses at all. The good news is that they were less expensive than we thought, but the bad news is that it's because they somehow left out the anti-reflection stuff, which I had specifically asked for, and was even on the prescription from the doctor! I've never worn glasses that weren't anti-reflection, so I don't know how much of a difference that's going to make.

Warning: the next paragraph is all about cross stitch; if you can't be bothered, please skip to the end.

I also received my fabric in the mail for my new cross stitch project! This is going to be somewhat ambitious for me, as it's 400 x 400 and with my 16 count Aida fabric (I'm ambitious but I know I'm not quite ready for Evenweave or Linen yet!) it will be 25 inches x 25 inches. I had to order it specifically because I couldn't find anything large enough at Cultura. I'm really looking forward to starting it later today. I'm going to attempt to do it without the aid of a hoop; I'm worried that I'll stretch out the fabric and the work I've already done as I go. For those of you who are cross stitchers: What do you usually do when you have a large project like this? Hoop or no hoop? Obviously I will find some way to post a picture of it when it's done, but I can tell you that it is a traditional French sampler. I spent a couple of days going through some cross stitch websites looking for an American sampler, but when I saw this one, I just fell in love with it.

After lunch we'll be going once more unto the breach, my friends; we have to go to Troyes to finish up some Christmas shopping and to pick up a couple of things to be ready for my father's imminent arrival (only two more days!). Then I'll have to resist the temptation to start my new project until I get the house in a little more order. This is going to be harder than it sounds. Hm, shall I scrub the shower or stitch?

merry f@#!ing christmas

Yesterday we went to Troyes to have lunch with my in-laws and to do a little Christmas shopping. Lunch was great; I'm finally starting to get more involved in conversations, and I love watching my in-laws interact - my father-in-law is always teasing my mother-in-law, who in turn threatens to smack him upside the head (she never does, of course). They're really adorable. Then we made a plan of attack for our Christmas shopping.

The first stop wasn't so bad. Downtown is always crowded on a Saturday, and we only had to run into a couple of shops. I would have liked to walk through the Marche de Noel that is set up in the town square, but Steph, aka Mr. Bah Humbug, didn't want to. In retrospect, I'm glad he didn't but at the time I was rather annoyed!

The second stop was at one of the shopping districts outside of Troyes. This is where it started to get a little crazy. Cars were piled up everywhere you looked; the parking lots were full and cars were parking on the sidewalks. Steph managed to find a space in front of a paint store (not much painting happening around the holidays, I suppose) and we went into my favorite store, Cultura (I could drop some serious cash in that place!). It wasn't too terribly crowded, at least we were able to move around a bit and choose some gifts without feeling rushed.

Then we made our last stop, to (one of) France's version of SuperWalmart, E.LeClerc. This place was freakin' wall to wall people. Thank goodness we only had a couple of things to pick up here, because it was really madness. They have at least twenty registers and every single one had at least ten people waiting. I felt so terrible for anyone actually purchasing food yesterday; I'm sure their frozen items were melted by the time they got home!

They must have been handing out Stupid hats on the way out (obviously we missed this line) because it seems everyone tried to leave at the exact same time. People were trying to cut across lanes of traffic and all horns were a-blazing. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that we waited forty-five minutes to get out of the parking lot - that's longer than it actually takes for us to drive back to our village!

We only have one or two gifts to go back and wade through the masses for this week. I wish I could tell you that I was looking forward to it. And to think I call this my favorite time of year!

vivi goes to market

Our village has a market in the town square every Friday morning. I'd really meant to go before now, but because I just haven't been in the habit of going, I kept forgetting about it. Yesterday, I finally got myself pulled together in time to go check it out.

It was a blustery day yesterday, cold and windy with rain drizzling down, but this didn't keep anyone away. I joined the ranks of retired couples and housewives young and old, some with strollers in tow, to look over the wares. There was the usual assortment of things for sale: clothes arranged on hangers, shoes, even someone in a Singer van selling sewing machines (Singer is pronounced "sahn-jay" in French, which cracks me up). But what everyone really comes for is the fresh food.

Tables full of fresh vegetables seem to go on for miles (which is saying quite a lot for our little village). Some seasonal things are brought in from far away, like clementines, which Steph calls "Christmas fruit," which are brought in from Spain, but the vast majority of the offerings are grown right in this area. After fruits and vegetables you can find cheese, fish, a butcher, and finally a rotisserie stand, which smelled too good to resist. For only 6.50 euros, I brought home a piping hot rotisserie chicken and sauce for lunch.

Of course, what I wasn't counting on was that Steph was celebrating the last day of school and was snacking on cakes for three hours, so he announced that he wasn't hungry when he got home. I guess we'll be having some chicken sandwiches this weekend.

vivi needs advice

One week from today, my Dad will arrive at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris to spend the holidays with us. My excitement is only slightly dampened by the fact that since he arrives at 8:45 in the morning (!!!), I will have to get up at 5:00 in the morning in order to drive a half an hour to the station to catch a train and then another train to the airport. Let's face it, I'm going to be so excited the night before that I probably won't get much sleep anyway.

So what we'd like to do is spend a couple of hours in Paris, seeing a couple of sights, grabbing some lunch, etc., before catching the train back to the country. I have been told that it is possible to leave luggage for a few hours with the left-luggage department at the train station Gare du Nord. This would be ideal, as we can just jump on the metro from there to where I want to take him, and it's only one stop away from Gare de l'Est, where we will be catching the train home.

So my question for those of you who are in Paris or are in the know is, can you confirm that luggage can be left at Gare du Nord? Anyone have any idea of fees or where the mysterious left-luggage department is? The Google, she does nothing. If not, that's ok, I'm sure we can ask someone there, but I'd prefer to have as much information as possible beforehand, so I don't have to drag my poor jet-lagged father and his luggage all over that enormous train station only to find out that they don't provide this service. Thank you very much!

a fine christmas party

We had a really great time at the Christmas party last night. It was a relatively young crowd, made up of Steph's colleagues and assorted family members, and we were sixteen in all. I'd say more than half of the guests arrived in some sort of costume. I think my favorite was the guy who came with the big Russian fur hat, a fake goatee glued to his face, and a plastic sword in his belt. I got lots of compliments on my graduation outfit ("Is that your real hat?") and Steph was very funny in his oversized fishing hat with a huge fishing hook attached to it.

