Soldes

I got sold a handbag.

Not that that is difficult.  I guess I had no plans to purchase said handbag, but it would have been a miracle had I made it out of this country sans handbag.

Soldes began on Wednesday.  The shops put everything on sale before the summer vacances.  I guess.  I happened to walk past a shop and decided to look in at the Michael Kors collection to see how expensive it is here.  HA!  I laughed a hearty American laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.  Hey Kit Kat - go to my house, grab all of my Michael Kors handbags and bring them over when you visit. I'm gonna black market or CraigsLeest them and finance the rest of my trip.

The shop lady speaks English - tres bien.  "Private sale today for clients, on sale tomorrow, but today, you buy."  This was Tuesday.

Hook, line and sinker.  You had me at clearance, lady.

To sum up - French ladies want Michael Kors, as it is newly distributed in France.  All the American girls come to France, get off the plane and purchase a Longchamps (or not).  She was extremely helpful - finding the bag with the best price, most bang for my (not very strong against the euro) buck.  She told me about how this handbag is the desirable standard for French girls in Paris, and how the leather is from a special goat in Africa (it's lambskin).  I honestly thought she was talking about cheese when she said "chevre" for lamb.  It is very lightweight and the leather is so very soft.  She kept selling it and selling it.  Whatever lady.  I don't have a medium sized, lambskin cross body with security zipper.  It is very pragmatic; I get it.  Add it to my pile of First World Problems.  I picked up another handbag and she said, "Non.  Non, too big for you."  I replied, "Je sais.  Je sais.  I just like the big bags, but it looks like a handbag with legs when I walk."  She laughed, at me.

It is true what they say about shopkeepers here in France.  They are here to help.  She picked out several handbags that she thought would work for me - the right size, the color, practical (whether I have to carry it in hand or shoulder strap), the style and she literally tried to meet all of my requirements.  In fact, after watching me peruse the Longchamps, she went right over to the soldes rack and grabbed this one, knowing it was the right bag for me.

In my defense - I had to buy it.  If I tried to purchase it in the US, I would have had to sell an egg (although, the price for 40 year old Korean ovum has declined as of late).  It was such a good deal - we are now going to eat cat food for the rest of the trip... paté de chat something something.  And as Lee says, "So you saved $250.  But it sounds to me that you spent $XXX."

Gallic *shrug*.  C'est çomme ça.

PS - you won't hear from me again until next week.  We say good-bye to Chateau Rose, and go on a weekend trip.  I wrote this on Tuesday before I got the call from my family, so I may as well post it.  Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

The shifting of the earth

I wrote that last one on Tuesday.  It is Thursday morning.  I've had a rough couple of days.  My father has passed, and although I could get into the gritty details, I have decided to keep the focus of this blahg on my family in France.  I appreciate your concern, thoughts and prayers.  We (my family and I) have made the decision that I shall stay here with my children, and not travel home at this time.  There is a lot that went into this decision.  I am choosing to keep this close to me.  I love my father and will miss him greatly.  It feels as if my earth has shifted on its axis.

Success

This was a much more exciting and better day.

I only got flipped off and yelled at once while driving.  Excellent.  Lower the bar, mes amies, lower the bar.

We managed to get out the door by 10:37 a.m., which required all four branches of the armed services.

The children ate breakfast.  After a long lecture about eating what's available with H1, she said, "I tried the yogurt.  It is really good.  We'll buy more."  Praise Jesus down the road (literally, there is Jesus on a cross on the road to Pau).  The Champ had Nutella on white bread.  Seriously, the white bread here is like brioche.  No wonder Special K had 6 pieces of it.  Shoot.

I started another load of laundry (this has to be an hourly thing because the washer fits 4 towels - every time I hear that bell toll) and hit the road.

We successfully made it to the Feerie Gourmand.  Francis Miot is an award winning confisiere - ok, I can't spell it.  He makes jam.  And chocolate and candies.  So we went to his production facility.  There is a funky little museum with a huge collection of copper pots (I want to steal one or 10) and jam jars.  It is really lovely.  There is a huge cake/confection thing on display that was used at the wedding of Lady Di and Prince Charles.  And several huge chocolate sculptures.  We watched the jam being bottled.  And ladies rolling bon bons.  They waved.  We waved back.  I, of course, failed to run out the door with the camera or my phone.  I blame the Chair Force, the least likely of the Armed Services to get me out the door, but most likely to airlift me outta here in an emergency.

