Initial Impressions
I'm in France, about 80 km south of Paris. Here, in a small hunting
cottage originally built in the 1700's, I'm watching (and helping
where I can) Adriana care for a 22 month old and a four month old
in a house that was never designed with "kid-safety" in
mind.
About a 100 yards from this cottage is the estate house, built
some time in the 1800's. Beautiful, white stone with numerous outbuildings,
including a greenhouse. To get here, one takes a sharp left turn
off a narrow road and then heads down a steep driveway which goes
first to the estate house and then another sharp right turn leads
to the cottage.
The cottage has three levels. On the first level is the kitchen,
dining and a step down living area, along with a tiny toilet room
and tiny laundry room. The living area looks over a small patio
which itself looks over a rapidly flowing river, the River Loing.
On the other side of the river is a lovely green area, home to a
number of horses. A very, very steep flight of stairs leads to the
upstairs hall. An immediate left at the top of the stairs leads
to one bedroom which has a shower room off it. From that room, another
very scary set of steps (wide open to below--all the way to the
ground floor) winds to a loft where Jonathan's study is--and where
I'm writing this note. Going down the hallway, there is a toilet
room on the right followed by the only closet in the house. On the
left is the amazingly spacious bathroom, and then there is the other
bedroom, which the children and I share.
In France, the toilet room is separate from the bathroom. There
is no sink in there, just the necessary facility. The bathroom has
a deep but exceedingly narrow tub (as I discovered this morning
when I sought to bathe in there and discovered my American-sized
derriere would barely fit). But it's great for bathing the children.
The kitchen is a narrow space, perhaps six feet wide total. Everything
is small--sink, stove, refrigerator, oven and microwave. Almost
no storage of any kind. A few upper cabinets, a couple of drawers
and two lower cabinets. One open shelf above the sink holds most
of the condiments. The kitchen has a pass through window to the
dining space which is open to the living space which has the spectacular
view of the river and horses.
Joshua, the 23 month old, can get up the stairs to the second level
OK by going on hands and knees, but can't get down on his own yet.
He must have someone holding his hand. That means that if we need
to carry the baby and bring Joshua down at the same time, we gave
to navigate those steep stairs without any kind of support--no handrail.
The first day I was here, I was holding Samuel and needed to get
downstairs and Joshua wanted to go down as well and I realized there
was no way I could do that safely.
All the upstairs rooms have sloped ceilings, going with the roof
line. I watched Jonathan this morning come and get Samuel when he
woke early and noticed that the top of his head missed the door
frame by about 1/2 inch. Things are built here for smaller people,
to put it mildly. In this loft, where he keeps his computer, he
can stand up straight only in the exact center of the room.
The house is light because there are skylights in most of the rooms.
It is warmed with radiators, and that keeps the early spring chill
at bay. It has certainly been remodeled and modernized since it
was first built. Floors are either hardwood or ceramic tile or Berber
carpet. Kitchen probably last saw any work in about 1950, but it
is functional.
The almost complete lack of closets is typical for French homes,
I understand. Certainly helps to keep one's possessions to a minimum.
The one upstairs one has a clothes rack about 2 1/2 feet off the
ground and just about that long with a shelf above it. It is built
into an attic eave, as is the toilet room. The toilet room almost
makes my own bathroom at the parsonage look large--but not quite.
At this point, Adriana manages because Samuel is still immobile
and is a very laid back, happy and content child. Very much like
Jonathan as a baby. Joshua, on the other hand, is really struggling
with a lot of separation anxiety, is very, very active, talks in
long paragraphs (and primarily in Spanish), and needs a lot of attention.
Jonathan is home more here than he was when he was working, and
that helps. He's loving his school-work, studies rarely and is still
one of the top students, and is having a great time. He often rides
his bike to school (about 8 miles, up a STEEP hill at one point),
so Adriana can have the car. Since it rains daily here, it also
means he often gets wet on the bike ride, but he rides in biking
clothes and takes a clean pair of jeans and a shirt in a backpack.
The children are healthy and beautiful. They look very much alike,
just are unlike in temperament. Adriana and Jonathan look wonderful--slim
and in shape and very youthful. It's a good thing I have that narrow
set of stair steps at my church which I go up and down multiple
times each day--at least the stairs are not bothering me, even carrying
a child. Adriana, as always, manages in that kitchen to create all
her own baby food, and fix healthful meals, all from scratch. They
have hired a once a week housekeeper, thank goodness. That does
take some household pressure off.
There's a huge sandbox outside for Joshua to play in--about 15 by
20 feet, with a lovely tree in the center of it. Everything is green
and the grass has small wildflowers growing everywhere. Trees are
just beginning to leaf out.
We're a mile out of a little village that has two small grocery
stores, a fabulous bakery, an amazing pizza place (we were so tired
last night that I teased Jonathan about ordering in Pizza and he
said there is a place to do that. However, they only deliver when
the person who tends bar decides to shut the bar down and deliver
the pizzas, so he ordered some and we went and had a beer with the
locals while waiting for them), a pharmacy (I've not been in yet,
but may have to go there), a few restaurants that Jonathan has not
seen open yet, an inn where some other students live and houses
all crowded along the narrow road--just a two lane strip that also
serves as a parking lot for some people. You have to see it to believe
it.
So, that's the initial report from France. Will write more later.
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Saturday in France
Well, Adriana is working on getting Samuel to sleep for the night
and Jonathan is outside with Joshua working on wearing him out.
Not a problem with me--I'm utterly worn out. For the life of me,
I can't figure out how I managed three children under five, and
two this close together.