Once everyone was settled in with drinks and snacks, including a really tasty olive bread and lots of different quiches and tarts, we had a game. Everyone had a card with the name of a famous person written on it pinned to our backs, and we had to guess who we were in order to receive our presents. Carrie will be very pleased to know that I was John Irving, because I recently lent our host, who is an English teacher, my copy of "A Prayer for Owen Meany," and Steph was André Le Nôtre, because he started a gardening club this year at the school. After everyone had discovered who we were, we settled down to opening presents. Steph received a Rubik's cube key chain, and I got a box of chocolates. Personally, I think I came out of it with the best gift, even though my gift won't last as long as everyone else's!

Then we had a song. I have to say, I love how the French tend to break out in song all the time, and to go as far as to copy down lyrics for everyone for a sing-a-long. This reminds me a lot of my North Carolina family, who do the exact same thing. They even broke out in "La Marseillaise" for Steph last summer - and they knew all the words in French! Anyway, last night, we sang the French standard "Comme d'Habitude" with altered lyrics that were so funny, I had tears streaming down my face! OK, the flowing alcohol may have aided in that, but the lyrics really were hysterical. Three of the teachers got together to do that, and they did an amazing job.

After that it was à table for dinner and dessert. I spoke way more English than I had expected to last night. Usually, I look forward to these events as a chance to practice speaking French in conversation, especially since being in a crowd is more difficult, but with three English teachers and two other guests who had American ties, everyone wanted to practice their English with me! Often they would speak to me in English and I'd try to respond in French, but a lot of "how do you say *** in English?" tends to bring that to a halt.

It was something of an early night since we got home before 1:00 in the morning (these evenings often go on until 2:00 or 3:00 but lots of people had to work today) but even then we were looking forward to our grasse matinée, or sleeping late this morning. Alas, it was not to be, as there were delivery men with our new futon couch pounding on the door at 8:30 this morning. But that's another story.

nothing like short notice...

...to get your heart pumping, eh? Steph came home from work today and announced that the Christmas party we're going to tomorrow is also a costume party. Never mind the fact that he received the invitation weeks ago but only managed to look at the inside of it today. Grrr....

So, off to the closet we went to try to rustle something up. It has been decided that my robe, hood and mortarboard from my college graduation is exotic enough to be considered a costume. This suits me fine, as I'll be able to wear something comfortable underneath, even if I do have to pin the mortarboard to my head. Does anyone remember which side the tassel is supposed to go on?

Steph is going to call his parents to see if he can borrow some of his father's old gendarmarie duds. Tomorrow will be packed full of driving to Troyes for gifts to bring (and presumably picking up said duds) and baking goodies to bring. Well, at least it will be a busy day...

In other news, I'm scouring the internet for a new cross stitch project. I'd really like to do a traditional sampler-type thing. Anyone have any suggestions?

Update: turns out that my father-in-law gave away all his uniform stuff. If you've got a clever (and cheap!) idea, please drop it in the comments box.

And I found a beautiful sampler online. I paid for the chart and I'm going to buy the supplies tomorrow. If I can pull this off, it's gonna be GORGEOUS!

an open letter

Dear Delta pilots,

I have never been one to deny the right of a good strike. I felt that way even before I moved to France, the Land of Strikes. I do think that everyone has the right to protest unfair work conditions (when they are truly unfair), and I think in your case, with Delta threatening a 19% paycut while the upper echelons of the company (I'm sure) will continue to pull in six figure salaries, you have an excellent reason for a strike.

Well, here's the thing. My father is flying across the ocean to visit me on the 21st of December. Of all the possible airlines to choose from, he chose yours. He didn't have to; it certainly wasn't the least expensive. But he likes you. He's been flying Delta for business (and twenty years ago, international business) for thirty years. Plus he had some SkyMiles to use.

The fact that he is coming is a really big deal for me. We've had a rough year: my mother died in May, my paternal grandfather died ten days later, and living so far away is so difficult at times like these. Having my Dad here is an opportunity to show him what my new life is like here, not to mention some much needed father-daughter time. I have been planning this visit ever since he bought the tickets two months ago.

I hate to put you between a rock and a hard place, but couldn't you put off your strike for a week or two? Surely we're not the only family with a story to tell. And you don't even have to do the international part: Air France is doing the hard work! Just make sure he gets to Cincinnati for his international connection, that's all I ask. Hell, you can even strike the minute he lands in Cincinnati; If he's stuck in France for a little while, it's alright by me.

Thank you very much for your consideration in this matter,

Vivi

vivi goes to the eye doctor

Almost two years ago, I had my eyes checked for the last time in the States. I've been wearing glasses since I was a freshman in high school and have never made the transition to contacts because NOTHING TOUCHES THE EYES. I have a small thing about that. Anyway, at that time, I was told that I should be sure to have my eyes checked every year because he found the pressure in my eyes to be unusually high for someone my age and I was in danger of developing glaucoma well before my time. Since my grandmother suffers from glaucoma (she's been having to "do her eyes," or perform her regiment of eye drops, every day for as long as I can remember) and I know a little about it, this was not exactly welcome news. I filled my prescription for new glasses and went on with my life, with this little worry floating around in the back of my mind.

Earlier this year, in the middle of bugging Steph to help me make an appointment here to have my eyes checked (my fear of talking on the phone has not improved much since), I was put off this task because of my mother's failing health and flying back home to be with my family as she lost her battle with Scleroderma. Once I returned to France and tried to move on, the first thing on the agenda was to finally make an appointment, and when we finally did, it was for six months later. I've been grinning and bearing it ever since, because I've been experiencing headaches and pressure in my eyes for quite some time when I sit in front of the computer too long or read to long without a break.

