Birthday Wish

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AIMEE! We hope you have a great day! Enjoy!

YEAH - VISITORS!

My mom and dad arrived today! How great it is to see them and have them here. They will be staying with us until January 8th. It will be so nice to be with some family during the holidays.
We did a great job of keeping it a secret from the kids. They were completely shocked when they were standing there with us today at school to pick them up. As you all know, Lane is not quiet - but he was speachless for probably 10 minutes, in complete shock to see nan and pop.

Merry Christmas!
Dana

Finally!

Finally! It stopped snowing some time last night. I don't know the finally tally, but it's closer to 2 ft than I'd like. The good news is that even though the drivers aren't really prepared for this type of snow, the street and road workers are. It gets cleared faster and better than it ever did back home. There seems to be a greater concentration of plows and trucks, which is very nice. The only problem is whether or not you can get out of your driveway. Back home in Illinois we had about 400 feet of it, here about 20 ft. It was a welcome change the past few days.

Our British friends however, have a driveway similar to our old one. They didn't leave the house for two days and when I talked to him this morning, he claimed to still have 75 yards of driveway left to clear. So after dropping off the kids at school I headed over with my run-of-the mill snow shovel. After about 5 or 6 shovel fulls I noticed my English friend was staring at me in disbelief. "Bloody hell" he muttered. For a second or two I was feeling cocky. I thought he was impressed with the speed at which I could relocate some snow. Then he followed it with this, "That's an amazing shovel". It was then I noticed that he was holding a glorified garden spade. It would never have occurred to me that someone had never seen a snow shovel in action.

He's lived in the UK, Australia, and California and in none of these locations had he ever had to deal with more than the random inch or two of snow. Thus, he had never had use for or even seen a snow shovel. I couldn't help feeling a little like Tom Sawyer when I said, "Oh, it's great. Give it a try". He handed it back 5 minutes later, I think the novelty wore off quickly.

An hour later we were having a coffee at his kitchen table when he remarked that he now had a free day to do whatever he liked. Seems he had taken the day off to get his driveway cleared.

I couldn't make this stuff up.

Still going.

40 some hours and 20 some inches after it started here's what we have.

And it's still snowing. If this keeps up I'm not sure I'll be able to open the window and take the same picture tomorrow.

They say it's been a decade since they've had a snowstorm like this. Hope so, I like the snow, I want to learn to ski, but this is ridiculous. On the bright side I learned how to put on snow chains. At first I thought it was silly, I've driven on and in snow all my life. One big difference, that snow wasn't on a mountain. A little extra traction is welcome when just to the side of the road is a cliff rather than a ditch.

I'll be sure to post when it finally stops snowing.

Tidbits on the 10th.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. The thing about weather is that it's always changing. You know that saying, "Don't like the weather in Illinois? Stick around, it'll change". I'm pretty sure that they say this or a version of it almost everywhere, outside of possible San Diego. Point is I should have rephrased my question in the last blog to, "Did it snow much here?" . Regardless of what it used to do, the answer to that question in the present form is quickly becoming a "yes". I snapped this picture first light this morning. That was about 8 hours and 5 inches ago. Light fluffy snow has been falling straight down for the last 17 hours. I've been told this is abnormal, and I believe it. If it snowed this much every year, I'd think everyone would have a decent set of tires.

Dana headed to work this morning and again was treated to a commute that took 3x as long, but at least she made it this time. The rest of the day was pretty much ruined, no french lessons, no ballet, no market. At least we didn't have school to worry about.

Finally, legal

We finally recieved our French driver's licenses last Friday. I'd been told we were legit with our Illinois driver's licenses, but I was happy not to have to test that theory.

So I really felt good about it. Like I belonged, a fellow French motorist. Then not a day later I had a motorcyclist flip me the bird for staying in the left lane too long. Guess I was getting too full of myself. But seriously, the left lane is not a laughing matter. In the U.S. it's theory, in France it's a practice. No one stays in the left lane unless passing and no one will pass you on the right. That is no one except an idiot like me. And when I stayed in the left lane too long while trying to locate where I was trying to go, the motorcyclist behind me decided to ride my tail and then flip me off rather than just pass me on the right. Now that's some good driver training.

Speaking of driver training, here's the interesting thing about obtaining the licenses. France only recognizes them from certain States. Coming from Illinois, we only had to fill out a few forms and wait; however, had I been from North Dakota or something, I would have had to undergo a rigourous written and driving test. Maybe, they give a course in how not to be on the recieving end of obscene gestures.

The truffle omellete

Delicious, not unbelievable. Worth more than a Denny's Denver Omellet, but not 5 times as much. Not dissapointing, not overly memorable.

Language Selection

Most of you probably know that almost every DVD you own can be played in multiple language versions and with several different subtitles, but you never use it. On occasion I employ these as learning methods. As I have a propensity for memorizing movie lines, I decided that this would be a possible way to enhance my French abilities. While this certainly turned out to be true, I also made a startling discovery. I've always heard that jokes, and to a certain extent, humor doesn't translate across languages. Well, that may be true, but in my estimation, the translators don't even try.

Here's an example from one of my favorite movies National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I'll give you each version of one line translated literally into English. Keep in mind that that the French spoken version and the French subtitles are not even the same.

English spoken: Yeah, got the daughter in the clinic gettin' cured off the Wild Turkey.

a classic line by Cousin Eddie. Well delivered and conveys the redneck quality of the unwanted house guests.

French spoken: Yes, my daughter is in a clinic because of her habit of the bottle.

Not too bad, still funny. Doesn't convey the cheap, hillbilly nature of her addiction, but then with good wine so cheap, who in France would be a drunk on cheap whiskey?

French Subtitles: My daughter is in the hospital because of her eczema.

What? Can you blame a Frenchman for questioning the American sense of humor after reading that? How is an unprovoked skin ailment the same as someone who drinks too much? What thought process went into this translation? Was it possibly an error? This one keeps me up at night.

I may have to stop watching French versions for a while.

Christmas is coming the snails are getting fat.

Ok, that's not fair. I don't pretend to know the traditional meal for Christmas day in France. Actually, the goose, or at least his liver, are probably closer to the truth. However, I have started to learn a little about the Christmas culture here in France and ohhh is it some great blog fuel.

The Marche de Noel is a French tradition that we absolutely love. Markets, in general, are a part of everday life. I've come to depend on them as a major source of our produce, cheese, meat, and fish. We make purchases at one market or another at least twice a week. So, we were exicted to hear about these christmas markets, and we were not dissapointed. Large cities like Lyon or Grenoble have Christmas markets that occur every day for over a month leading up to Christmas. Small villages, like our quaint little version, make it a grand one day affair. We couldn't wait to go this past Saturday.

The noise was the first thing we noticed. Silence or something very close to it normally dominates the place in St. Martin D'uriage. After having to park a good distance from the action, the noise led the way like a homing beacon. Music, laughter, and shouting, lots of shouting. The biggest culprits were the women selling hot drinks to their cold, damp patrons. These women were more than just boisterous saleswomen, they were also apparently part of the Quality Control department. Vin Chaud (hot wine mulled with spices) is the hot drink of choice for the winter market go-er, and these women wanted to make sure thirsty customers knew the product was safe to drink.

Another man shouted to his friend across the street, "Soup aux choux!". It means cabbage soup. I'd heard about it and this man was apparently ready for some. My fellow Nobelites and close friends know of the famous chowder. It was a very similar situation, thick vegetable soup cooked over fire, sold in bulk, and titled in such a way as to not tell the entire story of the dish. In this case, cabbage soup was probably chosen, because even in France it sells better than Pigs Feet Soup. Hooves and knuckles rested in 5 gallon buckets just below the sales counter, waiting for their turn to be the broth for the next batch of "cabbage" soup. Now, I don't know if we are becoming more French or if we'd have liked it anyway, but, later that night, the four of us wolfed down our large container, trotters and all.