After getting up and having a nice breakfast (Joshua and Jonathan
went to the boulangerie early this morning and brought back fresh
croissants and baguettes), we loaded up the children and all five
of us crammed into their small Renault and headed for a town about
15 miles from here for a major grocery shopping trip. Just before
we got there, Joshua fell asleep in the car, so Adriana elected
to stay with him so he could nap and Samuel and Jonathan and I headed
for the French equivalent of a shopping mall with a large store
similar to Wal-mart.
About two and a half hours later, we had a cart full of food, I
had passed Samuel back to Adriana and traded her for Joshua, and
we headed for the check out. At least $400 American. and not one
bit of junk food in the cart. All "Adriana" food--fresh
fruits and vegetables, fish, a little beef (we skipped the horsemeat,
freely available here), some cheeses, and lots of diapers, paper
towels, etc. Somehow, it all fit into the small trunk, which usually
carries a stroller and we headed home to unpack.
Here's what I learned at the store: French women DO get fat. So
do French men. Not as fat as Americans, but there is definitely
some heft around the butts, thighs and stomachs here. Everyone wears
blue jeans, and dark clothes. Sales help is not particularly friendly.
Not reading French puts me at a great disadvantage when trying to
figure out what products do or how much they cost. There are three
aisles of cheeses, two of yogurt and at least four of wine. You
can also buy Scotch in the grocery store. Fish is very, very fresh
here. And things are pretty expensive.
After getting back and unloading, Jonathan fixed us a great mid-afternoon
meal of fresh caught trout while Adriana and I tried vainly to get
several loads of laundry folded in the midst of looking after the
children. Jonathan had left a couple of aluminum pans on the counter
in which he had poached the fish and after the meal, Joshua brought
us one of them. We were impressed that he had not spilled it until
I went into the kitchen and saw the contents of the other all over
the floor. At that point, I took over cleanup duty and got all that
taken care of, as thoroughly as possible cleaned the kitchen, started
another load of laundry (learning to use these machines has been
tricky), tried to get Samuel to bed but couldn't, and went outside
to sit with Jonathan and Joshua. Decided to come back in and get
this day down on paper. Am really tired, but feel good. Know it
is helpful to have me here. But also bet I've been up and down those
stairs over 50 times today. Nothing like one's very own fitness
machine in the house.
Tomorrow, I hope to take a long walk in the woods near here. There
are miles and miles of walking trails nearby. Hopefully I won't
get too lost--just need to remember the name of the village nearby
and can find my way back again. Other things about France: stores
all close on Saturday and most are closed by 5 p.m. each day except
for some grocery stores which stay open until 7 p.m. So evenings
are spent with family. NO big SUV's here. All cars are small. From
what I can tell, gas is at least $6/gallon--maybe more.
Lots of traffic circles at intersections--roundabouts they are called.
Really treacherous. Lots of bicyclists also. Streets in towns are
very narrow. Just two lanes and people sometimes even park on them,
so traffic has to negotiate around them. Houses are right up to
the streets--no yards in the towns. But there are big estates like
this one where we are on the outskirts.
So, that's the report for the day. I'll sleep well tonight. Daylight
savings time starts tonight for France--but I won't even care. Not
bothering to look at my watch while I'm here.
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Sunday Morning in France
It is a rare quiet moment in this lovely household and the first
time I've been able to write without a baby in my lap, so am taking
advantage of this time. Sunday morning here, nearly noon now. Daylight
savings time started here today. I slept a little late as I wasn't
feeling real well during the night and am still in some jet lag,
so just about the time to get up here, I fall into a sound sleep.
Jonathan and Joshua and I went into town earlier, listening to the
sound of church bells, and picked up the daily ration of fresh croissants
and baguettes. All are napping here right now. I've cleaned up the
kitchen, made another cup of tea, and am watching another rain storm
come in. It does rain daily here in spring, and the trees are just
now coming out, but the grass is extremely green. The horse pasture
across the river from their house just looks lush--surely the horses
that graze there are getting rich with good, fresh green food.
It's such joy to be here, and much hard work. I estimate I climbed
those treacherous stairs here at least 50 times yesterday. With
everything so small and somewhat inconvenient (to these spoiled
eyes of the pampered citizen of the US), everything takes longer.
This morning, all three of us, Jonathan, Adriana and I, were in
the tiny kitchen getting breakfast ready and cleaning up--that in
a floor space 2 1/2 feet wide by five feet long. Joshua was sitting
in the hallway just outside it playing with a piece of kitchen equipment.
Samuel back down for his morning nap by then.
Later today, Jonathan plans to take Joshua for a bike ride and
I will go for a long walk in one of the many walking trails in the
forest around here. Am looking forward to it. If Adriana feels like
it, we'll put Samuel in the stroller and take him too. Initial roads
into the forest are paved, and we can stay on them and give him
a good outing. I enjoy being around Jonathan and Adriana. In the
midst of child chaos, they keep their affection for one another
and support one another with necessary disciplinary issues, pretty
frequent in Joshua who is testing every single boundary. Many "sits"
a day in the time out chair for him, but they are consistent and
it is paying off.
He is still having trouble adjusting to me. Although he likes to
play with me, he has a memory that my presence means his parents
are going to disappear for a while, and he is not happy about that.
Probably the only time I'll have them alone is a couple of days
before I leave as Jonathan and Adriana need to go to Paris to deal
with immigration issues. A never ending battle for them.