My day finally came last week, and I anxiously drove to Troyes for the appointment - I was way too early because I wasn't sure where the office was, and there was no way I was going to miss my appointment only to reschedule and wait another six months! Having learned from my previous doctors visits, I greeted the doctor and explained that my French isn't perfect, but if she spoke slowly I would be sure to understand. She was extraordinarily kind, and I understood everything, which was a relief. I explained (in my halting French) what the doctor had told me in the states and about my headaches, and she got straight to business. After examining my current prescription, she had me try a couple of different lenses, and as I looked across the room at the eye chart, the pressure in my eyes simply melted away. It was the strangest feeling! Imagine my shock when she told me that my current prescription is simply too strong!

I had another surprise coming to me: she did the pressure test - this test is the same everywhere, in which a puff of air is shot into your open eye at high speed and you can imagine that I find this test to be very uncomfortable to say the least because, as I said before, NOTHING TOUCHES THE EYE - and she found that the pressure in my eyes is completely normal. I could fly back to the States and throttle that doctor for making me worry so much all this time!

So Wednesday, I dragged Steph with me to the eye glass shop here in our village, so he could help me pick out a new pair of frames. We agreed on a modestly priced pair and sat down with the sales rep to hand over my new prescription and do the paperwork. I am not even kidding you when I tell you that my new glasses are easily TWICE what I paid for my current glasses back in the States. The price of the frames was only a quarter of the total price, so even if we'd chosen a less expensive set, it wouldn't have made much of a difference. We could damn near pay our rent with what we're paying for these glasses. The blow is slightly lessened by the fact that I get a second pair free (I admit that I always wanted a pair of prescription sunglasses), but I still walked out with a sick feeling in my stomach. It's a good thing I'm happy with the frames I chose, because I believe I'll be wearing them for the next ten years or so!

Harry Potter and the Rushed Three Hours

I wasn't really planning on posting a review of the most recent Harry Potter flick, but since all (two) of you asked, I will be happy to oblige. (The customer is always right, I say!) I should warn you that there may be some spoilers in this review, so if you haven't read the books or seen the movie, you may want to just read this instead, which gives a funny view of the whole Harry Potter series in a nutshell.

I've been a faithful fan of Harry Potter's since the beginning, and have read all of the books. I'm sure I wasn't alone when I read the end of the latest installment in a state of shock (she's written it wrong!). Many people have written the series off as "only" a children's series, but I think that, in time, it will join other timeless series such as The Chronicles of Narnia and The Secret Garden, both of which I have read again and again.

While I am faithful, I am also critical, and while I believe Ms. Rowling has created a wonderfully fleshed out fantasy world, there are times that I'd like to reach into the book and shake Harry out of his tendencies to be whiny and selfish. But that's just me.

I, and my friends, very much enjoyed the first two film adaptions (helmed by Chris Columbus), and found them to be extremely faithful to the books. With the third adaption came a second director, and it was appropriately darker but still faithful and enjoyable to watch.

So now we come to the fourth and latest adaption, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

To read the rest of the review (and spoilers!), click "Tell me more!"


Well I have to tell you, I wasn't all that impressed with this latest version. The whole movie felt rushed to me, as if they were sprinting through the story in order to get through all the information. Don't get me wrong, I certainly sympathize with them on this point. The book is enormous and I remember reading that they considered actually filming it in two parts, but that really isn't a practical solution when you're working with growing kids and three more books on the horizon.

But I do take issue with what they chose to exclude. The biggest shock was the absence of Dobby, the house-elf, who helps to uncover the bad guy and struggles with his alliances all through the book. This was a huge plot point that I was very disappointed not to see. Please, PLEASE do not tell me that is was cut to make room for the ridiculous-musical-theatre-jazz-hands entrance of the two visiting wizarding schools? Because, seriously, I could have done without that. But what about the hilarious fate of Rita Skeeter? Or any mention at all of the sensuous Veelas? Nope, no time, sorry, gotta run to the next scene.

I also much prefer Richard Harris' interpretation of Dumbledore over that of Michael Gambon's. I find Gambon's Dumbledore's too rough around the edges for my tastes, and while that shouldn't affect the whole review of the movie, it did add to my distaste for it.

So there you are. Not a thumbs down, but not a thumbs up, either. As always, the visuals are stunning, it's fascinating to watch the actors grow up before your eyes, and in the end, the important bits of the story get told. I wonder if I'm not the only one who walked out of the theatre just a tad bit disappointed.

Harry Potter and the Bottle of Cognac

This weekend, I went back to Paris. While it was great to hang out with the Anglo Gang again (do we have t-shirts yet?), I went to Paris for one reason and one reason only: to see the new Harry Potter movie in English!

Lucky for me, my gracious host, kyliemac, had half-priced tickets for the Salon des Saveurs and yes, it was as good as it sounds. It is a huge expo of food and drink vendors from all over France, and there were some from Spain and even Italy. We wondered around for many hours, sampling all kinds of cheese, pate, meat, chocolate and loaded up on liquor tasted some cognac, wine, armagnac, cognac, champagne, cognac... you get the picture. I spent more money than I intended, but I told myself that most of what I bought will be given as Christmas gifts (in fact, only two items will become gifts. Oops). Even so, I spent less than fifty euros on the whole deal, so I still think I came out alright, and we got to hang out with Dr. and Mrs. B while stuffing our faces enjoying the local cuisine, so that was a bonus.

After riding the metro for a couple of hours (so we could drop off our newly purchased goodies) we met up with Katia at Andie's house, where Kylie and I could sober up relax for a bit before we all went to the movie theatre.