A floppy hatted, apron wearing cheese man as rotund as the Gruyere wheels he was selling entertained us for the better part of 20 minutes. He looked like a character straight out of the opening scene of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Just the slightest interest in his cheese with our strange accents had his full attention. The French love nothing more than educating we gastronomical morons. It's not done to be arrogant, mind you, but they have great food, they know it, and the love to share and discuss it. Some 20 some cheese samples heavier, but 30 dollars lighter we finally peeled ourselves away that stench I've come to love.

Ornaments, nick nacks, and the usual were also part of our bounty. Nothing too grand, save one.

This jar of eggs cost me about 30 bucks. Actually the eggs were nothing special, but rather the mysterious black lump at the bottom of the jar. That my friends, is a truffle. Not the chocolate finger treat, but the fungus native to France. The vender had larger truffles for sale without the eggs but I opted for this concoction for 3 reasons. 1) it looks cool 2) As I'm a beginner with truffles, I plan to try the simplest recipe, the truffle omelette. Supposedly these eggs soak up the truffle flavor and then can be used as the perfect vessel shaved up bits of these little treasures. and 3) The truffles in this jar are tiny, meaning they have less mass, meaning they cost less, meaning I can afford them. At 500 Euros/kilo, I figured I'd start small. I'll let you know if it was worth it.

I've spoken quite a bit about the wine culture here. It's simply part of the lifestyle. When you go to a restaurant, almost everyone has wine. Whether it's moderation or developed tolerance, I'm not sure, but in the U.S. I encounter less alcohol and more drunks. In fact, since we've been here I can't recall seeing anyone that appeared to be intoxicated, that was until Saturday. After leaving the market we had to drive right through town, which was essentially through the middle of the market. Our friendly vin chaud saleswoman had obviously continued sampling the goods. As we inched our way through town, we saw her shouting in the middle of the street, steaming cups in hand. She had apparently decided that her target market extended to passing motorists. I respectfully declined. Seulement en France.

A green Christmas? Most of you know that Europe is much "greener" than the U.S. Recycling, energy conservation and other such methods are a way of life here, not just a novelty to make you feel good about yourself. We opted to take part in one such custom at our local IKEA. We went on Sunday (open only due to a Christmas time exception) to purchase our Christmas tree. It cost 20 Euros, but if you return it after the season, you get 19 Euros back in store credit. In turn, they turn the trees to mulch and sell it. Actually a great idea. The only down side is that the trees are alread wrapped up and can't be selected on asthetic criteria. You can judge the height, but that's it. It's an early Christmas surprise. Ours? It's crooked, lopsided, extremely thin, and absolutely beautiful.

That's about it for now, but I'm sure I'll have even more to write about as we near closer to the 25th. A bientot!

Does it snow much here?

Does it snow much here?

Being a science teacher I've always felt that a good demonstration will tell someone much more than just words. We recieved that demonstration on Friday. So regardless of what anyone tells me, in my opinion, the answer to this question is a resounding "NO". Let me explain.

Very fine wet flakes greeted me as I looked out the window on this Friday morning. The kind that you just know will result in perfect "snowball" snow. Since both of our vehicles were recently equipped with snow tires, I didn't give it a second thought. I could still see a lot of grass poking through the white stuff, certainly not enough to impede my daily schedule.

Dana left early that morning, around 6:30. I called her an hour later to get a road report even though I wasn't at all worried. It's about a 30 km drive into work that takes her around 25 minutes or so. On this morning, one hour of "driving" had yielded her only about 6 or 7 km in distance. I quickly realized we had a problem, although the problem wasn't necessarily the snow, but those driving on it.

I took one turn out of our drive and was immediately greeted by my first of many French lessons through my driver's side window. I was told that the route was blocked due to an accident. Luckily I've jogged on almost every road in a 8 km radius around my house (searching, unsucessfully for a flat road); so, I knew a back route. As I started up the hill, I got to witness first hand just how poorly their normal tires work on snow. They don't. The driver asked me to help give his a push, which I did. Unfortunately, when I stopped pushing he stopped moving. Thankfully, he decided that he wasn't going to ask me to push him the remaining kilometer up the hill. We went around and he used gravity to go backwards.

The next conversation I had informed me that I couldn't use my first attempt at a back route. I asked her about another route and she replied "troup dangereuse". I decided to take my chances. It was slow going, but I made it to the main route without a slip.

Then, again I was told not to take my intended route, which is one of the largest roads in the area. I asked if the route was actually closed and was told "no", but was also told something about it being slick and dangerous. Since I had not yet slipped once on the less than 2 inches of snow, I decided again to risk it. Parked haphazardly along the route were no less than 30 vehicles. People were everywhere talking, smoking and holding their palms up in frustration. The kids and I? We drove right through at about 20 mph.

I was in North Carolina once when they recieved about 8 inches of snow. The place was shut down and drivers were all over the road. I was reminded of this while driving around on this morning. No one seemed to have a clue how to drive in the stuff. Also, several had obviously opted not to buy snow tires. The bottom line is that I feel confident that snowfall is rarely too plentiful at our level of the mountain.

Had it not been for the other drivers I would have made it to school in only 5 minutes longer than usual. As it was, I the 5 minute drive took 45 minutes. Being so concerned with getting to school, it never occured to me that the teachers and other parents were the folks that I had been laughing at along the roads all morning. After parking we immediately saw kids walking the wrong direction for the morning commute. They were shouting with glee "No School!". Regardless of the troubles we had making it, it never crossed my mind that less than 2 inches of snow would result in a day off of school.

The trouble now was that I didn't really care to run the gauntlet back home. So we headed to a friend's house to play in the snow and have some hot chocolate. Luckily for me the husband was home, so I had someone other than the ubiquitous mom to talk to. Unluckily for him, he was home because he and his Renault had gone careening down his 1/4 mile long 45 degree angle driveway earlier that morning. It's hard to head to work when your car is imbedded in a guard rail at the bottom of the hill. He's been in France for three years, I guess the custom of waiting to put on the snow tires has worn off on him.

Meanwhile, Dana never did make it to work. She spent the morning at a different friend's house have coffee and tea. It was a great morning for the family to sit by the fire and have a hot drink, even if we did it at different places.

The good news is, the "catastrophe" was short lived. The temperature here doesn't stay below freezing for long and the plows did a good job. By early afternoon everything was clear and all was back to normal. I actually headed to Barcelona with some friends later in the day, but that's another story.

Happy Birtday Aunt Aly

Happy Birthday and Happy Thanksgiving. I sure do miss those dual birthday/thanksgiving parties.

An eventful weekend

Where to start. I knew we had a full weekend plan, but I had no idea it would turn out as fun and as eventful as it did.

Thursday

Yes, I know that, unless you're in college, Thursday is not part of the weekend. But I had to include it for a few reasons. First and foremost was because Thursday was my birthday. But it was also something very big in France. It was also the release date of the Beaujolais Nouveau. This is, without a doubt, one of the most successful marketing campaigns that I have ever witnessed. Forget Christmas, forget "Sweetest Day". This is pure genius. On the third Thursday of every November. The first wine made from the grapes of 2008 is released. You've heard expressions about "aging like fine wine". Well what does that say about wine that they let sit in the bottle for about 3 weeks before they pop the cork? Take the not so good stuff, ferment it long enough to make it alcoholic and then make a huge deal about being the first to taste this years vintage. This is the genius of this plan. If they didn't sell it in this manner they probably wouldn't sell it at all; because, after the good stuff is ready, which is just as cheap, no one would buy the other.

The good side for me was one huge birthday party. It felt good to know that virtually all of France was having a glass in my honor. (my version anyway)

It was also a good day because Dana took the afternoon off. We had an excellent lunch featuring some local standards similar to eating fondue. Good stuff for the colder weather. Then we hung out a little at the mall, which reminds me..... French people are tiny. Not necessarily short, but thin and tiny. The clothes, obviously, are made to fit these people. Had you asked me, I would have assumed this to be true, but I hadn't given it much thought. Then I tried to buy a shirt. The tag said, among other things, EU - XXL USA -XXL. Great, I thought. XXL here is the same as XXL at home. Negative on that. The sleeves fit fine and the length was acceptable. It was the "saran wrap" effect on the torso that I doubted would be considered fashionable. I'll be shopping for shirts online or when I return home. Nobody wants the other. Trust me.