Then I managed to not get lost and drive into Pau.  Small victories.  I am sure this is boring the heck out of you, because it is boring to me too.  But, we were walking around looking for a toy store, and my children were 1)behaving and 2) avoiding piles of dog poo when I stopped into one of the many chocolate shops because I noticed a bag.  A bag that says "Poilane."  This is important.  This is the most famous bread in the world.  I went in to buy a caramel bar, threw my children outside in the street because they were bouncing around, sneezing on the chocolates and wanting to touch everything, and asked for a caramel bar. The shop lady speaks no English.  I order 3 macarons for the loud, touchy feely, giggly children outside the door, pressing their faces and fingers against the glass and inquire about the bread.  I ask her if I can buy it.  She opens the bag, shows me the 1/4 loaf and rings it up.  More importantly, the French are so great about children.  I looked like I wanted to tear my hair out because I was so worried about them touching and spitting on the merchandise.  While she totaled my purchases I made the "ringing their neck" look with my hands and she smiled and said, "C'est comme ca."  Meaning - that's how it is, and gave me a kind smile.  Yes, that is how it is.  

Outside the door Special K asks for some bread.I told her to wait.  We make it to the toy store (which is closed because it was 12:30) and I tear off a piece of bread.  She takes one bite and declares, "THIS BREAD IS DELICIOUS!!!"  Aaah... breakthrough.  I just might get them to love it here.  We passed 4 chocolate shops, have eaten nothing but butter wrapped in carbs and have a swimming pool.  What's not to love?

The planets aligned, and I got a new watch battery installed - why it had to die today, I know not.  The jeweler spoke no English.  The lady he was helping helped him and me, and together we got it fixed.  He took my seven euro in coins and was thankful for the exact change.

Today was a series of successes - the kids enjoyed the visit in town, watch fixed, Poilane bread, fed the pigeons, did not step in dog poo and didn't get yelled at or flipped off on my drive home.  I managed to order some jambon du Bayonne today from the lady at the InterMarche.  She spoke no English and I asked for some ham.  I literally said, "Cinq."  Five of anything.  Five euros worth.  Five hundred grams.  Five slices.  Whatever works.

And a personal note to my friend, J Ko - I found an astonishing amount of crap that I want to send to you because it made me laugh so hard.  You know you need an ash tray.

FML

You all know I'm a tiny person; I make up for it in personality.  I also have a vocabulary like a sailor, having spent most of my life around sailors (or not).  Still, I assume you know this blahg should be for (im)mature audiences only.  But I'm making a small effort to keep this family accessible.

Still, I totally had a FML day.  French My Life.  Monday was our first "full" day in France.  I suppose if I got out the door before 1:00 p.m., things might have gone differently.

Let me describe.  The two youngest children woke up at around 4 a.m.  They have flashlights - why, I know not.  WHO GAVE THEM A FLASHLIGHT?!  Those two were running around this big, old house with flashlights.  H1 and I were both awake, still.  Around 5 a.m. I finally fell asleep.  Special K (Speshul K) is fascinated by the old iron work - the door knobs.  They are about 4 1/2 feet high in the door, and most of them barely work.  A lot of the doors have old keys, long, beautiful keys, but pretty much the only way to open the doors or cabinets is by using the key.  It is also the only way to have them shut - so they constantly "BANG!" open all the time.  Old iron work is beautiful, but loud.  Much to my irritation - Special K was (and still is) opening and slamming every single door with a key.  French My Life.

The bell tower still tolls the time.  Every hour, every half hour.  And H1 and I hate it already.  French My Life.

I finally dragged myself out of bed after a few hours of sleep.  Got coffee from a pod (now I know why people drink crap coffee - if it is the only thing available, it just might save your life).  I decided to clean up before we left the house.

Dishwasher - check.  Washer - it only fits about 4 towels, but, check.  Dryer.  Ugh.  If I could figure out the telephone, I would have called Lee to ask him to ask somebody.  I almost went across the street to the mairie (the city hall where the police would have an office) and ask for help.  No telephone.  No cell phone.  No clothes dryer.  FML.  Frustration reigns supreme.