See, this is where it got a little weird. Because this is the opening weekend of Harry Potter in France, we kind of knew it was going to be crowded at the theatre, even for the late show, so Kylie volunteered to go an hour early to pick up the tickets. It wasn't long before Kylie called and told us that we needed to get down to the theatre right away - they were already lining up people to go into the theatre - an hour before the lights went down! We raced to the theatre (and Andie did an admirable job driving us there - Paris traffic is insane no matter what time it is!), hoping to catch up with Kylie (and meet up with Dr. and Mrs. B again), but she was out of sight by the time we got there. By some miracle, she was able to leap out of the theatre, throw our tickets at us, and go back inside to hold our seats for us (where she was rewarded by being called a Beetch by some gracious Frenchman - apparently saving seats Just Isn't Done in France!).

Well, it all worked out in the end (and Kylie is a STAR and the epitome of Grace Under Pressure) and we all enjoyed the movie (well, in fact, I do have some issues with the movie, but maybe I'll bitch about it post a review another time).

I had a fantastic weekend, and I'd like to thank all the ladies (and gentlemen, bien sur!) for your hospitality! We'll be heading back to Paris in only seventeen days - to pick up my Dad from the airport!

drumroll, please

At last, I have the results of my audience participation question, posted early last week, in which I asked, would you rather eat at a five star restaurant or fly first class on an international flight?

If I counted well (believe me, there's an enormous possibility that I didn't, but I do have extreme earliness as an excuse), twenty-nine lovely people voted. Here are the results and what some of you said:

Coming in with one vote was a "tough call" from Doc, though she does point out that first class travel provides "those neat fold down bed things and champagne and slaves." Well, who can turn that down?

Four people voted for the five star restaurant. Michel already travels first class sometimes for work (!!!) so I suppose he has a good reason, but Marie just said, "Give me the food!" I love that.

The overwhelming winner of this contest, with twenty-four votes, was the first class travel! Long time French reader, Benoit (who doesn't have a blog, or least hasn't told me about it!) says that "that kind of dinner is just for retired people, celebrating their golden wedding !!!" (So much for the French and their love affair with food!) ms.mac wants to go to Melbourne (I feel I must point out that she means the one in Australia, since I once lived in Melbourne, Florida!) and take Antipo with her - I hope it's consensual!

Squishy (aka Epiphany) is unclear as to whether she'll be allowed off the plane, but baring this obstacle, she would "definitely pick the flight." And finally, GC Philo broke all the damn rules and is going on the Orient Express instead.

Well, there you have it, and thank you all very much for your comments!

P.S. Yesterday was Epiphany's one year Blog Anniversary. Why don't you stop by and say hello?

a hair too short

(Note: I'm still getting a few comments on my "first class or five star" question a couple of posts below, so I'll address that in my next post.)

Something else happened on Saturday that is something of a milestone for me. I finally got fed up with my dried out, straw-like, do-nothing hair (which I suppose is only natural, since it's been six months since it was last cut), so I made the big leap and made an appointment to get it cut.

This should be a happy occasion, since I got through it basically alright. I was in awe of their adjusting sinks - no more contortionist shampooing! - and was relieved when the stylist pulled out a couple of books and let me pick out a style that I liked. I didn't have to give the whole explanation of bangs (or fringe, if you like) or layers*! I even survived the requisite chit-chat that seems to be the international rule of all hairstylists!

Then it got bad. In fact, I didn't even realize how bad it was until it was over, and she was drying my hair. The cut was to have been at least chin length and rather full, to take advantage of the curl my hair has when it's at that length. Instead, I got short hair. I mean SHORT hair. I don't know when it's been this short. Maybe when I was six? It's too damn short. It looks nothing like the photo I chose. I am not pleased.

Now, I am the first person to console a friend who thinks they have received a bad cut with the line, "The difference between a good cut and a bad cut is two weeks." Thank goodness hair does in fact grow, and I won't be stuck with this look forever. I am afraid, however, that it may be slightly more than two weeks before I am happy about my hair again.

*In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I learned that layered hair is called "dégradé" in French (I may not have spelled that exactly right). This has been in my mind for over a year, in preparation for my eventual visit to a hairdresser in France, and I sat here for a full five minutes trying to remember the word in English again!

mission accomplished

OK, I admit now that I have been keeping something from you, because we were invited to go to a surprise party this weekend and the target birthday boy sometimes reads this blog (Hi Eric!). I am very happy to report that everything went perfectly and Eric was very surprised!

Eric is an English teacher at the school Steph recently left, and he's really sweet and lots of fun to be with. Plus he speaks English beautifully! So beautifully, in fact, that sometimes I forget that it isn't his first language and I prattle on for ages until he reminds me to slow down and/or shut up. So, when we heard that a surprise birthday party was being planned for his Milestone Birthday (yes, it has a zero in it!), we were more than happy to accept! The hardest part is that we've known about it for about two months - that's dangerous for me, as I've been known to blurt out all kinds of crap at the wrong moment.

So Eric thought he was going to be getting together with a few friends for an evening of pizza and tarot, the French card game. Imagine his surprise when he opened the door and found twenty friends from all walks of life there screaming "Surprise!" It was really fun!

The best part, for me, was that I got the chance to chat with him online before we left to go to the party (as did a few other invitees, as well). I didn't even mention his birthday, and I feigned disappointment and shock and horror when he told me that his birthday had been the day before and I had (seemingly) missed it. Bwahahahahhaha!

Also - I had a couple of conversations in French without having to cling to Steph for support or translations! Of course, I only understood 80% (which steadily declined as the night wore on), but progress is progress! I'm so grateful to Steph's friends for their kindness and patience with me - they're really fantastic.

But enough about me (for the rest of the post) - Happy Birthday, Eric! Or, as the French say, Hapi Birzdai, Eric!

audience participation

OK, so, you know those "What if?" questions that come up from time to time? Those "If you could do one or the other, which would you chose?" questions? Steph and I have one that finds us on opposite sides of the fence. We posed the question to a couple of people at our Thanksgiving in Paris dinner, and Steph was surprised at the answers. Just for fun, I'm now going to ask you the question because I'm really curious what you guys think.