Friday

The forecast for the evening was snow. Not a lot, not a big deal, except that I didn't have the tires for it. You see, they handle things differently over here. It doesn't snow enough in France for everyone to have all season tires all the time. If you want to drive in the snow you have to buy "special" tires and have them put on in the late fall. Not a huge deal except that they don't give these away. Quite expensive actually.

Luckily, my "car" guy called me at noon and said our tires were in if I wanted to get them put on before the snow tonight. Great, except that we, the kids and I, weren't free until 4:30 and had a party to go to in the evening (more later). But better than a fiery crash of the side of the mountain, so we said we'd be there for the "15 minute" job.

I was glad to find out that French mechanics keep time the same as American mechanics. 2 hours is a long time to occupy two small children in a tiny mechanic's office. Luckily for us French parties, even those with kids, don't start until 8:00. We made it home just in time to change and head to school, the location of our party, our Beaujolais Nouveau party.

Wait for it. That's right. A party, at the school, to try out the new aforementioned wine. It was also a fundraiser for their equivalent of the PTA, and it was great. But now matter how simple and benign it was, Dana and couldn't get past the wine at a school function part. Just a different culture. You'll be happy to know that even the French don't let the kids drink the wine, at least not at school.

While at the party Dana and I sat in the "anglophone" section; however, I actually spent almost as much time conversing in French. One conversation in particular was quite humorous. I met a gentleman that had recently moved his family to the Grenoble area from Paris. After it came out that I stayed with the kids while Dana worked he gave a very big "Ah-ha". Seems his wife had been giving him quite a hard time about him working too much lately. She had cited me as the "great" father that was always there to drop off the kids and pick them. I guess that it had never occurred to her that she had never seen my wife. He couldn't wait to set the record straight. He even asked me twice if he could go tell her right away. Although I was enjoying practing my French, I hated to disappoint him.

Saturday

A very normal day on the inside. Outside, it started snowing. Snow here is a different concept than back home. Apparently, we live very near the "snow line". When it snows, it most often snows above us and not below us. This was the exact case today. Most of our view is at our level and up, so we were a bit concerned about driving into town. Later that morning when we finally bundled up and headed out, we only had to drive a 1/4 mile down hill before we were almost completely out of it. It'll take some getting used to,but I think I like the idea. Snow that you can see and enjoy without having to drive through. In fact, I'm liking the weather more and more every day. Whithin the last week, temperatures back home have started to be colder than what they are here. Then sometime in late spring, it'll switch back.

Then in the evening Dana and I headed ot our favorite restaurant while a sitter came to stay at the house with the kids. I'm not sure who was more excited, Dana and I or the kids.

The name of the place is L'Auguste. Here's why we like it. It's classic French. It's not too expensive. It's delicious. It's unpretentious. And if you ever visit us and want to have a nice meal. The owner will speak English if you like.

Sunday

Started like every other Sunday. We headed to church and then to the market. It's great to be able to head to the market and pick up a great Sunday dinner. Really gotten used to the rotisserie chicken or duck along with some potatoes. We usually also pick up some fruit, cheese, and bread. I'm already putting markets first on the list of "things we will miss" when we head back to the States.


Then the afternoon. Ever seen one of those funny movies where someone goes to a tiny burg in Europe? Specifically the ones where they have a shot of the hero in his car unable to move because they are surrounded by sheep? It looks exactly like that and just as funny in real life. Remember the sheep living across the valley? Well the farmers had them on the move Sunday eveing. A couple hundred sheep moving down the middle of the road flanked by sheep dogs is quite a site, as is the condition of the road afterwards.

Order up. (Caution: therapy blog)

When I go to Krekel's I order a double cheeseburger with ketchup, mustard, and onions and a buttersotch shake. I even say it just like that, "Give me a double cheeseburger with ketchup, mustard, and onions and a butterscotch shake". See I told you. Even if my arteries don't, I forget how many times I've been to Krekel's. And like any customer with a regular order at their favorite grease pit, I've been unfaithful; however, it is those instances that I can count and remember. I once ordered a triple cheeseburger, succumbing to the truly American "bigger is better" mantra, and I once ordered a pork tenderloin based on a recommendation. Those who know Krekel's know that I did not walk away dissapointed from these two cholesterol laden changes-of-pace; however, had my double cheeseburger later confronted me about the deviation I could have truthfully claimed, "but I was thinking about you the whole time". You see, anytime we bore of the norm and stray from it, we will eventually miss that comfort even if what we strayed for is just as good. Happens every time.

I mention Krekel's not because I would right now,trade a kidney for my aforementioned "usual", but because this popped into my mind as the best way to describe how I am feeling about our current situation. France tastes like that giant pork tenderloin on a tiny bun slathered with miracle whip or that overly meaty triple cheeseburger. With one bite I'm doing my best Rachel Ray tasting moan and with the next I'm mad at myself for not sticking with the tried and true double. It's the same here. One minute I'm in absolute shock as I drink coffee and watch the sunrise over the Alps, then I step outside and the cool crisp air reminds me of fall and all the things I love about this season.

The hardest question we are asked by friends and family is also the simplest and most common, "So, how do you like France?". This question is difficult because it intended to be answered in one short sentence or possible even a paragrh, and theoretically, it could be. The problem is that there is more too it than a person can realize at first glance. "Yes", we love France, but "Yes" we miss home. It seems that for every positive about the move, there is an equal and opposite negative.

For instance. The Good: Our kids are learing a second language and culture which could in turn have a very positive impact on them and their future. The Bad: They had to leave friends and family to gain this experience and we know that in a few years they will have to leave another group of new friends. Long term, will the pros outweigh the cons? One can only guess

Another one: The Good: Dana and I get to experience a new culture in a way that only those who live in it can. A truly unique experience. The Bad: We get to wake up every morning and know that something as simple as driving to the store and buying a gallon of milk will conclude in a stressful, day-altering ordeal.

And one more just for me: The Good: I get to hike in the mountains, I will learn to ski, and I may take up serious mountain biking (not just riding a "mountain" bike around Illinois). The Bad: As I sit here in bed awake on what just became my birthday, I know exactly what I would be doing if I were home. I'd have my backpack meticulously prepared for the last day of bowhunting before shotgun season, one of my favorite days of the year. And on my birthday to boot.

So, as I write this, I just took the bite of tenderloin that made me question why I didn't order the double. I'm really doing some questioning. Stick with what you know and you'll always be happy even if you are ignorant. That's what the voices are saying right now; however, rest assured that I have no doubts that I'll soon flip flop back. It could be something big, like my upcoming weekend trip to Barcelona or even something small, like finding a new delicious and only slightly stinky cheese on my next trip to the market. As soon as tomorrow, I'll have reason to be thrilled again. The problem is that I know I'll swing back the other way eventually. I guess what I'm trying to articulate, albeit poorly, is that it's tough. It's tough to keep being the same somewhat sane person you've always been while enduring this fun yet difficult experience. It's tough feeling like your emotions are attached to a yo-yo that just crossed paths with one of the Smothers Brothers on crack. So, if you happen to chat with one of us and we seem down, just call back the next day and it'll all be better.



Footnote:
Sorry for the somewhat serious blog, but as I mentioned before, this is my therapy. Don't read if you don't want to, but it's now 1:33 am and I feel much better than I did an hour ago. Good night.

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Nothing better to do

You know that feeling you have after you've been sick and you're starting to get a little better. You don't feel good enough to get up and do anything, but are tired of sitting around doing nothing. That's me right now. So, I decided I'd write a blog about some stories that I'd forgotten to tell.





