On the nature of surprises

Some surprises are nice. Like the one you get when you eat my chocolate chunk meringues. You're expecting light, crispy meringue, which you definitely get, but you also get a mouthful of smooth chocolate that is totally unexpected and very, very nice.

Some surprises are odd. Like when I lifted the big, opaque bottle of laundry detergent the other day. It should have been nearly full, I had just bought it recently. And my brain was obviously operating under the assumption that it was, because my arm and the bottle went flying up. Don't ask me where all that detergent went, I have no idea. Anyway.

Some surprises are potentially dangerous. Like when I was carrying Boy2 (yes, I know, he's way too heavy for me to be doing that) down the stairs and my brain and legs were convinced there was one more step, and there wasn't. We didn't fall, just stumbled, surprised.

And some surprises aren't surprises at all, they're something else - cool sand running through your fingers. Like when you expect the very best to happen, and it does. Or when you see that something that should have been a surprise wasn't one at all - it was simply what you were looking for, asking for without even knowing it. Or when you imagine how good something is going to be, and you realize it'll be better. Or when you know you're exactly where you're supposed to be, despite the clamouring and chaos.

Hey, when was your last surprise? And was it nice, odd, potentially dangerous, or not a surprise after all?

Rub this and perspective that

I flew over mountains on friday.

There was snow, just some, on the tops and in patterns that looked like leaf rubbings or fossils of ancient and universe-sized birch and elm leaves. It was quite beautiful and surprising - I never really expect to see anything I like in an airplane, even if it's out the window.

I was going to Barcelona to see a friend, a very good friend, who I met in Wilmington, North Carolina, forever ago, when I was an undergraduate. Wilmington is one of those places, like Seattle, that left its mark on me like the snow on that mountain. Not covering me - just a rubbing, a trace, an imprint that changed me in ways that I may not have noticed until years later, decades even, after a change in perspective. I met people there who are still with me today, like this friend in Barcelona. People whose part to play in my life, whose importance, I felt instictively and instantly. I arrived when I was sixteen, still a girl, but convinced I was a woman. And I left at 21, still not a woman, but closer, and convinced, certain as I could only be in that pre-new-me way, that if I didn't leave then, I never would.

And Seattle was calling. I had so much to do. A dark side to acknowledge, years of graduate work to complete, shadow sisters to meet - Tanya and Meg who still come to me occasionally in my dreams to tell me things I must hear but won't if it's in my own voice - truths I cannot hear from myself. And the other sisters I met there, Lorraine and Julie, women who are still part of my daily life, despite the distance.

Where are you in your cycle?

I have a client, I call him the quality guy. Not because of who he is but because he works in the Quality department of a large industrial company. And I help him with his business English. Cause I am all business.

Anyway, we met this week and had an interesting quality conversation. And I learned all about The Deming Cycle. Has anyone heard of this?

The Deming cycle or PDSA cycle:

PLAN: plan ahead for change. Analyze and predict the results.

DO: execute the plan, taking small steps in controlled circumstances.

STUDY: (CHECK) , study the results.

ACT: take action to standardize or improve the process.

I must be honest. In my pre-new-me days, I would've been all over this thing. In those days when the clamouring was just a murmur and chaos was not my constant companion.

So what's my new cycle? Find freedom in structure. Find order in change. Find discipline in discovery. Find structure in freedom. Find change in order. Find discovery in discipline.

Wish me luck.

Turn it off please

It drives me crazy when both of my kids talk to me at the same time. Parents, is it like that for all of you? I can't seem to filter one or the other out so I usually end up not listening to either one and telling them both to be quiet.

Ah, quiet.

I spent the weekend alone, in a very quiet, very empty house. It was great. Very peaceful. Very relaxing. Very unusual.

Of course, it wasn't as quiet as it could've been. The clamouring in my head was awfully loud and it actually gave me a headache on sunday. Which I cured with coffee and chocolate. Let me be clear: it cured the headache, not the clamouring. Anyone know a cure for clamouring? And don't say yoga, I'm already doing that. Daily.

Sunday morning I went for a walk along the river. It was windy. For a moment, I thought I heard the truth in the wind. It was just a whisper. So faint that it could have just been my own voice. I'll never know.

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.

Through, not around

I know, I know. You're all getting really tired of me writing about stuff like this. What happened to the French stories? The food stories? The foot-in-mouth stories?