If money were no object, but you could only choose one, would you rather:

a) eat dinner at a five-star restaurant

b) travel first class round trip on an international flight

Note: No, you may not take the money and run. You can, however, choose the restaurant or the flight destination, and you can bring someone with you.

Answers in comments please, and I'll make another post in a few days and link the best answers.

a winter's tale

We had a little bit of snow last night, and I found out a little while ago, when I went out to take a letter to the post office, that since our street won't have direct sunlight until after lunch, the road has a thin layer of ice and is pretty slick. After living in the Carolinas for ten years or so, I've learned that you don't need three feet of snow to create dangerous driving conditions. Happily I was just walking to the post office - as far as I can tell, Steph navigated the ice just fine on his way to work this morning. It reminded me of the last winter I spent in the States, when I learned that two inches of snow covered by two inches of ice is enough to bring Greenville, South Carolina to a full stop.

The company that I worked for had a policy that I detested - if you weren't able to get to the office because of weather conditions, that day was taken from your vacation time. Since I was hoarding vacation time to visit my future husband in France that Spring, I was determined to get to work come hell or high water.

My manager happened to live not too far away from me and had volunteered to pick me up, but I lived at the bottom of a hill, so we had arranged to meet at the top of the hill. Getting to the top was no easy feat, and I was finding it incredibly difficult. I was able to break through the ice and march across lawns, but getting across driveways was next to impossible and walking in the street was out of the question.

About half-way up the hill, a small group of neighbors (whom I didn't know) were standing outside a house and were watching my progress. One of them broke away from the group and came towards me as easy as you please. For a moment, I was mesmorized by the man who could walk on ice, until he showed me that he was wearing mountain climbing picks on his shoes. He asked me what I was doing, and I pointed out my manager's car at the top of the hill and explained what was going on. He kindly offered to help me out - I took his arm and skated up the hill and let this nice man and his ice-picks do all the work. I couldn't help but ask what he and his friends were doing standing outside in these conditions.

"We were just watching all the SUVs try to drive up and down the hill - they're not doing so hot. So then we got the idea to come out and cheer them on. We even made scoring signs, like at the Olympics."

I looked over my shoulder, and the neighbors were laughing and hoisting up scores for me. One kind soul even gave me a "10."

winter approaches

It seems that we're going to skip right over autumn and go directly to winter this year. The weather really only started getting cool at the beginning of the month (we were practically in tshirts when we moved in on the 31st!) and in the last week the temperatures have just plummeted. As a matter of fact, they are calling for snow, perhaps as early as tomorrow night. How this is going to affect my voyages to Troyes remains to be seen. I'm not so concerned about driving in wintery weather myself, but I'm a little worried about them. You know, the ones who drive at top speed no matter what the conditions.

This morning we went to Troyes to pick up my Carte de Sejour, version 2.0. Once again, we encountered no problems and were in and out in less than fifteen minutes. We were also told that next year, we'll be able to apply for my ten-year card at the town hall here in our village. I'm a bit skeptical about that, but we'll see what happens.

We also ran a few more errands before heading to the in-laws' for lunch. We placed the order for our new futon couch, so my dad can rest easy now: he'll have a place to lay his weary head when he arrives next month. We also picked out some new curtains, so now we can finally open up all of the shutters and let in some of the light I've been missing. It's so nice not living in a cave anymore, like our last place.

We also decided this afternoon that after the holidays are over, it will be time again to send out some random resumes (or CVs, if you prefer). Steph is way more confident in my ability to speak and understand French than I am, but he has volunteered to supplement my French classes with a bit of dictation every now and again. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy my French classes, but I highly doubt that my knowledge of French vegetables and trees is going to do me any good in the administration field. Anyway, there is an international commercial airport not too far away that may be in need of an English-speaker, and I still want to send a letter to the Tourism Office of Troyes to see if they can give me any information on what I can do to become an English-speaking tour guide. Well, I think I have the English-speaking part down. You know what I mean.

Thanksgiving in Paris

Yes, I know that Thanksgiving hasn't really happened yet, but when you live in a country that doesn't celebrate it (I know! Isn't that crazy?) you have to make it happen when you can.

Yesterday, Steph and I made our own pilgrimage to celebrate Thanksgiving in Paris with the Ex-Pat Gang (we really ought to have t-shirts made, doncha think?). After a car ride, a train ride, a metro ride, an RER ride, and a brief walk, we found ourselves at our destination. Around twenty people gathered to celebrate and give thanks and, of course, EAT!

I brought along a veggie platter with Hidden Valley Ranch dressing (thanks to Doc, who graciously mailed me a packet just in time!), which was always a staple of Thanksgiving in my house growing up. After other tasty appetizers, we sat down to EAT! There were sweet potatoes (with marshmallows!), mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, Swedish meatballs, green bean casserole, real stuffing and two turkeys (of course there were other dishes as well - there were so many I can't even name them all)! At that large table, passing around heaping dishes of food, children running around the table, conversations all around, it was the closest I have ever felt to being back home since I moved here.

In fact, it felt so much like Thanksgiving, that while some of us took a little walk around the village and were marveling that the people living in the manor had left the gate open, I said, "of course they did, it's Thanksgiving! Oh... wait..."

When we returned, we all tucked into five different desserts. I brought along a pecan pie and was very pleased to receive quite a few compliments for it. And then, all too soon, we had to drink up our coffees and head out the door, to make our long journey in reverse.

All through the day, we gave thanks for our families, our friends and our good fortune to be living this adventure, even when we are so far away from home. We spoke fondly of friends who couldn't be there, and we made new friends in the process. We gave thanks in English and in French, and we celebrated our roots and our future.

After all that I have lost this year, I found that I have a world full of things to be grateful for. If that's not the meaning of Thankgiving, I don't know what is.

a day in the life

Or, more specifically, yesterday.

7:00 am - Get Up
I'm in the habit of getting up when Steph does, unless I'm sick. I feel too guilty if I lay in bed while Steph is going to work. I may not actually do anything but sit on the couch, but at least I'm awake.