The Chaperone





Since, I don't have a job. (That still sounds weird) I try to help out when and where I can. This included accompanying Audrey's class to their weekly swimming trip during the first quarter. On Tuesday afternoons, the first and second grade classes would go to the pool at a nearby University. They actually separate the kids into four proficiency levels where the kids work to reach the next level. It's actually refreshing to see physical education taken a little more seriously. This interest shows in the adults, almost every adult I've met is regularly involved in some sort of physical activity.





Back to me being the chaperone. My understanding was that my job was to simply usher the boys through the dressing room as quickly as possible. Trying to get 6 and 7 year olds to do anything quickly is never easy, but it's even more difficult when you can't speak their language. I knew "Allez" and "Vite". Go and quick. It worked for a while until they realize that I couldn't really speak the language. I'm pretty sure one of them was a real smart @&& and I don't think I want to know what he was saying.





Then there was the little boy who looked at it as a chance to try out his English. He would try random words that didn't make much sense, but it was cute, so I'd try to talk to him some. Then as we were getting off the bus on a Tuesday afternoon, he looked at me, grinned, and said, "Yesterday is Thursday". I tried not to laugh too hard.








The Halloween Party





This actually occured several weeks back. The schools are on a two week break over Halloween which means that most of the Americans take the opportunity to travel. From what I understand it's probably the biggest shindig of the year. At close to 100 people, I'm sure that it is.





It is of course a costume party for kids and adults alike, if you like. Originally, I planned to throw on my Urlacher jersey and call it a night. Then, about a week before the party the woman hosting, who to say the least is meticulous in her planning, asked if I'd be willing to help out. She wanted me to dress up as some sort of monster and create a game where I "scare" the kids. I agreed, since, again I don't have a job, I try to help out when and wherever. One thing led to another and I decided to dress as the Incredible Hulk. I figured it was easy enough and all the kids would like it.





Unfortunately, this meant I had to locate body paint. I asked around and was pointed to a party store. I looked around for a few minutes, hoping to locate it on my own. No such luck, I was going to have to ask. I'd looked up the words for body paint earlier, but that was only part of it. Determining that I wanted green body paint was easy enough, but then she asked me how much I needed. Having never covered my body in green paint, I didn't know the answer. So, I asked for help. She asked me what I wanted it for or what I wanted to be. When I replied "Le Hulk Incroyable" her amusement was clear. Apparently she had never advised a 6'4 man on covering his body with paint either, so she had to enlist the help of her manager. Before suggesting two full containers he also expressed his amusement. So two tubes of green paint, some black face paint, a wig, and several Euros later I headed out.



Using an old shirt and pants and Dana's help. Here was the end result.

Now I'd forgotten that the plan was to park at the local parking lot and walk a couple hundred yards through town to the party house. At first, I was a little embarassed, then I thought, "Who could I possibly run into that I know?". The answer: Madame Mirabelle, Audrey's teacher. To her credit, she didn't seem too shocked and simply asked if we were going to a Halloween party. I sure hope so.

Now, as it turned out the hostess had enough planned that my "game" and costume weren't needed at all. Which means that I was simply the guy who takes Halloween way too seriously. What you must also remember is that this was my first time meeting roughly 50% of the guests. I have met several of these folks since and needed to re-introduce myself. Just a great first impression, don't you think?

The hills are alive.....

Upon returning from Normandy we could hear strange and constant bell ringing when we stepped outside. The next morning we finally saw the source of the mysterious noise. Sheep and goats covered the opposite slope. Probably a couple hundred of them. Apparently it is their winter pasture.

Actually they make for some good entertainment. Sometimes we watch the guard dogs that stay with and protect the sheep at all times. They did not appreciate the kids, myself, and Kensie getting close enough for some good pictures. All six of the large dogs quickly oreintated to our position and barked convincingly. It's also quite funny when it rains. The bell ringing becomes less often but is broken intermittently by more erratic bell ringing as the sheep shake off the rain.

But my favorite is to watch in the morning when the shepherd arrives. The guard dogs immediately "take five" and hed for a sunny spot and a nap. The border collies take over and immediately start to cram all the animals into a spot much smaller than you would think possible. I don't know what the shepherds do every day, but I've grown fond of watching them every morning over coffee.

Lyon

We finally made it to Lyon yesterday. It's only about an hour away but we just hadn't yet managed to make it there yet. Lyon is considered the "gastronomic capital" of France, making it either extremely delicious or pretentious, or both. Our first stop was a market along the river. Now we've been to several French markets and all of them together might equal everything we saw at this one. I simply cannot describe it. It had to be a quarter of a mile long filled with nothing but food, fresh oysters, veggies, jams, fruits, meats, nuts, mushrooms of every kind.

Unfortunately, we weren't there to shop for groceries, but we did buy some things to snack on. Our next destination was a bouchon. Buchons are a type of cafe specific to Lyon. They serve the cuisine that has made famous (or infamous, depending on your taste). Some of the local delicacies are tripe (cow stomach), andouillette (sausage of pig intestines), and pike quennelles (basically puffy fish meatloaf). Foolishly, I thought we would have to search to find a bouchon. In reality, we discovered why Lyon is the gastrnomic capital. The sheer number of these bouchons in old Lyon is amazing, and they all serve the three aforementioned dishes along with, to Dana's relief, some other less offensive dishes.

We finally closed our eyes and picked a bouchon. It was like I imagined it would be; a small cafe with red and white tiled floors, one waitress and a chef. As I have written before, it has been my goal to try local delicacies whenever possible, meaning that I basically was going to choose between the three cow stomach, pig intestines or puffy fish meatloaf. Being my first time in Lyon, I went with the safest of the three, the quenelle. Actually it was very good, next time I think I'll try the tripe.

I'm sure it goes without saying that Dana did not partake in any of these. She enjoys french cuisine quite a lot, as long as its made with relatively familiar ingredients.

The only problem is that this was yesterday, and it was upon return that I started feeling sick. So, that means it may be a while before I feel like returning to Lyon for some traditional bouchon fare.

Happy Birthday Uncle John

Happy Birthday Uncle John

Hope you enjoy.

http://2.recordertheapp.com/283c5460c1138253d2c7/

Our Normandy Invasion

UPDATED

New pictures posted under the "Vacation" tab on our website.

No school on Wednesdays and frequent breaks in the school calendar takes some getting used to, but it's easy to do so when it means you can take off for a week long family vacation in the middle of the fall. So, that's exactly what we did last week. I have a list of places that I want to go while we are in Europe. Paris was at the top of the list, but Normandy wasn't far behind. So we packed up the car and headed out last Monday.

Now, France is something like 17 times smaller than the U.S., but driving from one side of the country to the other is still no small thing. My GPS told me it would be 7.5 hours; however, my GPS doesn't have to stop to pee or eat or have any children. Also, it doesn't account for traffic, which was certainly encountered around Paris. Because of this, I thought that I could surely find a better way around the City of Lights. Forget the fact that I had never driven a car within 300 miles of Paris. Needless to say, it didn't work out to well. The bright side is I doubled my experience of driving around Paris, just on the way out. Long story short. It took 11 hours to reach the tiny town of Villers-Bocage, just outside of Caen. This left us enough time to quickly explore the ancient town of Bayeux before supper, which in Normandy, the land of cream and apples, is not to be taken lightly. We would eat well over the next week.

Our room at the Bed aand Breakfast really nice. Imagine a Bed and Breakfast in France built in 1787 , that's what it looked like. At least it looked exactly like I thought it would. For the most part this was good, but there were a couple of problems, mostly for me. When I layed down that first night I quickly noticed that I was going to have to get creative with my sleeping style because my 6'4 frame just didn't quite fit into the 6'2 bed. This would certainly have been more manageable if not for the foot board, which is probably loose now after the numerous times I tried to stretch out in the middle of the night. Other features of the room more fitting to vertically challenged folks were the light fixtures and the bathroom entrance. Both had clearance of about 6 foot or less. Everyone tells me that people just weren't as tall back then. I guess that could be true, but even if there were the occassional tall fellow, I'm sure he knocked himself brainless before he was able to reproduce, thus ensuring that short folks live on. Now that we tall people have made a breakthrough and moved to more suitable habitat we only need to suffer such concusisoning type blows at the rate of 10 times per day while on vacation to old Bed and Breakfasts. Actually the entrance the bathroom was so low that I hit my neck once. Not kidding. This not withstanding, I really liked our accomodations.