As I may have written earlier, Jonathan studies little but stays
at the top of his class. This is like a vacation to him, and when
he runs short of funds, he picks up some consulting work to bring
in some income. They live fully, yet frugally where possessions
are concerned. They indulge in the healthiest and freshest of food,
and Jonathan has become quite an accomplished cook. Anyway, that
is the news from France this Sunday morning. I am finishing this
note with Samuel now in my lap. He woke early and I am insisting
that Adriana resume her nap while I care for him. He's the sweetest
baby--truly Jonathan almost reincarnated. Rarely cries, full of
huge smiles when he sees anyone, loves to be held and cuddled.
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Tuesday in France
France: It is chic and it is picturesque, but convenient it ain't.
Adriana and I made the brave decision to drive the children to the
place where the large store is that we shopped in on Saturday--about
15 miles from here. She had to return an item and also wanted to
pick up some things we'll need for a party for Jonathan's 31st birthday
on Saturday (this is a surprise, so please don't say anything to
him). The drive went beautifully. No getting lost for us! We put
the baby in the stroller and Joshua in the cart (it costs one Euro
to get a grocery cart, but you get it back after returning it. Keeps
carts from being all over the parking lot).
First 15 minutes went great. Managed to find someone who spoke enough
English to help with the exchange, and we were finding what we needed.
And then . . . Samuel got fussy and hungry and Joshua got restless
and obstreperous. Oh my. Apparently French children DO NOT misbehave
in public. Dirty looks all around. I'm trying to carry Samuel and
give him a bottle at the same time and I think my arms are going
to fall off. Joshua did not want to stay in his seat and became
more and more demanding. By the time we were checking out, they
were both screaming. They calmed down as we headed to the car, and
then everyone was fine. Adriana nursed Samuel while I unloaded the
cart and returned it and then had an uneventful drive home.
After we got home, I decided to walk to the village to get some
bread, which we had forgotten to do the day before. Should have
bought it at the big box store. Also should have bought some stuff
for Samuel's aching gums, as he is teething. Before I left, I decided
to give the flooding washing machine one more try. Keeping up on
laundry here is nearly impossible. With the small machines, and
that fact that every single thing any of us wear is quickly either
covered with baby drool or dropped food or something worse, everything
needs frequent washing. With reckless abandon, I decided to gather
up all Samuel's dripping bibs (how can one tiny mouth put out that
much drool every day?) along with other pieces and throw them in,
gambling that I could get them washed and dried before the current
one was soaked.
Of course, even after a lot of attention to the washing machine
drain, it still spills all over the floor. I've become the expert
mopper with that. Anyway, I thought I'd take a walk to the village
(one mile, mostly sidewalks, quite hilly) then to get the bread
and my exercise and the teething medications. Hmmm . . . it was
1:30 when I got there and I was wondering why there were actually
parking spaces along the street. Then I walked up a huge flight
of steps to the pharmacy, and found it closed. Walked down those
steps and up a hill to the bakery and found it closed. Walked back
down the hill to the small general market and it was closed. Of
course--it's mid-day meal time in France! Everything closes so all
can have their leisurely meal together.
An hour and a half later, after mopping the latest flow from the
washing machine, I headed back to the village. Pharmacy still closed--with
my awful French, I really tried to read the sign on the door and
realized it will be closed until April 4. Bakery still closed. A
friendly woman said to me, "french words french words french
words Merde." Merde! Tuesday! The Bakery is closed on Tuesday!!!!!!
So, just went to the market, got a baguette and some lemon tea and
cough drops for me, and trudged back up the hill to the estate where
we live.
Now, on this walk, it is possible to see gorgeous views of the
river below and houses that sit on it, as does this one. Beautiful,
peaceful, verdant, quiet, settled, aging gracefully. I have no idea
how people around here support themselves. Nothing seems open. No
commerce. But it is quiet and gentle.
When getting to the estate, I walk in and can either walk down a
steep driveway to the main house or take a steeper flight of stone
stairs to the farmhouse we are in. I take the steps--wondering how
many years people have walked down them. A lot of history here,
yet there does seem to be a lack of life.
Oh well. I've about decided I'm in boot camp. When I got back, trash
needed to go out--two children in diapers means it goes frequently.
To take it out means a trudge back up those steep, steep stairs
and then hope I've got things in the right bin. I also make a trip
with the recyclables, May as well do my part.
I'll be in better shape than I've been in for years after this trip
is over.
I come up here to this attic room and write on Jonathan's computer
when I'm just not able to do any more "kid stuff." Adriana
manages beautifully in this never ending process of feeding, napping,
playing, feeding, cleaning up, feeding, cooking, shopping, napping,
feeding, laundry, feeding, cleaning up, playing. Yet there is something
quite powerful to rearing children this way. Joshua can be left
alone upstairs when necessary. He knows he can't go down the stairs
without help, and abides carefully by that. Samuel will also figure
that out, and they have baby gates to use for a while. I know that
Adriana does things I would have given up on long ago, especially
the making of all her own baby food, but this is right for her and
I fully respect it. So I'm getting in the rhythm of this household,
and helping where possible.
Tomorrow, I shall try to write about Malibu and Reisling, the estate
dogs.
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Wednesday in France
Just got back from my dash to the village and Samuel is still napping,
so I have a few minutes to write before he awakens and the late
afternoon craziness occurs here.
Here's the latest I have discovered about French bakeries: what
they bake in the morning, they sell in the morning. Late in the
afternoon like this, the cupboards are nearly bare. But I did snatch
three "pain de chocolat, " one bag of "financials"
a type of afternoon tea cookie that Adriana loves, and a loaf of
"pain de rustique." So it was worth the walk, plus my
"boot camp" experience here means I'm making the walk
quickly and without fatigue, even up the somewhat steep hills.