Morning - Coffee & Homework
After watching a bit of morning television (to work on French comprehension, of course), a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee, I settle in to do my French homework. For those of you playing at home, we've been working on the difference between Imparfait and Passé Composé.

12:00 pm - Lunch for Two
Now that we're living in the village where Steph works, he has the time to actually come home for lunch. This has created a problem for me, since I've gotten used to finding little things to eat during the day and only having to worry about meals for two at dinnertime. The good thing is that it's given me the opportunity to try out new things and solicit people for new recipes (if you're feeling generous, please feel free to fill up the comments box!).

1:30 pm - On the Road Again
On those days that I drive to Troyes for my French class, Steph walks back to work and I get the car (bwahahahaaha!). It takes about half an hour to get to my destination and I have three villages to drive through before I get there. As I pass through the first village, I see children running around in front of the Mairie, or town hall. The reason they're running around the town hall is that it doubles for the school, and they're waiting to go back to class.

2:00 pm - 4:00 pm - French Class
Yesterday we went off on a tangent and starting talking about cooking fish. Every single student (except me) recommends cooking and eating fish with its head intact. Apparently the brains are very tasty. My classmates come from VietNam, Cambodia, India, Marrakech, and Haiti. The teacher and I recommended trout on the grill, which they hadn't tried before. I love when we get off track and just sit and talk like this. The best part of my French class is that I'm learning so much more about the world.

Please click "Tell me more!" to continue


4:00 pm - 6:30 pm - Shopping
I won't always have choir rehearsals on Thursday evenings, but when I do, I have two hours to run around and do what I want. Yesterday, I packed a lot into two hours. First, I went to one of the hypermarchés, or supermarkets, in Troyes. We have little grocery stores in my village, but the ones in Troyes are like Super Walmarts, with everything from televisions to fresh bread. I took the opportunity to pick up a couple of things that I can't find at home. Before I left, I stopped in the cafeteria for a fresh crèpe with Nutella and a cup of coffee.

I didn't linger too long over coffee, though, because I had another errand to run. Running out of time, I drove back to the center of town, parked and put too much money in the parking meter, rather than look for exact change, and walked briskly a few blocks. As I crossed across the square in front of the Mairie, I noticed that they are selling roasted marrons already. The giant carousel is lit up like a dream and playing a waltz. A mother was taking a picture of her daughter, smiling down from a lit-up sleigh. A young couple not too far away was dancing a little waltz in time to the music.

I turned the corner and found myself at my destination: the clothing stores. In less than ten minutes, I ran through the two stores I had targeted, looking for a new black sweater to wear to a party on Sunday. Having found one, I learned at the register that it was on sale for less than 20 euros (!!!). Bag in hand, I headed back to the car to drop off the sweater and get my music. This time, the carousel is playing Elvis.

6:30 pm - 7:30 pm - Choir Rehearsal
Not much to report here. It was a women's sectional, so we were concentrating on some sticky spots. Since I just started back to the choir last week, this music is still new to me. The first piece was easy but the second one is going to require some extra time. Some time next week, I'll likely take a rehearsal room at the conservatory and pound out notes on a piano.

8:00 pm - Home Again, Home Again
After half an hour on the road (with nobody on it), I finally make it back home. Steph has a request for dinner (which is rare): a little ditty we call "Instant Raclette." It consists of potatoes with saussison sec and raclette cheese piled on top, then thrown in the microwave for two minutes. Those of you that know traditional Raclette are probably horrified, but we're ok with that.

I checked my emails, played a little bit online, and crashed around 11:00 pm. Wash, lather, repeat.

Actually, I chose yesterday to write about because it was a busy day, but in a good way. Today started with cleaning the bathroom, and nobody wants to read about that, do they?

making progress

A couple of months ago, we discovered that there is a good bit of programming on tv that has closed captioning for the hearing impaired. It mostly works for documentaries, which suits me fine, as I'm more likely to watch those as anything else. This has helped me tremendously, since my biggest difficulty with French is listening comprehension. Now I can put spoken French together with the text on the screen, and I can already tell that it's making a big difference.

Did I mention that I've decided to go back to the choir at the Conservatory in Troyes? Yes, I think I did. So yesterday I went after my French class to register for the class. I went to a rehearsal last week, and I thought that my sister-in-law had said something to the director about my coming back, but in fact, she hadn't said anything at all - or else I would have tried to contact her outside of rehearsal time to ask her about coming back. Luckily, she didn't have any problem with my coming back, but did ask me to get registered as soon as possible.

So, I went. Happily, the secretary's office was still open and I was able to do everything on my own. As I was sitting there, signing off on the paperwork and writing a check, I remembered that a year ago I'd had to drag Steph with me to do this. I hadn't even been able to understand what was going on.

But the real trick was when I had to give the secretary our new address. Our new street address isn't a proper name (often streets are named after famous people here) and, if said badly, can be heard as at least two or three other words. The first time I gave the new address, I had to correct myself, and even Steph has had to correct someone. But yesterday I said it perfectly, and the secretary typed it correctly into the database. I very nearly skipped out of the office after that.

I may not be fluent yet, but I am definitely making progress.

six months

I received news this weekend that an ex-pat friend of mine in Paris had lost her mother back in states. I've been thinking a lot about her these last few days. Another friend of mine once told me that once you lose someone close to you, you relive your own loss when it happens to someone else. Consequently, I've been thinking about my own mother a lot these past few days, too.

Today marks six months since my mom passed away. Mourning my mother isn't something I've blogged about for a number of reasons. For one, it's not really what this blog is about. For another, I think sometimes that it's too personal, this grieving. Finally, I think, in the beginning, anyway, it was just too damn hard to talk about.

I spent the first four months replaying the day she died in my head every night when I went to bed. Some nights, I was able to turn it off, like a television. Most nights, I couldn't. I sleep better now, but sometimes something happens that affects me like a smack in the face. For example, when we were packing up for the move, I ran across a picture I'd forgotten I had, of Mom and me and Steph. It was such a shock that I cried over it for half an hour. I've put it up in the living room. She looks radiant in it.