The next morning we were treated to a bit of an oxymoron- Petit dejeuner a La Ferme du Pressoir. La Ferme du Pressoir was the name of our Bed and Breakfast and petit dejeuner is the french word for breakfast. Literally it means "little lunch" but here, it was anything but. It certainly wasn't American fare but the sheer quantity of food meant that it wasn't typical French either. Pastries, breads, butter, cheeses, cereals, fruit, omeletes, cure meats, yogurt, fresh coffee and juice. It was more than enough to keep you going for the day. What made it even better was the presence of our host, Odile. With her sparkling personality and genuine concern for your comfort, you hardly noticed that she didn't speak a word of English. I quickly realized that I've made great strides in the language as I was able to talk to her with very few problems. (And don't let Dana lie to you, she's progressing as well. She may not speak much yet, but she can understand conversations which is no small feat).

For our first full day, it was raining. So, we decided to hit the Caen War Museum and memorial. It featured a great video, a nice museum and a great gift shop. It was a good sign as the kids seemed to enjoy the museum. Obviously I could have spent all day here, but I was happy that the kids showed interest at all. Actually they ask some very insightful questions. Unfortunately some of them are very difficult to answer. What do you tell a kid when they ask you, "Well, why was Hitler so mean?" Sometimes it made me sad to have to even try to answer their questions.

It cleared up a little after a quick lunch at a bistro (not a common occurrence) so we decided to tour the apple country a.k.a Pays d'Auge. In this "county" their is a scenic route labeled the "Route de cidre" . It featured probably 5 different apple farms that produced a variety of apple drinks: Apple juice, Pommeau (basically apple wine), Apple cider (not like ours, not many spices but sparkling with a small alcohol content), and Calvados (Apple Brandy with the same name of the overall area). The odd thing is that they don't sell apple butter, apple sauce, apple preserves or anything that can't be drunk. Speaking of drunk, it would be easy to do on this tour, if you so chose. I did some quick math. 5 apple farms x 4 or 5 samples at each farm (1 of apple cider, no big deal; 1 of pommeau, still relatively mild stuff; 2 or 3 of their different types of Calvados each at around 40% alcohol)= an irresponsible chamber of commerce for advertising this as a "driving" tour. Needless to say, we didnt' follow this formula, but I'm sure there are those that do.

After we'd seen enough of the apples we decided to drive to the port town of Honfleur. Just before our exit we noticed ahead of us the beautiful new bridge connecting two port towns previously seperated by the harbor. The first being Honfleur and the second being Le Harve. It is so big and interesting that you can't help but want to drive across it. So we did. Apparently, big and interesting also means expensive; either that or they know you'd rather pay to cross the bridge than drive all the way around the harbor. 15 minutes and 10 Euros in tolls later and we were back exactly where we started from. This would have been more of a shock if we hadn't driven across France the day before. The French like to brag about their superior highway system. It may be but it doesn't cost me 50 Euros to drive from Chicago to Kansas City.

So, after our detour, we reached Honfleur. Probably the most quaint little town I have ever seen. It's a bit touristy, but no one cares. It reminded me of Sweet Haven from the 80's Popeye movie. Not much to do but walk around and shop, but it was fun. It was also nearing sundown, near the ocean, on a rainy day. Like we did, you might think that a coastal area wouldn't be colder than a mountain town, from which we came. You'd be wrong. It was cold. Real cold. Most evenings got down into the 30's with wind and rain. For some reason I threw in a moderately heavy jacket just before we left, but Dana did not. Since the town was good for nothing other than looking at and shopping in, I bought a nice winter coat (which I needed anyway). Dana looked but couldnt' find one she "really liked". As she shivered the rest of the evening it was easy where each of us stood in the "Form vs. Function" debate. 24 hours later she finally found a garment worthy of keeping her warm. Trust me, it's funnier now, than it was at the time.

While in Honfleur we ate at a seafood restaurant, actually I think all restaurants in Honfleur serve seafood. The French have a way of food sounding appetizing no matter what it is. Escargot? snails. Tripe de la Maison? Beef stomach It goes on an on. Consequently, I'd always wanted to try an Assiette de la fruit de mer. A plate of fruts of the sea. I knew it was dicey, but I wanted to try it. I'm not a huge fan of raw oysters, but they're ok. These were easily my favorite thing on this plate and not because they were so much better than any other oyster that I've ever had (even though they were). Welks, conkels, and other various shellfish and tiny crustaceans adorned my plate. It looked like the resutls of my kids having a scavenger hunt on the beach. Next to it were two condiments that I had no idea how to use and on what. One tasted like pure vinegar and the other like sour butter. I tried everything but finally decided to punt and left half my plate uneaten. You know how crab legs are really good, but you have to put in a lot of effort. Imagine all that work with a payoff of cold chewy sea flavored snot. Exactly.

Day 2: Wednesday. We woke up to the same breakfast and the same weather. Seeing the weather here turned out to be as big a history lesson as seeing the beaches. It makes it easy to understand how rain could hold up an invasion. For our week it was either raining or going to rain at almost every moment. So, we headed to the Battle of Nomandy museum in Bayeux. I didn't see a number but I would put the over/under on WW II related museums in Normandy at 400. They are everywhere. Some are obvious dives others are outstanding. We stuck the the highly recommended ones, like this one. It had some very cool pieces left from the war and the kids really enjoyed it. It also featured another video, after which I began to worry about Lane. I think it's good he learns this history, but the way he now says "Germans" is a little disturbing. I've got some work to do before we visit the Motherland.

It cleared up after the museum so we decided it was time to see the beaches. We started with Omaha. My brother asked me if I got choked up. Honestly I didn't. The beach is so peaceful and tranquil that it is almost impossible to comprehend what happened there. The beaches are functional. There are restaurants up and down, people take their dogs for a walk, etc. It doesn't seem possible that they are the same place.

Utah was even more that way. There is an oyster farm off the beach. We visited at low tide and tractors were out harvesting their shellfish. It isn't until you move inland several yards that there is some realism. Plenty of German bunkers still exist. When you look down on the beaches from a bunker it becomes easier to understand.

The Airborne Museum in St. Mere Eglise was next. This one was great. Being a big fan of Band of Brothers and the history of the 101st. We all enjoyed this one. As a reward for behaving at the museums we often let the kids pick out a small souvenier. Never wanting to miss an opportunity, I try to make it be something educational. Lane picked out a dog tag, which we talked about. Audrey bought a cricket like the noisemakers used by the 101st. I really enjoyed these souveniers.

Dinner on Day 2 was back in Bayeux at a restaurant recommended by our host. Dinner in France is always an experience. It doesn't start till 7:00. It doesn't matter that you've been out all day and it gets dark before 6:00. Too far to go back to the B&B and no other choices we were forced to kill time on several occasions. It's not always as bad as it was on this night. We were waiting when the door opened at 7:00. At 9:15 I asked for the bill before they even asked about dessert, which we paid for (you have to understand how ordering works in France). We're used to dinners being longer, but this was terrible. Even the French people were getting ticked off. The only party that didn't care was a group of drunk and boisterous men from some part of Eastern Europre (I couldn't pinpoint the language). The already frazzled waitress did not appreciate the large drunk man kissing her cheek 3 times. 4 months ago, I would have found this funny. It's odd how quickly you can adjust to and understand a culture.

Day 3. Finally a break in the weather. It didn't rain this morning. It snowed. We headed south for an hour towards Mount St. Michael and I drove through snow the whole way. I can't describe this abbey on top of a mountain. You simply must check out the picutes on my website. It rises up out of nowhere. Now, all the tour books warn you that it is an extremely touristy area. The only consellation is that it has been a site of pilgrimage for hundreds and hundreds of years. Meaning that it has been a "tourist" trap for hundreds and hundreds of years. This is small consellation when you are walking up a street lined with souvenir shops barely 10 feet wide. Luckily for me and the crowd around me October is much less crowded than the summer. Had it been crowded I'm sure a bout of claustrophobia would have been possible. The abbey itself is still functional and worth the run through the gauntlet.