Seriously - the dryer has 2 buttons (a power button and a start button) and a dial.  It can't be that hard.  It is like entering a code to a high security Swiss bank vault.  Kid you not.  Turn dial to 0, turn on power, close door, wait for audible "beep," turn dial to desired setting, wait for audible "beep," pause, press start button.  Pray to the Jesus down across the road that it starts.  Did I mention that when it does start, it sounds like a cement truck rolling down I5 at about 65 miles per hour?

I finally get in the car and leave the chateau.  Sounds very French My Life to say that out loud.  We decided to drive into Pau to see some stuff and get ice cream.  Simple.  Except I didn't know where I was driving and got detoured several times.  The roundabouts are nice - if you take the wrong one, just follow it around.  Within 5 minutes, both the Champ and Special K were slumped over snoring in the back seat.  I got into Pau, was honked at and flipped off at least twice.  FML.

The girls quickly learned to NOT wear flip flops due to the many piles of dog poo on the sidewalk.  French My Life.  Now I know why nobody walks in a straight line.

Two cranky kids in tow, I remembered that everything is open from 10-12, and 2:30-5.  Meaning, if you show up at 1:00, the only thing available is lunch.  Which I ordered.  Which my oldest decided NOT to eat - "I don't like it."  Well, drink the water.  "I don't like that either."  It's Perrier - how can you not like Perrier?  Grrrr.  French My Life.

Let's get ice cream.  So, in town there is an award winning glaciere.  Two order chocolate (let's stick to the classics, eh) and shockingly, Special K ordered cinnamon.  It was fantastic.  I order last (at this point, the server only speaks French and we were reduced to pointing because I do not think he could abide my horrible French any longer)... salted butter caramel - pour moi!  He smiled at that.  I then had to pay him.

What is it with the French and coins and exact change?  Knowing the "exact change" preference, I pull out my 3 pound bag of euro coins.  Follow along... I need 8 euro.  I pull out a 5 euro bill, a 2 euro coin and a 1 euro coin.  He says, "Ah."  And digs through my 3 pound bag of coins and retrieve two 1 euro coins.  Then he shows me the 5 euro bill and the three 1 euro coins. WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  I can't speak French so well, but I sure as hell can do math.  I had exactly 8 euro!!!  Whatever.  French My Life.  

Torture, I know.  Smile for the camera.  More walking.  More complaining - in English.  Me, trying not to yell at my kids in English or French or Sailor.  I give in.  Back to the car.  Back to the chateau.  Immediately into the pool (after I pull the 3 pairs of pants out of the washer and de-code the dryer).

I realize, these are all very First World Problems.  And I am very aware of the fact that we are suffering from lack of sleep and "jet legs" as Special K calls it (similar to "sea legs).  And I know that I signed up for all of this - learning new things and challenges with communication while dragging my children through it with me.  So I end my complaining today with an appreciation for French(ing) My Life - c'est la vie.  It may be a bit challenging, but I can't say it sucks.

The Wall

Well, we made it.  It was a very long journey, but uneventful and everybody held up well.  We stay this week in the Chateau Rose.  Guess how it got it's name.  It is a beautiful country home.

On our way to Paris, we were on an AirFrance flight, which is way better than Delta.  The kids thought the plane was very fancy - what with the blankets, pillows, cup holders, TV in the seat in front of us, wider seats.  Lee and I thought the aged plane sounded like a bucket of bolts being dragged behind a Waste Management truck upon takeoff.  Again - we do this to widen our children's view of the world - and trust me, my children have flown a lot, so I laughed when they were impressed with the "amenities" of this flight.

To sum up perfectly, H2's entry in his journal (I am forcing them to write about what they do and see while on this trip) was this: a little girl kicked my seat the entire time on the plane to Paris.  Trip of a lifetime... this is what he knows.  No mention of the dinner he did not eat or the ice cream bar that was given to him during the night.  Or the very cute game bag filled with activities and AirFrance trinkets.  Nope - just that irritating little girl behind him.  OY.  2/5 of this traveling circus were audibly snoring on the flight; 2/5 of us didn't get any sleep and the other 1/5 "just rested my eyes."  In total, it was 20 hours of travel from one door to the final airport.  It was hot when we arrived at our rental home.  As we met with the homeowners and described how incredibly "fatigue" we are, the kids ran around the house, disappeared and then reappeared in the cool waters of the pool.  My comment was, "Elle n'est pas fatigue."  So I guess Special K was no longer exhausted.