Another friend, who lost her Dad, told me six months ago that it gets easier with time. That we never stop missing them, but in time, it doesn't hurt so much.

Maybe it does hurt less now, but it still hurts.

And I miss her. Oh god, do I miss her.

artsy-fartsy

I've finally finished my first cross stitch project - a bookmark kit I bought in the gift shop at the Museum of the Middle Ages in Paris, nearly a year ago. I only started it a couple of months ago, but I ran into trouble and had to pull out a bunch of thread and then ran out, so then I had to run all over the place to find thread that matched. A couple of weeks ago I found matching thread at the new Cultura store that just opened in Troyes (oh man, I freakin' love that place!) and finished up the bookmark over the last few days.

So here it is, in all its glory. I had to stick it in the scanner, since we don't still don't have a digital camera (which will most likely be our Christmas present to ourselves), so that accounts for the squishy tassel.

Update: You can click here to see a bigger version of it, if you can't see it in the post.

I am so excited that I found Cultura, because they have tons of stuff for artsy-fartsy projects, including mosaicing, which is something I've always wanted to try but never had the courage to actively seek out. One of these days, when we have a little disposable income, I'm going to go back there and buy a bunch of tiles and stuff and see what I can come up with.

road warrior

Now that we are living the country life, 30 kilometers away from Troyes, I'm now the one who has to hop in the car to go back to Troyes for my French classes. I don't mind the drive at all, and it also gives me the opportunity to run errands and such whilst visiting the "big city."

I've also decided to go back to the choir at the conservatory, since I never heard "boo" from Mr. Irish. Steph and I had a discussion about it before I went back, because as much as I love singing, it would have been great to have some extra money in the bank, and it's clear that I can't do both. In the end, we decided that it would be ok to go back to the choir, even if it means turning down the job if he calls, and to continue working on the French and keeping an eye out for any daytime work that shows up.

So, this means that I'm on the road three days a week. It turns out that the choir is working a lot with the Youth Choir this year, so they had a rehearsal last night. It was two hours after the French class, so I ran a couple of little errands and then headed over to the Conservatory. It's a good thing I went early too, since it took me a good little while to find a good space (meaning free and not too far away) and then even longer to parallel park into the space I found, since this is a skill I hardly ever had to use before.

Once I was installed in my parking space, I found myself with another half an hour to kill, so I settled in to read my book and eat a little snack. It wasn't too long before the guy who was parked in front of me came to drive away, and drove right into my car in the process! Granted, it wasn't very hard, but it got my attention! People, I'm here to tell you, I thought I would be scared sharing the roads with the French, but that's not the problem - the problem is their atrocious parking habits! Seriously, unless you have a private garage, there is no point in getting huffy about the state of your car here, as it's bound to get dinged up no matter what you do!

Now I just need to figure out what to do with those two hours between French classes and Choir rehearsals (I should say that the normal time for rehearsals is Wednesday evenings, but since the two choirs are working together, we often rehearse during the Youth Choir's normal rehearsal, which is Thursday evenings... two hours after French class is over. It's not every week, but it's often enough to worry!). Now that it's getting colder, I don't think I can always rely on book and snack time in the car...

i'm baaaaaaaack!

Yes, yes, I missed you too! We truly must have done something right, because when France Telecom came to install our second line and hook up the phone on Monday, we learned that we didn't have to wait an additional ten days for internet! So the last couple of days have been spent catching up on emails and stealthily catching up on blogs.

I'd like to thank my guest Nung Nung for making me weepy posting while I was gone. My sister actually has a legitimate excuse - she's now writing a column for the newspaper she works for, where she's already a copy editor (I think that's the right term) and I couldn't be more proud of her. My third guest has gone MIA which has me slightly worried.

There's been a lot going on (obviously) the last week or so, but here are some highlights (most of which I'm sure will be expanded into full posts):

The Move
Thanks to the professional moving skills of oldest-brother-in-law, super-human skills of Doc's husband (seriously, he picked up the stove - granted it's not a giant American stove, but still - and carried it to the truck himself!) and way more friends and family than we actually needed, the move went freakishly well, and all the cars and the Big-Ass Truck were unloaded by 12:30. I am so thrilled to be in this new space that I find myself getting emotional at odd times - like watching tv in the living room!!! I know, it's the little things.

The Mammogram
Yes, I had my boobies squished real good last week. Everything's fine. I had a good little scare for a minute though: during the pre-squishing interview, the tech asked why I was having the procedure done, and I replied that I was under the impression that there wasn't anything wrong and that the doctor just wanted to have a record of my healthy boobies on file. The tech replied that this is actually quite odd, as the normal age for a first mammogram is 40, just like in the states. Then I started to wonder if I didn't understand the doctor well and she had found something, so I was in a panicked state for the next twenty minutes. Luckily, the Radiologist took a look at the x-rays right away and told me that there was no problem at all, which almost sent me into tears of relief (I seem to have been more emotional than usual these past couple of weeks!).

The Riots
For friends and family: We're fine, whatever is happening is happening rather far from us and as we have an extremely small population of minorites in this village I don't expect to see any here. As for the politics of it, I'm going to leave that to people that are way more informed than I am (A Fistful of Euros is a good place to start). All I can say is that when they talk about the rights of immigrants, I don't think they're talking about white, middle-class Americans who have never known what it is to starve or not be able to get work (yes, I know, I bitch and moan about getting a job, but let's face it, I could get a job at McDonald's if we were really desperate). My hope is that the violence does not escalate further and some real, practical solutions can come from this.

OK, that's enough for now. Now it's time to catch up on my American news...

breaking the ice

Well, well, well. Looks like I’m the first guest blogger to break the ice.

:: sound of crickets chirping ::

Ahem. That statement may be false by the time I’m actually able to finish this and post it.

