Can I do that too?

There's a blogger scheduled outage, sometime today, I'll be sleeping, or almost because apparently all things blogger are managed on California time. Fine by me. There are a few things in life that really should be managed California style. Washington (state, not DC) too. Illinois too. Actually, I like to think that every state (both United and soul) has something it manages to do better than any other. Washington - coffee, for starters. Illinois - wild mushrooms. This funky soul state I'm currently in - hopefully blow one speck of dust off that mirror.

I would also like to add that I love the notion of a scheduled outage. I would like to schedule one myself. Just a parenthetical notation of a few hours, a day maybe, a week would be ideal but that would logistically be difficult to manage. I would take the time to look at the chips, suspended in mid-air before they fall.

On my purple ipod - Cowboys

Lorraine posted this tag and I liked it, mainly for the same reasons she did, using that swirly thing is very nice. So you put your ipod or whatever on shuffle and then you push the next button for the answer to each question.

1. What do your friends think of you?
Le monde, Thievery Corporation

2. If someone says, "Is this ok?" you say?
Working on a building, Cowboy Junkies

3. How would you describe yourself?
Starfish, Sister Hazel

4. What do you like in a guy?
Statesboro blues, The Allman Brothers Band

5. What's your life's purpose?
Three, Massive Attack

6. What's your motto?
End theme, Morcheeba

7. What do you think about very often?
American baby, Dave Matthews Band

8. What is 2+2?
All the way to Reno, REM

9. What do you think of your best friend?
3 doors down, Citizen Solider

10. What is your life story?
A beautiful mess, Jason Mraz. (No joke.)

11. What do you think of when you see the person you love?
Shimmer, Fuel

12. What will you dance to at your wedding?
Open your eyes, Snow Patrol

13. What will they play at your funeral?
Shake it, Metro Station

14. What's your hobby/interest?
Take it to the limit, The Eagles

15. What's your biggest fear?
I'm not waiting, Chris Isaak

16. What's your biggest secret?
'Round Midnight, Ella Fitzgerald

17. What do you think of your friends?
All the right friends, REM

18. Title of this post?
Cowboys, Portishead

The run-away week

This week has totally gotten away from me. Boy2 got the flu on Sunday so I had to cancel all my classes Monday. And I didn't have any classes Tuesday and I don't work on Wednesdays since the boys don't have school. I had big, fancy plans for all of those days. Said big, fancy plans didn't really manifest in the way I was hoping.

So when I walked into work on Thursday morning, I asked everyone how their weekend was. Common responses included:

- That was a while ago.
- I'm already planning this weekend, I hardly remember last weekend.
- Huh?

In other work related news, the heater at work is broken. It's very cold. Not quite as my house was when my heater broke, but close. I really need a new coat.

Let's talk about the weather

It has been really cold here. I mean really cold. Much colder than it usually gets and certainly much colder than it usually stays. -6°C? That's like 20°F or something like that. That's colder than I've had to deal with since I moved away from Illinois. Which was a long time ago.

You'd think though, having grown up in the midwest, that I'd be all cold proof. Not so. Even less so when things like heaters break. You kind of get used to not having to deal with lasting cold. I won't say I've missed it. But I won't say I hate it either. It just takes a while to get used to it.

Better equipment would help. Double paned windows. Warmer shoes. Coats that are meant only to keep you warm, not to be pretty. I wore a very warm (read: not pretty) coat to school the other day. My students - the guys - all made remarks. Along the lines of, "Well, at least you're warm." Nice.

The freezing walk across the river to the café is nice though. Parts of it are frozen, unexpected and beautiful.

I will listen

And I will hear something different. Finally.

Laval is a small city. In a very rural part of France.

Up until a few weeks ago, I was reminded of that everyday in the car. I don't have a cd player in my car, just the radio. Which is how I got the reminders. The selection of radio stations was REALLY limited. Religious and all talk, pop and all commercials, another pop and all commercials, 'alternative' (read still pop but heavier guitar) and mostly commercials, public radio and all news, classical so mostly good but sometimes too much opera, elevator music and I never left it on long enough to know if it was mostly commercials. That's about it.

And then, for some strange magical radio-land reason, one night, at midnight (I'm not kidding), there were 15 more stations. Most of which are just more of the same but there's one jazz station with little talk and fewer commercials. So between that and the classical station and the public radio every once in a while so I vaguely know what's going on in the world, I like what I hear when I drive my car.

London calling

So, I made it. Travel delays and no music made for a looooong trip, but I am here.

My posts will probably be short for the next week. I am using a laptop with a German keyboard. Which, of course, can´t be the same as a French or American keyboard. See that apostrophy I used? Not even a real one. I think it´s an accent.

Hey, this morning I saw a fox in the garden.

When the boys are away...

I do not eat the same way.

Dinner tonight:

Half a camembert and pine nuts, roasted, on baby salad greens. A big glass of thick, dark red wine.

Dessert tonight:

Apples sautéed with salted butter, honey, and ginger.