Now, about Malibu, one of the estate dogs. He's a rescue dog, mixed
breed, but a lot of terrier in him, black and white, about 40 pounds,
and somewhat erratic. To this point, he has bitten Jonathan, Adriana
and at least one of their visitors. There is little that terrifies
me more than an out of control dog, so this was not good news for
me. The first evening, I went out for a short walk with Joshua and
Malibu was out with Agnes, the owner of the estate. He came charging
and barking toward us but she called him back and kept him under
control while we walked. Later, he came over when Jonathan and I
were in the back, and he was clearly friendly and curious.
But Adriana is terrified of him and she needed to go to the estate
house to talk with Agnes about the washing machine a couple of days
ago. I decided it was my job to protect her. After all, I am a dog
owner and I do watch multiple episodes of "The Dog Whisperer"
with Cesar Milan. Who better to be the champion here? I walked with
her carrying a large walking stick that I had picked up on my walks
in the woods to help me get down muddy trails. As we approached,
I held my head high, kept the stick prominent, spoke to Malibu with
a confident and firm voice, and was astonished to see him quickly
get into a posture of submission. He did come forward to bark and
remind us that the estate house is his territory, but with no menace
at all.
Then there is Reisling, whom we don't often see. Huge--at least
140 pounds, giant beast, reddish brown, very much a chow, but perhaps
something else mixed in. He just wants his rump rubbed gently and
go goes into a trance, eyes half closed, somewhere off in dog heaven.
That's the kind of dog to have!
Today, the French housekeeper came to do her weekly ablutions. First
rule for this American: do NOT get in her way. She had a way of
doing things that would brook no interference. When she was done,
the house was not only spotless, but also totally re-arranged so
it looked like a proper French home, not one overrun by children.
Coffee table back in the middle of the living space, not shoved
off to one side as we had done to create more play space. Joshua's
bedding removed from the floor in the joint room where we sleep
and the proper rug restored to it's spot. Essentially everything
in the kitchen rearranged--one can only hope they can find what
they need. I don't think she cleans Jonathan's study--I don't see
anything re-arranged here. That may be part of the deal. By the
way, she was definitely the size of a nicely plump American.
Well, I hear Samuel starting to wake. This is the longest he has
napped since I've been here and we're all relieved. He feels better
with more sleep and we are all more relaxed.
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Thursday in France
Adriana and I had a good laugh last night when we started talking
about the fact that I'm losing weight and trimming up here. I really
hate to leave them next week without my help as I know it has taken
a huge load off her and so we decided that we could package this
as a fabulous "Weight Loss Spa." I would charge a finder's
fee, send people over here with the instructions that their job
is to be housemaid, laundress (and laundress mopper--it it still
not fixed), kitchen help, nursemaid, trash taker-outer, and errand
runner (walker, that it, to the village at least twice a day). In
return, they receive room and board, and are to eat only what Adriana
puts in front of them each day, plus just one glass of local variety
wine/day (of course, I allow myself more!). It will be healthy,
and filling. Everyone wins! I think people would pay a premium to
live in the French countryside, eat lovely and healthy food, play
with babies, etc. and trim up in the bargain. Just even writing
this paragraph probably burned 100 calories because I'm doing laundry
right now and each time I hear it start to spill, I race down two
flights of steep stairs to mop the latest batch of water before
dashing back up to keep writing. As each load has six drain cycles,
that makes for some multiple stairs! I say again, thank goodness
for these european washing machines that use very little water,
or we wouldn't be able to do laundry at all.
It's a glorious day here. Adriana took Joshua to Fontainbleu to
a play group and left Samuel in my care. This is the first time
I've had him alone and we were both concerned because he's not been
able to get to sleep recently without Adriana's nursing him. However,
I told her he had to learn sometime and this was as good a time
as any. He and I had a great playtime. Just since I've been here,
he's starting to sit up on his own and also has gained much more
hand coordination. Then when he got sleepy, I gave him his bottle.
He only wanted a little, but then was able to get himself to sleep
after just a few minutes of fussing. A definite step forward for
him as he learns more self-regulation.
Monday will be the day I need to care for both of them. A friend
of Adriana's who has a six month old will come for the morning.
We figure between the two of us, we should be able to handle three
children, and it spares me the concern of having to leave Joshua
either up or down by himself since I really can't bring both children
up or down at once, as Adriana can.
The landlady, Agnes, came for a visit today. They are still working
on the washing machine situation and know now that they're going
to have to get a rotor-rooter type service out here. She speaks
some English, thank goodness, and we enjoyed the conversation. They
bought the estate 5 years ago and are slowly renovating it--working
on the main house now. They have four children, two away at the
University, and two others as home. I've only seen the youngest
son, however.
Yesterday, we needed more groceries. Since Adriana insists on cooking
everything with fresh ingredients--and that includes fresh squeezed
orange juice for everyone in the morning, and since storage space
is so limited, it's hard to keep everything in stock. So Jonathan,
Joshua and I went to Moret, a village about 5 miles from here that
has a pretty large grocery store. After doing our shopping, we drove
through the center of Moret, into the old town via the entrance
over a one lane bridge through a high, stone guard tower. All the
streets in the center part are just one lane, but they are two way,
so stop lights control the flow of traffic in and out and each street
changes direction every few minutes. Very, very charming and old
world--just full of little shops and ancient homes and a huge, Norman
church with real flying buttresses on the outside.