So, I’m the guest known as “Vivi’s oldest friend” - I’ve known darling V since my first year of high school. Fittingly enough, I joined the French Club in an effort to become better friends with her. Seeing as how that was about 17 years ago, I think it worked. Vivi and I used to exchange elaborate notes via the Locker Express, replete with drawings, pseudonyms, and the kinds of secrets that teenage girls can only share with one another. I thought she was amazingly cool...she was one year older, she had a big blue station wagon, she was in the French Club!

Vivi schlepped me around for most of my high school years, driving me (and whoever else we could pack into the wagon) to record stores, concerts, and late night pies at the Village Inn. She introduced me to my first real boyfriend (named after a mammal, no less), and was gentle with me during our break-up. And the numerous break-ups with others that followed. Vivi was the only person I went out of my way to visit when I made my trek north to my new home in Boston some-odd nine years ago; I didn't even visit my hometown one last time. There weren't that many people that I was going to miss....

Sadly enough, I lost touch with V after moving. Ask anyone who knows me (or, erm...used to) I DON’T stay in touch. I don’t call, I never write. I think of people fondly - and often - but that’s about as far as it goes. Happily enough, Vivi has never held that against me, and has continued to send missives into the black hole that is my mailbox. And last year, I was thrilled to hear her voice coming over the telephone, exclaiming, “I’m getting married and moving to France!”

I’m just glad she never gave up on me. Or the French Club.

see you next month

We're in the final stages of the move. We've got mountains of boxes all over the place. We've got our new phone number, the electricity will be ready, and we're confirming with all our helpers the time for the move.

Here's the bad news. It's going to be three weeks (ack!) before we have internet access again. I'm already tearing my hair out in anticipation of internet withdrawl. It ain't gonna be pretty, I can tell you.

But! Never fear, I do have some good news, because here at DFF, we take care of the customer. I've invited a couple of my non-blogging friends to contribute over the next few weeks, so you may see some profiles popping up this weekend and posting will continue while I'm suffering from internet withdrawl. They are welcome to write about anything they please, so think of this site as Dispatches From America until I come back.

Well, that's about it from Troyes! You kids play nice, and I'll be catching up with you in a few weeks!

Update
Looks like everything's ready to go, so next week you'll be hearing from my sister, my oldest friend in the world (that's according to length of time, not age), and another dear friend who I regard as a spiritual big sister (who promises to tell my worst secrets - yikes!). I'll leave it to them to introduce themselves accordingly. Please give them a warm welcome and see you soon!

moving nightmares

I thought I was going to have to personally lay a smackdown on our future landlord yesterday. Perhaps a little background is important:

Back at the end of August when we found the apartment, we asked if there was a possibility of moving in during the middle of November, since we were required to give three month's notice to our current landlords. We were told that we absolutely had to move in on the first of the month, or else she would continue to keep the apartment available for someone else who could move in on the first. Since the first is a holiday and no moving trucks would be available, we decided to move on the 31st. Also, when we decided we would take it, Steph made it very clear that it would be necessary to put in a second telephone line upstairs in the "office," because, in his words, "my wife is American and uses the computer to keep in touch with her family, so it is extremely important that the connection is ready when we move in." The funny thing is that anyone who knows Steph knows that he's more concerned about a pause in his online gaming and I can just as easily call Dad by phone, but that's neither here nor there.

Over the last couple of months, I've noticed a disturbing trend concerning this new landlord. When we mailed her all the required documents, including a check for the deposit, we never received confirmation that she received it. Then, if we had any questions, we would have to call her a couple of times before she would call us back. This is a pattern I do not like.

So here we are, less than a week before moving, and we were having difficulty getting in touch with her to find out when we could get the key. When she finally called us back, we learned that the last family didn't move when they said they were going to move, and the work was still being done on the house. In fact, she told us that the work wouldn't be done until the first, and wanted to know if we could move after that.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Look, I know it's not really her fault if the family didn't move when they said they were going to, but you can't tell us at the last minute that moving on the first can't happen when you insisted on it in the first place! Steph told her that we already had a truck reserved and about ten people that had made plans for helping us, so she said she would see what she could do.

Last night, when we still hadn't heard from her, I was just about ready to call her myself and give her a piece of my mind. I would have been mortified if we'd have to call all these people who volunteered to help us and ask if they could reschedule - most likely the next weekend! Nevermind the fact that I'm sure we'd have to pay something for canceling the truck reservation.

Happily, she did call last night, and told us that the painters will work through the weekend so it will be ready for Monday's move. The bad news is, nothing's been done for the internet connection, so I have no idea when we'll be back online. I'm a little disappointed, but I'll take that rather than calling all our friends and family who are coming to help to tell them that everything has changed.

rolling along

Packing up the house is rolling right along. It's rolling along so well that Steph decided to bugger off to go fishing today with his parents, brother and nephew. You won't hear me complaining. I can think of a thousand things I'd rather do that stare off into space next to a stocked pond for five hours, though I do feel a little guilty to about missing out on a family outing. Instead I took the car for a joyride and did a little shopping. Now I'm home again, home again, jiggedy jig, to do some laundry and fill up a couple more boxes.

Meanwhile, we can barely move for all the boxes stacked up everywhere, and we've still got a ways to go. We were hoping to get the key to the new place early in the week so we could take over some boxes to make some space here. Unfortunately, the family that recently moved out of the apartment, who said they were leaving on the 15th, didn't actually leave until nearly a week later, so the painters and other fixer-uppers have just started fluffing up the place this week. Since we're taking the car in for a check-up tomorrow and will therefore be unavailable at least one day, it looks like it will be the weekend before we can get there. The best laid plans...

Right, well, back to the boxes. Oh - one more thing: if anyone catches sight of Mother Nature, could they please give her a stern talking to (at the very least)? The weather has been insane - cool for two days followed by warm for two days followed by etcetera ad nauseam. I haven't been 100% over this cold for about a month now. I despise the female stereotype of being unable to make up one's mind; come on Mama Nature, you're better than that!