Lights on, lights off

It's actually my birthday week. Because one day just isn't enough.

I had a very small gathering at home on Saturday evening. Monday was the real birthday, but I mostly just worked. Tuesday was a beautifully timed acupuncture appointment and then coffee. Friday is a birthday lunch. And then, of course, lovely blog birthday wishes and messages on my answering machine and emails.

My birthday present to myself? A eurostar ticket to London for the week after Christmas. To spend a week with a friend I've had for nearly 20 years, since Wilmington.

The light thing?

Well, Laval is one of those cities with a major Christmas light thing. Saturday evening they turned the lights on with big music and fireworks.

I, of course, told the boys that they were really turning them on for my birthday.

Lights off, well, my very old house and its very old electrical system seem to not be getting along well tonight. The power keeps going off. I've unplugged and called the electrician and followed his instructions and currently have lights and hot water. I'm under strict instructions not to use the washing machine or the dryer or the dishwasher.

He must not know I have two boys.

December 1st is my birthday

How's that for a very subtle ploy to get attention?

I'm posting tonight because I won't have time tomorrow, classes all day and kids' stuff after that. I promised the boys we would bake a cake.

This will be the second hard birthday I've had in a row, for reasons too numerous to discuss. But I will say that none of them even have to do with how old I am. I've shelved that issue and will, perhaps, get to it some other year.

Know what I want for my birthday?

Rainbows and unicorns and lines in the sand that spell out a message that will make me smile until my next birthday.

Look at me being all proactive

Remember the redevance audiovisuelle? It's the television tax you pay here every September. It actually comes on the same form as the taxe d'habitation which is a municipal renter's tax. I haven't received the form yet but I'm hopeful there will be a big box where I can put a big X to indicate that I don't have a television and will, therefore, not be paying the stupid television tax.

Apparently when you claim not to have a tv, and I say claim because when you tell people here you don't have a tv they look at you like you've got to be kidding, the television tax people threaten to inspect your home, looking for secret widescreen television hiding places.

How will I respond to such threats? Come on over, I'll say, chat with my kids, they'll tell you ALL about not having a tv. And then I'll tell you all about it too. How nice it is to see that buffet in the family room covered with plants instead of electronic equipment. How nice it is to have silence be the only background noise covering my children's voices.

I must be fair, the boys have actually adjusted quite well. They've taken to spending hours on end outside in our little front yard, inventing endless battles between dinosaurs and dragons, and doing whatever one does with duel master cards.

Oh and hey, speaking of taxes, it was pointed out to me, while I was heartily bitching about the Republican Party, that I should zip it until I paid my back taxes in the US. Ha! I've looked into it and the good news is I only have to file for the past 6 years and during that time, believe me, I was either pregnant at home or with a toddler at home or working vaguely part-time and earning way under the tax exclusion limits. So, I've called Paris, I've asked for the forms and I'm going to officialize myself. So I can officially continue bitching about the Republican Party. I am so looking forward to that.

The President's coming

Not the soon to be lame duck, the other one, the French one. He's coming to Laval this evening. How do I know? By keeping myself well-informed? Yeah, right. Reading the newspaper? Nope, can't find a good one. Watching the news? Nope, my television is dead. Seriously. So broken it's officially dead. I'm thrilled. The boys are beyond despondent. News on the internet? Nope, I use my computer time for much more frivolous things.

I know because mon quartier est bouclé. My neighborhood is nearly sealed off and it's overrun with stern looking CRS guys.

Don't ask me what he's doing here, I have no idea (see above paragraph).

I'll tell you tomorrow if I hear about it in a café. That's my real method of staying informed.

Prise de la Bastille et ma prise de tête

It's a holiday weekend here. Today's Bastille Day. I'll be going to a party at a chateau this evening and I won't have to cook any food all day. Life's interesting that way sometimes.

My brain-searing headache is back, which is why I've been posting so little. But I'm planning on giving my headache the silent treatment, hopefully that'll do the trick. Why the headache? The jaw. No, not from talking too much. Probably from not talking enough. Or not about the right things. Or something like that.

What the....?

So, I was walking home from my favorite café a couple of days ago and this is what I saw.

First, a horse and buggy. Being driven (does one drive a horse and buggy?) down a small street a couple of blocks from mine by a very salt of the earth looking 70ish year old man. Not far from where I saw the nun coming out of the bar.

Two minutes later, a beautifully restored 68 VW Bettle, driven by a nun of indeterminate age. Like most nuns.

Two minutes later and now just a block from my house, a big black Hummer. Driven by a young, show-offy Italian (his look screamed Italy and his license plates confirmed it).

He bumped into 2 side view mirrors on his way down the street.

I'm not sure what any of that means, but I'm certain it's significant.