As it was a long walk to the Abbey, through the abbey and back down, we again promised a souvenir for good behavior. Unfortunately, my idea of educational purchases was lost. Lane decided on a midieval plastic axe that made, what turned out to be, very loud noises. Audrey chose a large rubber plastic pencil. It's nice to know that some things traverse international boundaries. Another of these international consistencies is price gouging for "regional" cuisine. Apparently there is a special fluffy omelette that has been made at Mount St. Micheal for years. At 30 Euros for some eggs and cheese, we took their word for it.

We moseyed our way back to Bayeux to take in some more history from another era. The Bayeux Tapestery tells the story of William the Conqueror from something like 1066. It's basically a 200 foot long storybook made out of stitches. I was worried about the kids in this one, but as it turns out it was one of their favorites. They had audioguides specifically for the kids. Audrey loved it and hung on every word. Lane did better than expected. As soon as it seemed he was about to lose interest the story would mention men with their heads chopped off or a man with an arrow in his eye. Great.

Afterwards, we headed back to our tiny village for some quick and easy pizza. Unfortuantely the sign out front informed me that the pizza place was closed for a week for a one day holiday, Tousson. Had I been new to France, I would have found that odd. Luckily, one of those really rude Frenhmen you hear about happened to see me checking out the sign. He came up to my window and explained to me that there was a second pizza place around the corner. What a jerk!

For the start of Day 4, our final day, we were greeted to an absence of rain. So, we took the opportunity to look around the farm on which we were staying. Odile took the kids around to see the horses, cows, goats, and chickens. We also picked apples of their trees and ate them. The kids loved it. Audrey even collected an egg for breakfast the next day.

For the final day we decided to drive around and hit a few more D-day sites. We visited Pegasus Bridge and the final 3 beaches: Sword, Juno, and Gold. Then we drove to see the remains of the artifical harbour created by the Allies at Arromanches-les-Bains. We also toured some still intact German batteries. It's amazing to think that these werre constructed up and down the coast of France. They are massive. Almost as amazing was that they were open to the public and free of charge. We just walked around and played in them.

We also visited the American War Cemetary overlooking Omaha beach. All those emotions that were absent while visiting the beach came forward when I saw all those crosses overlooking the beach. This was another site where I was worried about the kids, but they did well. It worked well that we visited the cemetary last. After seeing all the war related videos, museums, and artifacts it was easier to explain the cost of freedom. I may be crazy, but I really think they started to get it. I know I was humbled to be there. Dana described it as both the best and the worst place she'd ever been. I had to agree.

We headed out the next morning after a quick breakfast. It was raining again. Not just in Normandy, but in France. It rained all the way home. The French are very practical and logical The speed limit on the autoroute is 130 km/h unless it's raining then it drops down to 110 km/h. In theory it just makes sense. In practice it works as well as it would in the U.S. Numbers are objective, but rain is subjective. It could always be raining harder, so surely the 110 is for that situation and not this. The result is high speeds, wet roads, and poor visibility. It was a real nail-biter on the way home. The good news is that the kids slept and I trusted the GPS. We made it home in 9.5 hours. Just in time to get a take out pizza and hit the couch. All told we put roughly 2700 km (that's 1700 miles) on our VW Touran.

The only odd part of the trip home was our spotting of a red 1973 Grande Mustang. I rarely see American cars over here and I had never seen anything older than a 1980. To see a car identical to the one I had in high school and college was surreal. Just to see that car driven by a Parisian was hard to comprehend.

Still here

No, we haven't dissappeared. It's just that Dana was gone for a week to the U.S. (leaving me very busy) and then we were on vacation to Normandy for the following week. I have more stories to tell than you can believe. I will work on it the next couple days and get some posted along with some great pics. A bientot.

Pure Randomness

"Goutee?" It was 9:00 in the morning and the man at the meat counter was giving out samples. I had just run into a friend of ours and she seemed eager to try so I followed suit, not that I wouldn't have anyway. Even before I tasted it the multicolored chunks held together with a gelatinous mortar, I had my suspicions as to what it was. So I asked my friend. Sure enough: Head Cheese or as she unneccesarily described it "all the piecese of a pigs head cooked together". Actually it was pretty good. When I started laughing, she asked me "They make this in the U.S. don't they?" To which I replied "Yes, they just wouldn't dare try to hand out samples".


I love to improve on my French. I love practicing it. Unfortunately, yes that's right, unfortunately, many French people love to practice their English with me. I say that because what you get is two people trying to convey information in broken fragments containing the vocabulary command of a brilliant chimpanzee. Now, if this conversation occurs at the market or the hardware store, it's just not a big deal. The worst that happens is that you end off with an extra helping of cous cous and some North African stew (a happpy mistake that occured on Sunday). The problem is that most people that speak a little English and want to practice it are educated folks. How educated? Oh, just Doctors and Pharmacists. Everytime I call the Dr. to make an appointment he wants to speak english and use our am/pm clock system versus the normal European 24 hour clock. I never understand him because of his accent. Now if he'd speak French, I'd get it with no problem whatsoever. I know it sounds crazy but sometimes I'd rather them speak slow French. I'm sure they probably think the same of my French.


We accepted long ago that there are certain things and that there are certain foods that we would not be able to find, at least not easily. It's not that bad. You can deal with a lot if you set your mind to it. "I do not miss Dr. Pepper. I do not miss Dr. Pepper" I say that often enough that I actually believe it. Anxiety and stress are honeslty not caused by such items. It is the ones that you think you can find. Coca-cola and M&Ms are different. Coke uses the more common sucrose rather than HFCS like in the U.S. M&Ms taste more like their dark chocolate than our version. It's weird but even those are tolerable. One that was not recently was a big jug of chocolate milk. I got really excited and couldn't wait to pour a big glass. I had the combined disappointment of the M&Ms and the Coke. Dark chocolate flavor and no HFCS. It was a low moment. The worst so far, though, is breakfast sausage. Plain old Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage. I don't know what I'd pay for it right now, but I don't want to guess for fear of offending you. They eat all manner of ground pork here but so far I haven't tried any that is flavored like our run of the mill breakfast sausage. The conundrum I face is that I can't accept that it doesn't exist here so I keep buying different types and every time I do I whip up a batch of pancakes or "French" toast. And (so far) everytime the one is good but the sausage tastes enough different that every bite reminds you that you are not home. What I'm trying to say with all of this is that "comfort food" isn't comforting. All the food is good, great in fact, but sometimes you don't want good, you want familiar.


When did eating domesticated duck become unpopular in the U.S.? I know you can get it, but it isn't common. I bought one off of the rotisserie yesterday at the market. I also bought the potatoes that had been cooking in the marvelous dripping duck fat underneath it. It was unbelievable. We all loved it. Why did we abandon it? Same with some of the cheeses. Why do we not make these? Is it because they take too much time and money to make? Yes, the duck costs a little more than the chicken and yes, some cheeses are expensive, but it's easily worth it. Pretty sure I'll miss some of those things when we move back.


I once read that French language has substantially less words than English. I, mistakenly, took this as good news. Less words to learn has to be good, right? Wrong. They just reuse the same words for several different things. For example: "Bouchon" 1) A wine cork 2) a traffic jam 3) a specific type of resaurant in Lyon or possibly Paris. It makes sense that the first two could be similar, but it doesn't help when you are trying to translate. Just because you hear a word you know, doesn't mean you know how it's being used. That and you could potentially tell
a story about how you didn't get to pop bouchon out of a bottle of wine at the bouchon in Lyon because you got stuck in a bouchon on the way. There is also their nasty habit of running words together that creates conjunctions which sounds like other, completely unrelated, words. I'm becoming more and more convinced that the French language is mostly context and non verbal communicaton. Proof positive for this is that, since Day 1, I've been able to grunt and point to get what I want at the bakery. It wasn't until I thought I could speak a little that I started messing up my order.