At the grocery store, Jonathan wanted to buy some celery and had
a bunch in his hand, looking for the price. Then a store working
came over to him and said something, tore off the plastic strip
that held the bunch together and explained to Jonathan (whose French
is coming along nicely) that he should just tear off the number
of actual stalks he wanted and leave the rest. Those were then weighed
and priced. Ah, the no waste French cook in action!
Well, Joshua is stirring. Must go.
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Friday in France
The day started hard. Both the children were restless during the
night, especially Samuel. Little sleep for anyone and we all gave
up around 6 a.m. Adriana and I had said that we'd walk together
to the village at 6:45 to get some fresh croissants and a baguette
from the bakery, but it was clear that she couldn't leave the fussy
Samuel. So I threw on some clothes and left the house.
The sky was turning light by then, and a gentle fog covered the
river to my left as I walked toward Montigne sur Loing. Little traffic,
a chill in the air, but very comfortable walking weather. I reached
the bakery by 7 a.m. and walked into its warmth. On some other day,
I would have been able to enjoy the delightful smell of warm bread,
but this lingering congestion denies me that pleasure. I did manage
in my limited French to order some croissants and the baguette,
paid for them, and tucked them in the bag I remembered to carry.
Merchants in France do not supply the ubiquitous plastic bag found
in every store in the US. One either brings one's own, or, in the
larger stores, purchases them on the way out in order to bag the
items purchased. At a small establishments like the bakery, no bag
means carrying things by hand. Period.
As I began the walk back, I heard the church bells ringing out,
calling people to early mass. The fog was deeper, and held the promise
of a spectacularly beautiful day when it lifted. I got home in time
to see Jonathan off on his bicycle to Fontainbleu, and to help with
the children for a while. I had promised on this morning to do the
week's grocery shopping for the family in order to free tomorrow
for other things, and was definitely dealing with some apprehension.
First, could I even find the major market again? Second, assuming
I found it, would I be able to shop adequately with my language
limitations?
After an inventory of the refrigerator and a discussion of the things
we need for Jonathan's surprise party tomorrow (he still has no
clue, amazingly), I headed out, reminding Adriana not to worry as
it would take me at least two hours to complete the task. That,
by the way, was a significant understatement. However, I did manage
to find the store, and get most of the things I needed. Here's what
I learned about the French stores when we are preparing for an American-style
cookout of hamburgers: They don't carry hamburger buns. At least,
I couldn't find them (learned later that they were there with regularly
sliced ordinary bread, but never saw it). Finally settled on some
rolls to split. They don't carry bread and butter pickles. In fact,
their pickle selection is really sparse, so will need to slice some
that I bought.
I was also looking for some fresh spinach that Adriana wanted. Couldn't
find it, and, unfortunately, don't know the French word for spinach,
so didn't know how to ask for it. Very, very frustrating for me
not knowing French.
There is much more real food in French grocery stores than American
ones. Far less space devoted to "pretend food"--highly
processed items and dog and cat food--and far more devoted to real,
fresh, nutrient laden food. So much healthier for all.
I did spend thirty minutes just looking for a simple timer. Since
the best discipline for Joshua is "a la sia", or "In
the seat," I told them it would help him if there were a timer
so he could see how long he had to stay there and that it would
go off when the time was done. Did find one at last, by the way.
Managed to pay for the purchases with Adriana's French debit card,
bagged them, and headed for the car, which fortunately, I had marked
mentally in the parking lot. Beautiful drive home, but had been
gone over three hours by then and was concerned about getting home
before Jonathan did, in order to hide the birthday purchases. However,
that worked out fine.
The sky was cloudless today, and the owners of the estate early
this morning provided for us a simple molded plastic table and six
chairs for the patio, so we adjourned out there for the afternoon.
Jonathan got home by 2 p.m. and Adriana's friend with the six month
old also came over.
Here's where I'm not sure I'll find the words to describe the next
magical hours. Gorgeous spring weather, wine, beer, good cheese
and good bread, children playing and enjoying the outside, gentle
conversation, good-natured ribbing, deep peace. This morning, multitudes
of tulips magically bloomed. By tomorrow, iris plants will be in
profusion along the river. Tiny wildflowers every where. Quiet.
No sirens, few cars on the roadway way up above us. Space to breathe,
to be, to simply enjoy. I have rarely enjoyed anything so much as
that afternoon.
Children are now very tired--neither would nap this afternoon. So
Adriana and Jonathan are bathing them and getting them ready for
what we hope will be good sleep.
I, personally, have really turned French--after so quickly grabbing
clothes to go to the bakery and then the store this morning, I realized
I've never bothered to bathe. Won't be long before I smell like
the French. I may already, but with my congestion, I'll never know.
So, that is our day. Tomorrow, somehow we are going to cook burgers
on a very inadequate grill, serve them, and celebrate Jonathan's
birthday. Sunday I will play tourist and go into Paris just to see
parts of it. Monday, Jonathan and Adriana must spend part of the
day there with the government bureaucracy working on Adriana's Visa,
so Adriana's friend and I shall care for the children most of the
day. Tuesday will be my last full day here, with a very early departure
on Wednesday morning so I can make my mid-morning flight. Am a bit
homesick, even after this beautiful day, so know when the time comes
to go home, I shall be very ready. But today really was magical.
One of those days that needs to be savored and held in the memory
forever. A foretaste of heaven.
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Sunday, April 06, 2008
Saturday was Jonathan's 31st birthday and Adriana was absolutely
determined to surprise him with a party and an American-style cookout.
