Here's a quickie. Or maybe that's not the best choice of words, considering.
Today at school there were happy new year greetings a plenty. Everyone was throwing bonne santes around as freely as the requisite three kisses. And so was I.
As I kissed and wished to a friend (she of lait de poule fame) she wished me 'bonne annee, bonne sante, bonne amour!'.
To which I exuberantly replied, 'To you too! C'est necessaire a faire l'amour!'.
Now what I meant to say was 'it's necessary to work at love' but what I said was 'it's necessary to make love'.
As in: 'sexy'. Or so Ma Fille told me as she blushed and sputtered.
And so. A new one to add to my little journal of faux pas.
You gotta make love, people. Just do it.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
We'll Always Have Paris
Mon Mari and I got a great Christmas present--two nights in Paris, sans enfants. As the days of Grand-mere's visit dwindle we took the rare opportunity to get the heck out of town. And when you live in the South of France, why not have 'out of town' be Paris?
We left early Tuesday morning rolling our bags down our residential streets on the way to the train station. It took us less than 30 minutes to reach the Gare de Lyon in Montpellier and then we were off. No airport security or long lines, just time enough to grab a warm croissant and jump on the train that would speed us to the City of Lights in three and a half hours. The time it would take me to drive from Austin to North Dallas. Sweet.
Our first stop was the hotel Observatoire Luxembourg just across from the Luxembourg Gardens and a short Metro from the Gare de Lyon. Then we were off on what would be an unencumbered stroll around Paris. For three perfect days.
For lunch that first day we ate at Les Relais de l'Entrecôte in the 6th. If you've never heard of it, it's a Texan's dream. A place where all they serve is salad, steak and fries. And desserts you can't even imagine.
Your only choices are: how would you like your meat cooked (rare, please),what you'd like to drink (red, please) and which dessert you can still manage to stuff in after two servings of steak and fries. The waitresses wear black and white French uniforms with their hair pulled back into buns and buzz around smiling and efficiently serving up plate after plate of perfect steak happily bathing in a delicious sauce.
After this we emerged, blinking into the cloudy Parisian day, satisfied and ready for more strolling. We walked and walked and walked. In a way you can't do with children. Or with jet lag.
You name it, we walked by it.
The Pantheon, The Sorbonne, the St Michel fountain, St Germain des Pres & the Latin Quarter, Notre Dame, Hotel de Ville, the Louvre, Musee D'Orsay, Place de la Concorde, Grand Palais, Champs Elysee, George V, Montmarte & Sacre Coeur, the Eiffel Tower hiding behind the clouds, the George Pompidou Center.
We went to an exhibit of the Stein collection (as in Gertrude and her brothers) at the Grand Palais which featured Cezanne, Matisse and Picasso. Gertrude's sister-in-law Sarah was a special friend to Matisse and his family and as he's my favorite of the three artists featured in the collection I was happy to see so many of his drawings and paintings. Imagine having your son's portrait painted by Henri Matisse. It was first shown in San Fransisco last year and moves to the Met in NYC in February after an extended stay in Paris through January 22nd.
After all my talk of the egg from my Bestie trip last year I had to take Mon Mari to Cafe Constant so he could taste the real deal for himself. And when he did I have to tell you that he closed his eyes. I ordered a crab and parsley starter that made me want to close mine too and we both ate more meat for our mains...this time veal with white beans and garlic that fueled another afternoon of walking.
We went to Gilbert Joseph, a bookstore extraordinaire dotting Blvd St Michel with its varying storefronts selling paper, textbooks, art supplies, calendars, games, and used books spilling out onto the sidewalk in racks and on tables for you to run a gloved finger over as you pass. Inside, the English section made me feel giddy. I haven't seen that many books in English in two years. I was overwhelmed by choice, blissful choice and just stood there taking it all in before I could even begin to focus. I did okay in the end, spending 60 euro on a bag of used and new books to hold and stack up on my bedside table.
Stopping off for vin chaud, coffee, a flight of wine at O'Chateau's new wine bar and a Starbucks chai tea latte whenever the mood struck was probably the best part.
The freedom of being in a big city, holding hands, window shopping and strolling along together was the most perfect Christmas gift ever.
 |
| Hi!, we're in Paris taking up close phone photos!! |
We left early Tuesday morning rolling our bags down our residential streets on the way to the train station. It took us less than 30 minutes to reach the Gare de Lyon in Montpellier and then we were off. No airport security or long lines, just time enough to grab a warm croissant and jump on the train that would speed us to the City of Lights in three and a half hours. The time it would take me to drive from Austin to North Dallas. Sweet.
Our first stop was the hotel Observatoire Luxembourg just across from the Luxembourg Gardens and a short Metro from the Gare de Lyon. Then we were off on what would be an unencumbered stroll around Paris. For three perfect days.
 |
| there it is |
Your only choices are: how would you like your meat cooked (rare, please),what you'd like to drink (red, please) and which dessert you can still manage to stuff in after two servings of steak and fries. The waitresses wear black and white French uniforms with their hair pulled back into buns and buzz around smiling and efficiently serving up plate after plate of perfect steak happily bathing in a delicious sauce.
 |
| Sacre Coeur |
 |
| cool horses |
You name it, we walked by it.
 |
| St Michel fountain |
 |
| Louvre at night |
 |
| Eiffel Tower being coy |
After all my talk of the egg from my Bestie trip last year I had to take Mon Mari to Cafe Constant so he could taste the real deal for himself. And when he did I have to tell you that he closed his eyes. I ordered a crab and parsley starter that made me want to close mine too and we both ate more meat for our mains...this time veal with white beans and garlic that fueled another afternoon of walking.