I had brought some gifts for our hosts, Phillipe and Martine.  A bottle of Knob Creek whiskey (which he declared as "fabulous!!") and a box of my favorites from Alma Chocolate.  They are unusual flavors for these parts; I hope she doesn't hate on them.  Martine was very impressed and continued to tell me how "gentile!" it was for us to give them a gift.  See - this family, we are not heathens.  At least, not while traveling in other countries.

We made the (upon reflection) poor decision to take the kids into Pau for dinner.  They actually chose to go, but over the course of the 5 minute ride into town, two of them were slumped over and drooling.  The third was well on his way to dream land.  Admittedly, we went into the Place Clemenceau, where there were a ton of people, a stage and a band.  And the soccer match was on several TVs set up in the restaurants.  We got through dinner (the 2.85 euro glass of rose helped) and we made it back home.  Where I fell asleep, fully dressed, but teeth brushed, on top of my bed.  I woke up around 10 p.m, drank some water, closed some windows and went back to bed.  Let me sum up... after being awake for 28 hours, I hit the wall. I slept from 8 p.m. to 11 a.m.  During this time, I dreamt the kids got up in the dark, ended up going to the grocery store, dropping a croissant on my head, running around the house, opening and shutting the windows, slamming the doors, then one by one, they fell asleep for a morning nap, which has turned into an afternoon nap.

Except Special K, of course.  Who was all dressed up because her sister had pushed her in the pool.  I  learned all of this when I finally got up, ate my croissant, made a cup of coffee from a fully automatic machine that has pods, brushed the fuzz off of my teeth and finally joined the living.  Mind you, I had Lil Miss Chatterbox telling me stuff like, "Mommy, you have to pay 1 Euro for a big cart at the supermarche.  But the baskets are free."  I imagine that every child had to carry a basket.  I told her to hang tight, and we could go for a walk.  She sat down with a book about Paris and I went back upstairs to pull myself together.  And when I returned, she looked like this...

I went for a walk by myself.  I learned there is a large Chateau built in 1789.  If you have that kind of cash, you have a large garden, a big carriage house, a large stone wall built of stones (crazy, who has that kind of time?) and a caretaker in a house.   I learned that I don't know French well, but what I do know is passable, and people that stop to ask me where the Musique Fete is located appreciate the fact that I can say in  French, "I don't know.  I am American.  I hear it - over there."  They look a bit shocked, and thank me and drive off.

This is what else I learned...  Today it is raining and humid.  It is very green and there is a lot of agriculture around here.  I can hear doves and pigeons cooing all day long.  I walked down to the river, and it is the twin of the Sandy river.  Its like I traveled 6,000 miles to get off a plane in Oregon.

I ran into our host, Phillipe.  He appreciated the whiskey last night - never having had Knob Creek.  He's never heard of it and is saving it to share with his brother-in-law, who, likely, has never heard of it.  I figured.  That's why I bought it.  This house we are in, Chateau Rose, was built in 1764.  I don't even feel any ghosts.  It's got some crazy stuff - like a third floor that we cannot access.  One closet has a locking door with stairs that go up... I'm dying to bust that door open.  This house has huge rooms, huge windows, and wonky electrical outlets.  At some point in time, electricity was discovered and so I am sure these outlets were placed sometime in the past 200 years.  It is a beautiful home, with tall ceilings.  I got a tour of the carriage house, what we would call a carriage house.  On the top floor is a bird house.  Phillipe told me it is for migrating birds.  But at some point I am sure it was for birds to be eaten by humans.  So, around here, it is very agricultural... the carriage house, used as a garage, is called a grange.  The horses once lived in it - and the stall numbers are still on the walls.  Like most garages, it is currently filled with (non horse) crap - tools, tiny cars, migrating birds, garbage bins.  I like it.  It is huge.  Most homes around here have a grange, but some of the granges have been purchased and are remodeled for a home.

There are several things I love about the home we are in. First of all, the giant fireplace in the kitchen.

It takes up most of the wall in the kitchen.  I also love this little guy... Perfect door stop; better than that cookbook I never use.

If we didn't have thunderstorms and jet lag, we'd be enjoying the beautiful patio and pool.  But most of us are asleep and the rest of us are typing in the kitchen, utilizing the only outlet near a table or countertop.