This party took a week in planning, unbelievable coordination, many
hands to help, and much trust the people would keep it secret. The
big fly in the ointment is that Jonathan decided on Friday that
he wanted to taken me and the family to Paris on Saturday so I could
see the city, and Adriana just had to agree to go, hoping we could
change his mind in the morning.
At 9:30 a.m, Jackie (who is from Australia) and her daughter, Lotta,
(six months old), came for breakfast and walked in, acting surprised
at all the birthday decorations (Adriana blew up balloons and made
a huge card for Jonathan). Innocently she asks, "is this your
birthday? Oh, I hope I'm not intruding." When assured that
she was not, we all sat down for a delicious repast--along with
the usual fresh croissants, of course, and then I equally innocently
asked, "Jonathan, I really want to see that Norman church in
Moret. Could we go over there and then maybe find a hardware store
where we might find something to provide a temporary fix to the
washing machine?" He agreed and we decided to take Joshua with
us.
This worked out beautifully. We had a lovely time at the church,
found a few things that might help with the washing machine situation,
and then Joshua fell asleep and we took advantage of his nap to
take a long, glorious drive through the countryside, seeing tiny
little towns and horse stables and beautiful fields, plowed and
many already lush with crop. Stopped at on point when a group of
pheasants were crossing the road and just watched them. Almost all
the roads we were one lane roads (but two way) just meandering between
forest and farm and tiny town. Exquisite moments, quiet and peaceful
and in tune with the rhythms of nature.
It was nearly 1 before we got back and Jonathan said something about
taking us all to lunch in Fontainebleu, but as he drive down the
driveway, he saw the outside table covered with balloons and set
for a picnic and said, "Hmm, I guess Adriana has other plans.”
Somehow, this party just turned out. Besides Jackie and her six
month old, two other couples with children exactly the same ages
as Joshua and Samuel came along with a single man from Germany and
our landlady. So in the house, we had seven children under two and
a half, two Americans, one Colombian, two Spaniards, two Parisians,
one German, one Australian, and one rural Frenchwoman. Adriana had
cleaned an ancient grill and Jonathan managed to light the fire
and cook the burgers. I couldn't find American style hamburger buns,
so I had bought small loaves of bread for the buns, along with all
the fixings. We had hidden a couple of cases of beer outside, and
they stayed cold out there. English was the common language, so
that was how we conversed. Simply wonderful time, last person left
at 6:00 and we just sat and looked at each other. Jonathan truly
had no idea we were doing this. And the rain held off until the
last person left, thank goodness, so the men and older children
could be outside while the women and smaller children crammed into
the tiny living area for great conversation.
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Sunday, Part Two
OK, the question has been, "How can I spend two weeks in France
just 100 km from Paris and not see Paris itself?" Since it
was becoming clear that I was in danger of doing that very thing,
today, Sunday, April 6, became the day to remedy the problem. Although
we had originally planned for all to go, it turned very chilly overnight
and snow was predicted, so at the last minute, just Jonathan and
I went.
As we entered the outskirts of Paris, Jonathan told me to get the
map and to navigate our way to the center of Paris, aiming for the
Cathedral of Notre Dame. I was completely flummoxed, having trouble
reading the tiny print in French and also reading the unfamiliar
street signs, but somehow we made it to our goal without a wrong
turn--mostly due to Jonathan's superb sense of direction and a memory
of a couple of other times here. Next job: finding a place to park.
Even on mid-Sunday morning, central Paris is very alive with people
thronging the streets and every street parking place taken, cars
parallel parked with generally less than six inches between bumpers.
Twice we thought we spotted a sign for an underground parking garage,
but each time we followed the sign, we were unable to actually find
the garage. Personally, I think the signs are just there to lead
people out of the city. At this point, we are driving along the
south bank of the Seine and suddenly the perfect parking space appears.
With great expertise, Jonathan maneuvered the car in the spot and
hopped out, looking for a place to pay. A minute later he returned
and said, "You are not going to believe this: it's free on
Sundays."
So we set out, heading for the Cathedral when we noticed that the
street we wanted to cross was blocked off and hundreds of runners
were coursing down it. After watching for a while, we realized this
had to be a marathon with perhaps 30,000 runners, and we needed
to change our route because we dare not cross in front of them.
Anyway, a slight detour led us to our goal and we walked up the
side of the Cathedral. There were a bunch of people in line for
a guided tour, and we did not want to do that, so were just going
to look at the outside and then go on. When we got to the front,
we saw a place where we could either go in and visit or go in and
attend a Mass. As it turns out, the 10:00 a.m. Mass was just ending
and we were in time for the 11:30 Mass.
We decided to attend and both were a little surprised to see that
visitors were permitted to continue touring during the Mass. There
was a constant stream of people in the outer section of the huge
cathedral coursing from one end to the other, some even taking flash
pictures of the worshippers and celebrants.
Parts of the service were printed in English and German, but it
wasn't all that easy to follow even so. During the reading of the
Gospel, when the congregants were standing, three younger people
in front of us abruptly sat down, began consulting their tour map
of Paris, starting whispering to each other and then walked out.
The music was beautiful, and they practiced a form of open communion
with these words in English, German and French in the bulletin:
"The bread distributed during mass has a high significance
for Christians: it is the body of Christ, their Lord and God. If
you do not share our faith in the living presence of Christ in the
Eucharistic bread, we ask you not to join your neighbors at communion
time." I was able to interpret that as an invitation to participate,
so Jonathan and I both communicated.