Well, I cannot say. I only know that I don't have any of those. My life isn't feeling very Frenchified as of late, or maybe I've been here for so long that I don't even notice when it is, and I haven't had much of an appetite lately so there goes the food thing, and my foot is nowhere near my mouth right now, it's firmly planted on floor. Well, the black high-heeled boot that is currently housing my foot is firmly planted on the floor.

So, this is all you're getting for now.

Chaos. Le Chaos. It should be enough to know that when you get to the other side of it, life will be good. That knowledge should be enough to make the chaos bearable. Should. I hate shoulds. Modal verbs, in general, suck.

So here's my question: How good are you at accepting the discomfort of chaos?

On knowing and not knowing

Boy1 no longer believes in Santa Claus. And it's that girl that he kissed who told him. Décidément, celle là.

He told us before Christmas and seemed pretty matter-of-fact about the whole thing. And impressed by the thoughtfulness of parents in general.

But last night he admitted that knowing bothered him. And that before she told him, he knew but it hadn't been said out loud so he didn't really know. He knew in his gut what his mind didn't want to know. And when his classmate said it out loud, he could no longer go on not knowing.

So here's my question: What do you know in your gut that you don't want to know in your mind? And at which point does knowing become knowing?

List this

You know that perfect list? The one that's really clear and tells you exactly where you're going and what you have to do to get there and what's most important to you?

I've had to make a lot of lists lately. I've been a little (a lot) distracted lately, what with getting my ass kicked, ending my life-long relationship with the word never and becoming a really reserved, flexible, tolerant new me. So at work and at home I've had to make lists just to get through the day and accomplish the minimum necessary. They've even come in remarkably handy in other arenas as well. I'm sure someone out there is enjoying the benefits of my new-found list-making skills right now.

So here's my question for the day: What or who is at the top of your list?

On never saying never

I was one of those people before. You know the kind, the kind with strong opinions and decisive answers and categorical statements. We'll chalk it up to too many years of graduate school. There may be a few of you out there who would claim that those tendencies pre-dated graduate school but you'd be totally wrong, of course.

But from here on out, you have my word, my vehement, know-it-all and must-have-the-last word, I'm done. As of late, I've had to eat too many of those last words, regret too many strong opinions, contradict too many decisive answers and hugely qualify too many categorical statements.

You'll see. I'm going to be positively wishy-washy. All flexible and tolerant and reserved and contemplative.

I swear.

Misc Boy2 things

Boy2 has learned how to write Spiderman without any help.

And he's more proud than when he learned how to write his own name.

And a few nights ago at dinner, he couldn't stop laughing. One of those out of control, endless fits of laughter. After a while he looked at me and said, 'I'm trying to stop Mama, but I just can't focus.'

Now who would talk to a 4 year old about focus?

A local celebrity

That's me.

Whenever there's something interesting (from a French point of view) going on in the US, I get a call from the local radio station for an interview.

What did I say?

Well, let's just say, and the two (yes, there are only two of you) Republicans in my life are really going to appreciate this, I broadcast the Democrat love all over Laval.

I smell desperate longing

Well, happy new year and all that.

I've never liked December 31st very much, well, at least not for the new year aspect. It's my brother's birthday so I like it for that reason alone. I don't really like January 1st much either. I like every other day of the year though. The new year starts in September anyway, everyone knows that.

So, obviously, I don't want to talk about what I'm hoping for this year or dreaming of this year because hopes and dreams quickly become more than that and that just puts you into a terrible state (no, not Texas) - the state of desperate longing. You know the one I'm talking about, it smells like roses.

So here's my question: what do you desperately long for?

Misc Christmas Things

1. I saw a Hummer in Nantes. A Hummer. In Nantes. Can any of you imagine a Hummer in the streets of a French city? As I saw it drive by a huge WHY came out of my mouth.

2. And I've been so good. I got a Nespresso coffee machine for Christmas. All my good itentions out the window. We'll see how moderate I'll be. If today was any example, a little more self-discipline is in order.