Audrey's Bday weekend

Our daughter turned 7 today. 7! That just seems like a lot to us. How can such a young man like myself have a 7 year old. I guess the true answer lies in Lane's latest catch phrase "Hey, old man". I'm not sure where he gets this stuff, but I have an idea. I'm beginning to wonder if we should have just stayed with the French TV. At least then anything he learns from questionable programming won't be much use when we move back home.

Back to my point, Audrey turned 7 today. Now, we were a little worried that it would trigger some homesick feelings so we concentrated on making it her weekend. This included a big birthday party on Saturday, which also happened to be our first sponsoring of a get together here in France. Originally, I claimed that we'd just order to pizza from a truck for the food; however, the closer it got, the more we decided that this just wouldn't do (I just couldn't miss such a great opportunity to do some large scale cooking). So, we settled on firing up the grill for some BBQ chicken and dogs of several different varieties. Easy enough at home, but over here? Not so fast.

For starters they don't eat dogs on buns. Plenty of different varieties of great sausages, but no buns. The worst part is that I didn't know this and sent poor Dana to the store for them. Absolutely no offense to her, but, as many of my blogs explain, shopping here isn't easy. Experience is crucial, and she just hasn't had time to gain it. Conversely, I 've spent a lot of time walking the isles with my pocket translator. I used to care, but not now. When I see something interesting, I get out my iPhone for translation and/or a picture (see: shark). I really don't care if I'm in someone's way, of course, this is mostly because they don't care if you are in their way. Basketball a la France may be less physical, but they make up for it in the supermarket. The French aren't about to let your cart, kids or sense of personal space get in between them and a can of foie gras. If you aren't moving you are in danger of being casually pushed aside. So you see, it really wasn't nice of me to throw Dana to the wolves like that.

The next day, after a phone call to a friend, I discovered something like a sweet hot dog bun that is stocked with the sweets instead of the breads. This meant that I was able to make a 5 minute run to the local store and pick them up, which made Dana's stressful search even funnier.

Brown sugar. That's another item that I can't find here, at least not like we know it. I can find something close, which works well enough for a good BBQ rub, but it's just an example of one of those "everyday" items that isn't so "everyday" here. In fact, for a Bday gift, my sister, Aly, is sending us all the non-perishable items needed to make monster cookies. I can't wait. I haven't had a decent cookie in almost 3 months. Tarts and little cakes galore, but their cookies are like sugared cardboard. It makes no sense. How could a culture so engrossed in food not have at least a moderately healthy attitude towards the cookie?

Back to the party. It went great. The kids had fun, the adults had fun, no one was hurt and nothing was broken. Dana did point something out though. A house full of kids sounds much louder with out carpet. Carpet is rare here. Everything is hardwood and tile. Sure it looks neat, but you don't realize the little things until about a month in. Fast moving kids in sock feet are contantly crashing into walls or falling. Also, noises (especially those by the aforementioned shoeless hellions) have nothing to absorb them. They just ricochet around and become louder and louder and louder until they permeate your brain like flies into an open kitchen window taking you from a once sane, calm, and intelligent adu.........what happened? I blacked out for a second. Oh yeah, the noise level, it can get to be a bit much.

France, and its more relaxed nature, must be wearing off on us, because for the first time that I can remember Dana and I went to bed rather without cleaning up. We would have been up til 1:00 if we hadn't, but still it felt good.

Today, her actual B-day, we headed to downtown Grenoble. Without meaning to, we have selected our "usual" place. It's one of the dozens of pizza places down on pizza row. The staff (if 2 women and a man is a staff) is friendly and always remember us. We are such regulars that 3 out of the 4 of us almost always get the same thing. I get the filet au roquefort (steak w/ bleu cheese, pasta and a salad), Dana gets the lasagna, and Lane gets Ravioli au roquefort (yes, the same bleu cheese). Audrey is the only one who varies every time, but even she is partial to their mushroom pizza.

A little over a week ago I had asked them if they were open on Sunday and that we would like to come for our daughters birthday; however, it still surprised me when the lady looked at Audrey and said "Happy Birthday". The meal, as expected, was excellent; however, the 7 ice cream filled pastries topped with candles and whipped cream was quite unexpected. I wish they had mentioned it before I ordered dessert for everyone, but I'm not one to complain about having two desserts.

To help walk it off we headed back up the Bastille over looking the city. Perhaps this would have been more effective if we had actually walked. Instead we took another ride in the "bubbles". It's the 3rd time I've been up there and I don't care how many more I times I go, I'll never get tired of the view. It's simply breathtaking. This is especially true now that snow has fallen on the Belldonnes, which are the tallest of the three ranges.

At the end of the weekend, a great birthday. Audrey got lots of clothes and art supplies so she'll be happy for a while. No breakdowns of any kind, at least until we started homework this evening. Why a 2nd grader would need to know the definition of "solemnly" is beyond me, but we'll discuss that later.

Went for a drive on Sunday

On Saturday we recieved a local tourism magazine. The feature article was on the most beautiful drives in the Isere region. The picture on the cover was enough to make you drop everything and hop in the car, which is exactly what we did late Sunday morning.

We grabbed some sandwhiches, fruit, and cheese and threw them into our cooler, which reminds me of something else I've been meaning to talk about. Ice, it doesn't exist over here, at least like it does at home. They don't put it in drinks, it's not made in your refrigerator and they don't sell it at the gas stations. I had to buy a new travel cooler for occasions such as this. It's got it's own cooling mechanism and runs off of 12 volt power in the car. You can't even put ice in the thing or it'll short out. Just something I thought you'd like to know, I'll get back to the story.

The magazine article had about 8 different routes that you could chose from. It also had a description of each, but such vocabulary is not quite in my grasp yet. This meant that we were reduced to just closing our eyes and picking one out. The lucky winner was located in the Chartreuse mountains which is on the other side of the valley from us. The route itself is a 12 km patch from connecting one mountain town to another. I simply put the first town into the GPS and we set out. 45 minutes later, and a beautiful drive in its own right, later we reached the first town; however, it was lunch time.

Luckily we found a wonderful picnic spot with a play area. So we took our sweet time and even took a short hike on a nearby trail. Amazingly it turned out to be one of the most beautiful walks we've been on. We saw an old mountain church, a few caves, a few tiny bridges over picturesque mountain streams, and even a boar skin strapped up for tanning (this, by the way did nothing to help my mild homesickness brought on by the fact that a fall without deer hunting is rapidly approaching). So, after lunch, some play time, and a short hike it was time to start the drive.

Now seems like a good time to mention the article in the magazine following the article on "le belles routes". It was, as far as I could surmise, all about the safety of the mountain roads in the area. There were a few words that I could make out along with pictues of guys in hard hats hanging precariosly from cliffs while installing heavy wires and chains. Apparently a large amount of time and money has recently been spent to make sure that schmucks like me can go for a Sunday drive.

Your French would not have had to be as good as mine to read the sign that sat at the beginning of our randomly chosen route.

ROUTE BARREE
DEVIATION

Even if you couldn't read the sign, you wouldn't have accidently driven down the road. It was undoubtedly closed to any type of traffic. Now, I've questioned the French and some of their decisions many times over the last two months, but I doubt even they would justify purposely closing a route that was being advertised in a tourism magazine. Judging by the looks of things, I'd say the route was closed due to something less forseen, like say a rock slide. Ironic, heh?

Rather than give up we chose another one of the magazines selections which was only 15 minutes away. It was worth it. Pictures don't do it justice. We even found an old chateau along the way, which we explored.

All in all, a great Sunday

Bonne Anniversaire Granny Ruth

http://2.recordertheapp.com/cca15dd682d5d0e93ad0/

Happy Birthday Granny Ruth. Hope this link works.

We're still here.