But . . . and I had this same feeling when visiting the very old
Norman church (also called Notre Dame) in Moret: It felt dead to
me. I know much of the problem again is my language facility, and
my frustration with not knowing the responses. They weren't even
printed in French, so you either knew them or didn't. But there
is something else. The buildings are certainly built to last, and
they are very, very impressive. But, as many others have asked,
"Is this the Church?" "Isn't it a lot more than this?"
Yet we need meeting places--that has been a part of religious practice
from the beginning--we need places to gather, to worship, to learn,
to connect, to be launched for service. I have a lot of ponder with
this one here.
Anyway, after that, we walked over to the Louvre, and I just stared
in awe at the size of what was the royal palace. Didn't even try
to go in, as there was no way to do justice to a place like this
in our limited time. But how magnificent! After stopping at a cafe
for a lunch (and real "French Fries"--not as good as MacDonalds),
we decided to head back to the car. All in all, we walked about
seven miles, saw much of the beauty of inner Paris, and then walked
along a lot of streets that are almost indistinguishable from streets
in NY City. The weather had been cold, but not nasty and on the
way back we were kind of wondering at the inaccuracy of French weather
forecasters when suddenly we hit a significant snowstorm, and then
a mile south it was totally clear and then another five miles and
it was sleeting, and then clear again, and just raining slightly
when we got back here. However, a few minutes ago, it began sleeting
furiously here.
So, that's my quick trip to Paris. But the real triumph of the day:
have finally rigged up a temporary fix to the washing machine so
laundry is possible again without constant mopping. As Jonathan
said, "Laundry is my reason to be" except he said it in
French. I'm so grateful that I can leave Adriana with this much
done. It is difficult to describe how impossible life would be here
without being able to wash at least two loads a day and most days
three.
Tomorrow morning will be my last chance to walk to the town bakery
for some fresh croissants. I will never again be satisfied with
an American made one, I suspect. The taste and texture delight the
tongue. A special treat. The bakery is closed Tuesdays, as I know
now, and Jonathan and I will have to leave for the airport by around
5:00 a.m. on Wednesday in order for me to be at the airport in time
for my flight. So, shall arise very early, make my way down there,
and then care for the children for the morning and into early afternoon
while Jonathan heads back to Paris with Adriana to get her visa.
Jonathan is so incredibly patient with the women (and children)
in his life.
Hard to believe this visit is nearly over. Has been so full of joy
and delight and many things to consider.
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Monday, April 07, 2008
This will be the last post for this trip. Tomorrow is my last day
here, and I will be doing "kid duty" again as Adriana
needs to go back to Paris to finish getting her travel visa. Then
it is time to pack. We will leave very early Wednesday morning so
I can catch my plane.
For the first time today, I cared for Joshua without his parents
present. After the first few bad moments were over, we settled in
for a lovely day. A friend of Adriana's, Jackie, and her six month
old daughter, came to help so we'd have two pairs of hands for three
children, especially with the situation with the steep stairs.
Joshua decided to crown himself with a halo, and was loving, fun,
personable and full of hugs for his granny. What a relief! We had
all been concerned because he had not wanted to stay with me before,
but we probably should have just pushed the issue last week. But
he made up for it today and gave me a full week of hugs in this
sweet day. Samuel, on the other hand, this placid, easy baby, showed
his other colors. Very charming, of course, but determined to have
the time in Granny's arms that I think he now sees as his right.
Adriana will now get the challenge of "unspoiling" him
after I leave.
I really don't know how Adriana does it. Even with two of us, we
were pretty busy, and didn't try to do anything else except a couple
of loads of laundry. Just focused on the children. Adriana, on the
other hand, would have done all that, and fixed a three course meal
for lunch in the middle of it. Without an extra pair of hands.
She did enjoy her day away, however, and I'm glad she got it. One
last gift to her.
And speaking of one last gift: I arose very early this morning
because I wanted to make that one final trek into the village for
the fresh croissants--speaking of being spoiled. After dressing,
I got ready to go outside and saw that everything was covered with
about two inches of snow. What beauty. The gorgeous red tulips that
grace the entry to the farmhouse, and which bloomed just for Jonathan
on his birthday, each wore a head dress of white lace. As I walked
toward town, with the sky slowly lightening, a few flakes drifted
gently down. The beautiful green spaces received their covering
of lace as gracefully as though they were brides waiting for their
grooms.
I got to the village before the bakery opened, so just walked around
a bit in the deep silence. No one really moving yet. I was the first
one at the bakery, and had watched the bread I bought be removed
from the oven just a few minutes before. Oh my--Jackie and I made
a simple lunch of one of the baguettes and some good cheese and
we both reveled in the rich flavor and chewy texture of such a gift.
One funny note from the morning. As you may have guessed as you
read these posts, I made keeping up with the laundry here and dealing
with the persistent flooding from the machine my mission. Just that
alone can be a constant job. Anyway, at one point this morning,
I was upstairs with Samuel and Joshua was down with Jackie. He stared
to get a little uncomfortable and said, "Granny?" So Jackie
told him I was here but with Samuel and that she'd take him to find
me. Well, he made a beeline for the laundry room and opened the
door looking for me--he knows exactly where Granny hangs out here!
Well, it's time to sign off now. Thanks for taking this trip to
France with me. I've been blessed beyond words. Plus the laundry
got done for this one day.
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Je suis désolé
“Je suis désolé. Je ne parle pas français.”
This is the phrase I memorized: “I am sorry. I do not speak
French.”