We went to Gilbert Joseph, a bookstore extraordinaire dotting Blvd St Michel with its varying storefronts selling paper, textbooks, art supplies, calendars, games, and used books spilling out onto the sidewalk in racks and on tables for you to run a gloved finger over as you pass. Inside, the English section made me feel giddy. I haven't seen that many books in English in two years. I was overwhelmed by choice, blissful choice and just stood there taking it all in before I could even begin to focus. I did okay in the end, spending 60 euro on a bag of used and new books to hold and stack up on my bedside table.
 |
| coming home, refreshed |
The freedom of being in a big city, holding hands, window shopping and strolling along together was the most perfect Christmas gift ever.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Santa's Coming to the Sud de France
With the Big Kids hitting nine and seven this year I was worried about the belief in the Big Guy.
They hear things. Things they can understand now because they speak French. And they wonder about the logistics, practicalities like a big man fitting through a chimney and whether or not that's a good thing. But mostly, they fight against not believing. Ma Fille wants answers and by this I mean she wants them from Santa himself. Tonight she's written a note to him asking his favorite color, if they can maybe have hot chocolate together before New Year's and again for his signature. The Tooth Fairy went through a similar line of questioning. I think she wants to believe so much that she just does. And this is the magic of Christmas.
I wrote the following post two years ago in Ireland and posted it last year too. And I will keep sharing it as long as the bubble of magic remains intact. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas Eve and Morning full of joy and love.
And shiny, bubbly Santa dreams.....
Originally posted December 2009
This year was the biggest year for Santa in our house. It is as if the 7 almost 8 year old believes even more fervently than ever before in order to keep it true. Of course the kids talk in the yard. They ask questions, wondering: how could a bike really fit through the chimney….and how does the alarm not go off when Santa creeps in….and why does my guitar say, 'made in China'?
To all of these questions we answer, it's magic. And Santa has elves in China. I was kicking myself for not taking off that little gold sticker! The magic part is real to me. Only if you believe will Santa come to see you. I even believe in him when I am sneaking upstairs holding my breath, to retrieve the hidden crocodile in my closet. It is Santa's magic that keeps them asleep, keeps them from hearing the Elmo cry out, "Elmo needs a hug!" and muffles the deafening sound of that horrible thick plastic they like to ensconce toys in these days.
So, they believe because we believe and none of us want this beautiful bubble of childhood to burst.
At the park on the Sunday then, you can imagine my horror as a woman we were talking to wielded a sharp bubble bursting pin. She didn't mean to, but her comments made me want to grab Ma Fille by the arm and start running, singing la,la,la,la,laaaaa at the top of my lungs to distract her. Of course that would have been silly so instead I screwed up my eyes at the lady then opened them wide, then gave her a creepy smile and a subtle jerk of the head in my innocent daughter's direction.
The whole thing was simply a misunderstanding. The lady in question is from Slovakia and what I didn't know but found out on Sunday, is that in Slovakia they believe that Jesus himself delivers the toys to children on Christmas Eve. She was telling us this interesting bit of anthropological trivia, never thinking that it could call into question our Santa belief. After my bizarre motioning and grimacing she realized and started backtracking.
"Different places believe different things but Santa still brings our Christmas presents." And that was that--bubble intact, floating along iridescent and pure—for at least another year.
They hear things. Things they can understand now because they speak French. And they wonder about the logistics, practicalities like a big man fitting through a chimney and whether or not that's a good thing. But mostly, they fight against not believing. Ma Fille wants answers and by this I mean she wants them from Santa himself. Tonight she's written a note to him asking his favorite color, if they can maybe have hot chocolate together before New Year's and again for his signature. The Tooth Fairy went through a similar line of questioning. I think she wants to believe so much that she just does. And this is the magic of Christmas.
I wrote the following post two years ago in Ireland and posted it last year too. And I will keep sharing it as long as the bubble of magic remains intact. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas Eve and Morning full of joy and love.
And shiny, bubbly Santa dreams.....
Originally posted December 2009
This year was the biggest year for Santa in our house. It is as if the 7 almost 8 year old believes even more fervently than ever before in order to keep it true. Of course the kids talk in the yard. They ask questions, wondering: how could a bike really fit through the chimney….and how does the alarm not go off when Santa creeps in….and why does my guitar say, 'made in China'?
To all of these questions we answer, it's magic. And Santa has elves in China. I was kicking myself for not taking off that little gold sticker! The magic part is real to me. Only if you believe will Santa come to see you. I even believe in him when I am sneaking upstairs holding my breath, to retrieve the hidden crocodile in my closet. It is Santa's magic that keeps them asleep, keeps them from hearing the Elmo cry out, "Elmo needs a hug!" and muffles the deafening sound of that horrible thick plastic they like to ensconce toys in these days.
So, they believe because we believe and none of us want this beautiful bubble of childhood to burst.
At the park on the Sunday then, you can imagine my horror as a woman we were talking to wielded a sharp bubble bursting pin. She didn't mean to, but her comments made me want to grab Ma Fille by the arm and start running, singing la,la,la,la,laaaaa at the top of my lungs to distract her. Of course that would have been silly so instead I screwed up my eyes at the lady then opened them wide, then gave her a creepy smile and a subtle jerk of the head in my innocent daughter's direction.
The whole thing was simply a misunderstanding. The lady in question is from Slovakia and what I didn't know but found out on Sunday, is that in Slovakia they believe that Jesus himself delivers the toys to children on Christmas Eve. She was telling us this interesting bit of anthropological trivia, never thinking that it could call into question our Santa belief. After my bizarre motioning and grimacing she realized and started backtracking.
"Different places believe different things but Santa still brings our Christmas presents." And that was that--bubble intact, floating along iridescent and pure—for at least another year.
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