3. Christmas dinner lasted 3 hours. Want to hear about it? Ok, so, first, for apéritif, we had, well, apéritif stuff - olives and cashews and cherry tomatoes and champagne. Then, foie gras, which my mother-in-law makes (it's DIVINE) with onion confit and fig confit and arugula. With that, we drank a wine called Sensuel (and it was) which is made from the vendanges extremes in the Loire region (also divine). Then we had two different seafood terrines, served with homemade mayonnaise and Chardonnay. Then we had duck with a St. Nicolas de Borgueil. Perfection. I skipped dessert and had chocolate truffles with my coffee. So much lighter than dessert.

4. The label of this post (down below) is a blatant ploy.

Joyeux Noël

It's a strange Christmas this year for a variety of reasons. I hadn't bought any gifts as of saturday. Yeah, the saturday we just had a couple of days ago. Nor had I planned my menu for last night's dinner. Which, thankfully, ended up being delicious. I made my first tarte tatin, with extra caramel au beurre salé, of course. The boys loved it but still wanted chocolate sorbet afterwards. I haven't been in the mood for Christmas at all this year, also very strange. But here it is anyway. Enjoy it.

So, do you want to hear some more about the spa?

I got there saturday right after lunch. I checked into my room, stared at the sea for a while and then went to the spa desk. Where I was served an herbal infusion while I waited 5 minutes for my massage therapist to arrive. She led me into a hot room, filled with candles. I undressed and got on the table, which was covered with heated towels that smelled like honeysuckle. The rest is kind of a blur. I know it involved warm scented oil and what felt like 50 hot hard snakes slithering over my skin for the next 90 minutes. Amazing.

I had a essential oil facial after that. And then I went back to my room and stared back out at the sea for a while.

I'm actually surpised I came back.

As of last night, Boy2 has the stomach flu and I'm knee-deep in vomit covered laundry. Timing is funny.

In recent news

I went away to a spa in a 4 star hotel this weekend. In Saint-Malo.

It was the most sensual weekend I've ever had that didn't involve sex. Which is exactly what I needed after my recent ass-kicking.

I got massages and salt water spa treaments and I ate foie gras and lamb and 3 kinds of sorbet and stared out at the sea from my window for hours.

Things I learned this weekend?

I like 4 star hotels.

Spas are nice.

Mango sorbet is more appealing as an idea than as an actual sorbet.

Interesting

I love knowing things. I love having things figured out.

But recently, life has decided to remind me that I know little and have nothing figured out. Kicked my ass, really.

So here's my question: when was the last time life kicked your ass?

Misc

1. What happens when you apply the rule everywhere? My brother and his wife are always referred to as Uncle Daryl and Aunt Denise. Logical, that's what they are to the boys. So, yesterday at breakfast, Boy2 says,
- -hey mama, Uncle Daryl's my what?
Your uncle.
- right so Uncle Billy and Uncle Daryl are my uncles. And what's Aunt Denise?
She's your aunt.
-Right! So gramdma's my gra and Christi's my Chri and Nicolas is my Nic. I got it!

2. I'm the victim of my own success. Last week was the Christmas market at the boys' school. Things made by the parents are sold for cash for the school. I can't sew or build things, so I cooked. I made 25 jars of salted butter caramel sauce and 65 100-gram sachets of fudge, brittle, and toffee (which they don't really have here). I arrived at school on thrusday evening to help out. Doors opened at 8. At 8:25, there wasn't anything left. So, the president of the PTA asked me, very nicely, if I could possibly go home and make some more for the next two days of the market, which I did. I am so sick of sugar.

3. The blinding headache is back. 7 hours of oral English exams with my second year students. Torture for them and for me.

Clink

Saturday was my birthday. And, as my brother put it, "That makes you, well, that much closer to 40." He's so nice.

So my two favorite presents were an ice cream maker and a cast iron waffle iron.

My wise friend Julie said, "They should have just given you the chain they're going to use to chain you to the kitchen."

But I was very happy with both gifts. I've been wanting an ice cream maker forever. Chocolate sorbet. White mint sorbet. Salted butter caramel ice cream. Violet ice cream. See, you want some too.

And waffles. Who doesn't love waffles? I even found an eggless waffle recipe for Boy2.

Comment much, people?

Jeez.

Thankfully, Beth has been my friend FOR NEARLY EVER. We lived on the same street from, well, birth, until we moved when I was 9. Which was, incidentally, the beginning of The Dark Years.

Anyway, for those of you who've been around for a while, you've probably noticed that Beth comments on every post, even the most inane.

Here's to you, Beth.