I said this many times on my recent trip to France. For the most
part, my apology did not bring about a sympathetic response. French
people expect people to speak French. Period. And while many do
speak English, there was an expectation that I would have also sought
to learn their language.
I did give myself a quick crash course before I went, but it was
not enough to even carry on a basic conversation. I could read some
of it, and occasionally understand a bit, but that was about it.
We are fortunate, of course, that English is the international
language of commerce, so that makes it easier to get by without
the bother of learning the words of another. But I also became even
more fully aware that our language insularity does not speak particularly
well of us as a nation.
Two weeks ago, I was celebrating my oldest son’s birthday
with a group of international friends he has made at the school
he is attending near Paris. Gathered in one room were an Australian
(married to a Dutchman who couldn’t come), two Spaniards,
one German, one Colombian, two Americans, and three from France.
We conversed in English since that was the one common language.
There were also seven children under the age of 2 ½ there,
and I asked each parent what languages they were teaching their
children. The Spaniards speak primary to their sons in Catalan,
a Romance language with some French characteristics and one of the
official languages of Spain, and also expect them to speak Spanish.
They do not speak English to them. The French couple speak only
in French to their children. They would like for him to learn English
someday, but do not wish to be the ones who teach it to them. The
Australian-Dutch couple speak primarily in English to their daughter,
with some Dutch thrown in, but do not expect her to be fluent in
Dutch. The American-Colombian couple speak primarily in Spanish
to their children (my grandchildren), and expect that to be the
first language, but with considerable facility in English.
All this leads me to thinking about the whole issue of words and
communication and languages and misunderstandings. I know that even
if we speak the same language, we may not understand each other
at all. As one who has spent possibly way too many years in school,
studying theology and things of God, it is easy for me to throw
around words like, “sanctification, ecclesiology, redemption,
proclamation, hamartology, and supralapsarianism” and not
realize these words are rarely, if ever, used in everyday conversation.
Every person with specialized work also develops a specialized vocabulary
which may also sound incomprehensible to those on the outside.
Then I look to the words of Jesus and find that he spoke in the
common language and used the words that everyone knew to help them
bridge the gap between their lives and the joy of intimate connection
with God. Living and working in a farming and ranching world, he
reminded them that he’s a good shepherd, and his sheep respond
to his loving voice. As did farmers, Jesus willingly scattered the
seed of the kingdom of God everywhere—knowing, just as those
who work the ground for a living know, that not every place would
be immediately receptive and that some seed would fed the birds
rather than growing into new plants that would feed the people.
But that didn’t stop him from spreading it out everywhere.
He reminded people that the things we experience daily can serve
as doorways to the heavenly places, should we chose to hear the
invitation to enter in.
Yet as I write this, I also know that as we enter into deeper intimacy
with God that we must also learn to see and speak differently. We
must learn to find the holy and sacred in the common things. We
must learn the language of prayer, of worship, of radical generosity
and service, and these words and concepts do not come easily to
most of us.
With all this, I believe there is a call on all of us to expand
our vocabularies and our language abilities. We need to learn the
languages of others, and the language of God. By so doing, we open
ourselves to far deeper experiences and find ourselves amazingly
enriched. It’s worth the effort.
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Monday, April 21, 2008
The Real and the Almost Real
Supermarkets are truly amazing places to shop. There is almost
nothing of daily need that can’t be found there and occasionally,
one can even find food.
On a recent, fact-finding shopping trip, I netted some of the following
items:
• Fresh Fruit: blackberries, strawberries, oranges, and lemons.
• Fresh Bread: a whole grain, heavy and rich loaf.
• Fresh Cheese: a wedge of flavorful Jarlsberg.
• Fresh Vegetables: several ears of corn, still in the husk,
a potato, some fresh basil
I also picked up:
• A can of potato chips, made from reconstituted potato flakes
and fake cheese flavoring.
• A container of “breakfast orange drink” and
“lemonade drink mix.”
• A box of corn flakes, made from cooked, mashed, extruded
corn and preservatives.
• A package of strawberry sponge cakes, with no strawberries
actually listed in the ingredients.
• An aerosol can of spray on cheese food.
Quite a bit of difference between these two lists, isn’t
there? One provides freshness, richness of flavor and the reality
that in a few days, if this food is not all consumed, it will all
go bad. Mold will grow, bread will get stale, other signs of aging
will occur. Either eat it fresh or toss it. It’s only good
immediately. Frequent grocery shopping is necessary to feast on
such things.
The items in the other list would probably still be consumable
even after a nuclear blast. Full of preservatives, very little actual
real food in there, they could provide calories in an emergency.
But these things are far, far removed from the power and freshness
of the things in the first list.
Our spiritual lives aren’t a whole lot different from these
two shopping lists. We can have a vital, immediate relationship
with God that must be renewed frequently with times of worship,
learning, helping others with sacrificial service and seeing the
mundane things of our lives turned into acts of holiness. Or, we
can have a second-hand experience, with the real encounter with
a living and often terrifying God replaced by the occasional thought
about God, maybe even wandering into a church once in a while, but
not much else. The rest of life is totally separate from any possibility
of transformation into hope and holiness.
In both cases, we will still live. We can work, play, rest, and
do necessary chores. But those who are vitally engaged with God
will be able to do these things with the same burst of flavor that
comes from eating an ear of corn picked moment before cooking. Those
who go for the second hand experience can still get nutrients from
a box of mashed, cooked, extruded, boxed and preserved corn flakes—but
the deep joy and transformative nature has been lost.
Just something to think about—on your next trip to the grocery
store and the next opportunity to truly encounter the living, loving
and powerful God of the universe.
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