Bad seed

I went to the acupuncturist's on friday. I love acupuncture. I've been going, off and on, for years and years. I started in Seattle. There's a school there, NIAOM, that has a clinic where interns treat you (under supervision, of course) and it was cheap so when I was in graduate school I started going once a week. And I kept that up for years. And then when I moved here I found an amazing acupuncturist in Nantes, Dr. Butat (in France acupuncturists have to be MD's) and I saw him every couple of weeks until I moved to Laval. Since I've been here, I've been less regular but still fairly consistent, particularly when I'm busy having my ass kicked by life.

So that's like 17 years of acupuncture. I've had a lot of needles in a lot of places, some more or less agreable than others. Kidney 1, middle of the sole of the foot. Ouch. Hurts bad, very bad. And then there are just the points that are jumpy on me, but you learn to deal with that. I've always trusted my acupuncturists and the treatments are always beneficial.

None of that has changed. But jeez. Friday, she put this thing on my ear lobe, up kind of high on the lobe, which corresponds to something important, no doubt, but I was having trouble with the pain so I forgot to ask. Seriously. She needled my ear but it fell out a couple of times so she said, "I'm going to put a little something that'll stay for a bit." I was thinking one of those little pellet things with the adhesive that you leave for a few days. Um, no. Which I should've figured out when she told me to take a deep breath. She pushed this THING (I think it's called a seed in English) hard into my lobe and now I look like I've got a new piercing.

Except that it hurts. When I move the phone to that ear, when I brush my hair, when I roll over to that side while I'm sleeping, and when I bump into things.

Speaking of bumping into things, did I tell you that I broke my nose last week?

Out of a pit

of dust and despair I shall rise.

I swear.

No, really, it's totally on my list of things to do. The rising out of the pit thing.

And I'm going to post for real tomorrow. And it might even be funny.

Searching

Doesn't necessarily mean finding. As is evidenced by the data compiled by my site meter.

It's interesting to look at how people end up on your blog. Most of them come from places unknown but sometimes they come from searches. And often times, they only stay for a minute because they didn't find what they were looking for.

My favorite is, of course, the Mary Kleyweg search. Which comes up every once in a while.

Other favorites: wheat drawings (from an odd conversation with Boy1), baguette viennoise, some words may hide others, label things in my room in a foreign language, and La Maison Renaise.

Which, by the way is now called La Maison... and will be opening in its new location May 13th. I've been inside, it's going to be beautiful and it's even closer to my house now. And open on mondays. And open early in the morning.

No need to search for me, you know where I'll be.

Several things

Yes, this is going to be one of those posts.

1. I am fine. The boys are fine.

2. It's still not spring. They speak of it coming one day but I'm doubtful. There are, theoretically, blooming pink trees and magnolias have supposedly come and gone, but I've seen none of it. How could you? Too much rain and hail and wind and cold.

3. I did see, however, a beautiful rainbow on saturday afternoon. I didn't even bargain with any saints to get it. Others, on the other hand, are probably bargaining in my favor. Thank you, all of you.

4. I do not have a brain searing headache and I am not in a funk and neither of these states is a result of drugs, prescription or otherwise. These are things to be grateful for.

5. Can someone please pick me a theme song?

Not Miss Météo

I'm not really into the weather. I don't monitor it, other than to decide which clothes to set out for the kids to wear to school.

I've never been particularly weather sensitive, other than to the heat. Over 75 and I start to melt.

I grew up in Illinois with the snow and the wind and the cold and the odd springs and hot, humid summers. And then I lived in North Carolina where it was, for about 4 months of the year, too hot for me. But I survived and didn't bitch about it too often. Then I moved to Seattle. Everyone bitches about Seattle weather. But I didn't. Ever. I loved Seattle weather. I loved the mist and the perfect (usually) mild summers and the moderate winters. And even the rain. It never stopped me from doing what I wanted to do. I never used an umbrella in Seattle. I didn't even own one.

And then I moved here.

And now, this year especially, I find myself feeling being somethinged by this ridiculous weather.

Les giboulées de mars. March showers. Although I find showers only hints at what giboulées really means. And believe me, I have pointed out to the skies that March is over.

In fact, it's weather chaos. Chaos linked to the passage from winter to spring. That transition from the quiet knowing that is winter to the necessary doing that is spring. Sunny every once in a while, cold, harsh wind with oddly timed showers of rain or hail or huge melting snowflakes like we had yesterday. No snow, not one flake, all winter long and then, on April 6th, it snows.

Perhaps I'm the one who got it wrong. Is it supposed to be necessary knowing and quiet doing? Either way, it feels like neither.

I'm in Paris

For the whole weekend.

Alone.

Sweetness

I'm going into business. Unofficially at first. Isn't that the best way anyway?

Because when something's official you have to master things and control things and be certain of things. And since I've recently become aware of the illusions that mastery and control and certainty can create and the problems that follow, I'm avoiding officiality (Is that a word? If not, despite my dislike for modals, it should be.) at all costs. For the love of everything that is right and true, make nothing official for me. Make it all about fluidity and flow and flexibility.

My new business activity? Making pastries and treats for a local tea and coffee drinking establishment. Because, in addition to spreading the Democrat love, I like to spread sweetness around.