I had a dream that my son said, "Well, it is 8:30."  We are within a rocks throw of the town church.  That has an operating bell tower.  Trust me, I know.  I have been listening to that thing toll the hour and half hour (a single bell), for the past... I don't know what day it is, but I sure as hell know the time.  He figured it out pretty quick what the tolling of the 1/2 hour.  I think that when mass began, it tolled continuously for about 5 minutes.  Or I dreamt that.  I thought there was a fire - it sounded like an alarm, but eventually stopped.

Apparently, a hundred years or so ago, a minister declared a national holiday.  The first weekend of summer would be a nation wide music fest.  Ah.  Last night makes more sense - what with the giant stage and hordes of visitors.  Tonight it is in Assat, just a block over from our house.  I've been listening to it for the past two days.  And the bells.  And the doves.  And the thunder.  So, when the rest of this house finally wakes up from their 6-8 hour nap, I'm dragging them over there for it.  Right now I hear Pink Floyd's The Wall.  Kid you not.  I told you it is a rock's throw from here.  Speaking of rocks and walls...

Frenchman 15

Let's be clear... This is a trip, not a vacation.  If it were a vacation, I'd be going by myself.  My work is coming with me... being the Stay Away Mother of an 8, 10, and 12 year old, I still have to find food and do laundry.  I just get to do it in France for seven weeks, hence the name of this Blah Blah Blaaahg - Sept Semaine, seven weeks.  I am so excited for my children to see this part of the world.

Remember, waaaay back in college when everybody warned you about the Freshman 15?  The 15 pounds every female Freshman is said to gain, first year away from home, eating in the dorm cafeteria? 

Introducing... The Frenchman 15.  I have embraced my inner chubby, and decided that 15 pounds (rather 6.67 kilos sounds a bit nicer) is a reasonable goal over seven weeks.  It's a kilo a week.  I can wrap my head around that.  I think Frenchman 15 includes a bout with gout.  Maybe a slightly enlarged liver, like a goose raised for foie gras (not that there's anything wrong with that).  An enlarged heart.  And happiness and joy.  Lots of joy.  And a lifetime membership to Jenny Craig while passing through customs into the US.

Here's a little insanity that you all expect from me.

Top 3 ridiculous, irrational, panic inducing, problems:

1) MERS

2) How many shoes do I take?
3) My dog

Top 3 legitimate concerns:

1) My father
2) My dog
3) MERS

One at a time...

MERS - really, I'm just worried about the flight from Paris to Seattle.  I might make us all wear face masks.  And nobody will really judge us, cause we are Asian.  The Chinese do it all the time, right?

Seriously - six pairs of shoes. Too many?  Flip flops, walking shoes, nice shoes for dinner out, walking sandals, Converse and running shoes?  Running gear a waste of precious suitcase space?

My dog is 13 years old and a very good, sweet dog.  But she is attached to me and has anxiety.  I have anxiety about my dog's anxiety!!!  She will be in good hands, but last time I left for only one week in March, and she was mad at me for days when we returned.  She took my glove and hid it in the garage.  I found it last week.

As for my father... he is at the end of his life.  This is the hardest part about getting on that plane.  I fear I won't be here for him when he makes the transition.  It seems asinine to leave and have a life changing experience.  Do I sit around and wait for him to pass?  Do I get to the end of my life and regret not what I've done, but what I did not do?  Do you know how hard it will be for me to get on that plane?  This is not the best timing, and although most people would be thrilled to be getting on that plane, I am having a very challenging time of managing my task list and dealing with the unknowns.

My family is completely supportive of this trip.  I pray he will still be with us upon my return.  So to him, I dedicate this life experience and this blahg.  My father has always been the biggest fan of my brand of crazy.  He is the greatest man to ever live; he adopted this abandoned, malnourished baby out of Korea and unleashed her on the world (all apologies, amirite?).  In all honesty, it was my mother that wanted the little Asian baby, and a brave adoption for my parents way back in the 1970's.  Three years ago I dragged him back from death's door after enduring the chemotherapy for leukemia and against all odds, he has miraculously survived this long.  We have appreciated all the time that has been given to us to enjoy him.  No words can describe how I love my father.  So I hope to take him along on this journey.

So, despite my challenges with said technology (of which there are many), I am going to try to update you here, with spotty "wee-fee," an ipad and some hopefully improving Frenglish along the way.