I know, I know I haven't written in a while, but that's a good thing. The reason is that we are settling in and starting to feel at home. Much like many of you we're hitting our stride a few weeks into the school year. Another possible factor is that the English TV, on which we've been patiently waiting, was finally installed. Alright, it's mostly the latter. Sorry. No, TV isn't more important than keeping our friends and family updated, or at least, it won't be anymore.

Here are a few person by person updates

Matt

I'm still adjusting to being a French Housewife, but I'm getting used to it. I do have to laugh when any friend of mine will send me a note asking what I do with all my "free time". I really wish I knew. It goes somewhere but I haven't figured out where yet. I have; however, learned to adjust my calendar to it. I've accepted the fact that a trip to the grocery store will take an entire morning. No, it's not an extremely exciting way to spend a morning, but it's always interesting. I always leave the store with a tale or two to tell, which I'll be sure to include in a blog very soon

A lot of time gets used up with French lessons as well. It's instense. Generally I have 3-2 hour lessons per week, and on the days I don't have lessons, I'll spend an hour or so working on my own. The good news is that its working. Lately I've been able to carry on more conversations than I used to. Like today, for example, we purchased a buffet for some dishes. I took care of everything in French: price, sale price, type of wood, the size, delivery date, and payment. Everything. It's not perfect and fluent, just being able to do it makes you feel much more comfortable. There are, of course, still instances where I am completely lost, but they are fewer.

The second basketball outing wasn't quite as shocking, but, then again, how could it be "as shocking"? It was still, an experience. I've noticed that the French are always willing to point out flaws, even they can't do it themselves. It's not unlike fat sportswriters critiquing NFL quarterbacks, except that they will do it with you standing right there. They aren't being rude, it's just a cultural difference. For example. The latest basketball session included some shooting drills (funny, I know). Anyway, I got paired with the only bilingual player on the "team". In her defense, she is the best player out of all the women. Now, being a coach, I thought I could help her out. Surely, I thought, she could learn to shoot with one hand instead of two, after all it was from only 5 feet away. I asked her to just try, which she did a couple of times before saying "nope, I can't". Oh well, I tried. Then it was my turn. After a miss following 5 or 6 swishes, she felt that she needed to mention my lack of a complete follow-thru. Yes, I was slacking and no, I wasn't "putting my hand in the cookie jar" like I should have been, but I was shocked that she mentioned it. That never would have happened in the U.S. Just a funny little difference.

Other than that, I'm just living. It's really starting to feel more comfortable. School has helped immensely. We are meeting more people and starting to feel more at home. As mentioned, I've got some funny stories that I'll be sharing soon.

Dana

Well, hello everyone! As Matt mentioned, we are starting to establish a schedule, which is nice. It is helping all of us. And the Amercian TV is nice....I can tell I am feeling more 'at home' as I am now back to falling asleep while we watch TV of an evening. Nice for me, but not so for Matt!

The house is starting to feel comfy too. We have rearranged the living room a few times, but I think we now have it set up so we maximize the space, can see the TV and also enjoy the fire - which I imagine we will be doing lots this fall and winter.

We have a big week this week as we prep for Audrey's birthday. We are going to have some families over to play and eat supper with us. And she has requested that we go to our favorite restaurant on pizza row on Sunday after church.

Well - I am ready to fall asleep on the couch now so I am going to turn it back over to Matt!
Lots of love to you all!

Audrey

Audrey's probably got the toughest path of all. I can't imagine it. She went from Kindergarten in English to 2nd grade (or CE1 to them) in French. She's doing well, but it's tough. She also has 3 French lessons a week, which are used mostly to translate her homework for her. The good news is that her teacher deals with it every year and is, supposedly, very good at it. Also from the "good" column is the fact that she is handling it very well. Her new best friend is bilingual and helps her out quite a bit.

Her ballet is also going well. She really enjoys it, but it could potentially be very stressful for her. After all, it's all in French. The fact that she doesn't let this deter her is amazing. She can't wait to go every Wednesday. Lane and I watch and play from the outside, and it's more than a little humorous. First is the delayed reaction by Audrey. She listens, watches and then acts. I heard through a second party that one mother asked "What's wrong with that girl?". Just American that's all. She's learning though, and quick. The funniest part; however, is her height. Audrey was tall for her age by American standards, over here it's even more so. She's easily a head taller than any other student and only 6 inches shorter than her teacher.

All in all, she's doing great and very excited to be turning 7 next Sunday. So, if you get a chance, send her an email or an online card to the address posted on our website. She'll love it.

Lane

Well, Lane is Lane. Judo didn't work out like we hoped, and in hindsight, I'm not surprised. The only experience he had with judo is watching it on the Olympics and then we tried to throw him onto a mat with teacher that spoke no English. He was a little frightened. I'm not sure what he was thinking, but it easily could have been that the teacher was going to flip him and pin him for not understanding his instructions. We tried twice, neither with any success. Maybe next year.

Lane is probably picking up French as fast as any of us just in a different way. He can't spout out sentences or vocab on request, but he can somehow understand his teacher when she rattles off orders in French. It's strange how kids his age learn. They just understand. I doubt he'll every be able to translate for us, yet I have no doubt that after 6 months he'll be carrying on conversations.

One thing we didn't expect is his learning of a third language. He's learning the "Kings English". His best friend in British and they spend a lot of time together. Lane can switch from an American to a Britsih accent on command. It's not some crappy fake accent either, it's (as they say) "spot on". I can't wait for some of you to hear it. Lane will probably be used as a parlor trick anytime someone comes to visit. I'll have to work out a script for him.

His school is also going well. Back home he would be going to school for 2 hours three times per week, but here he goes for full days (w/ lunch) twice a week, half days twice and week and has French lessons 3 times per week. He has shown some resistance, but not much. I usually tell him that I know it's tough, but it's just something he's got to do. Before school the other day we had this conversation

Lane - "Dad, I don't want to go to school today"
Me - "Well, Lane, I'm sorry, but you have to"
Lane - "I know that, I just want you to know that I don't want to go"

Fair enough.


Kensie

We're ready for our pooch to come on over. It looks like Dana has to head back the U.S. sometime in October. Now the rest of us aren't thrilled that she gets to head home with out us, but we'll forgive her if she brings back the dog.


Well, that's all for now. I'll post some more very soon.

The Basketball Diaries

I admit it. On occasion, for the purpose of this blog I have taken some small liberties with my story telling. Don't take offense; these stories are far from fiction. My imagination is not inventive enough to conjure up such tales, but, on occasion, I will write something funnier than it was when it happened. However, not even the tiniest of embellishments are needed for the following narrative. In fact, I'll be lucky to do it justice.

I did not have high expectations when entering the gym, and looking back I was questioning myself for being so quick to dismiss something before even experiencing it. Thus far while in France, I have certainly embraced the cuisine, the language, and the people; and, the majority of the time very few of my preconceived notions have been withheld. People aren't nearly as rude as I was told they would be and the bureaucracy isn't quite as ridiculous as I was led to believe it would be. Why should hoops be any different? After all, Tony Parker is French, and, in general, French people seem to be more active than Americans. Could the reality of a pick up game in France be as bad as what I had pictured up in my head?

No, it was so so much worse. I'm sure there is some decent, even very good, basketball being played throughout France, but I did not find it Wednesday night.

We started by warming up, in a pretty typical fashion, and surprisingly I could tell I was a little nervous. I'd introduced myself and given them a little background information, which is always necessary to help explain why you can't speak the indigenous language. Most of them were very impressed that I was a basketball coach back in the U.S.. In fact this was how the coach introduced me to everyone else. "Le Coach American". I also heard the words (or letters rather) "NBA" spoken. They were joking, but it still gives you a reference point. So you see, I was right to be nervous, I had a lot to live up to.

After mandatory stretching, along with what I can only assume was a thorough explanation of each stretch and its importance, the coach divided us up for a little pick up game. He also handed out jerseys for the teams. I opted to keep my shirt on underneath as I figured I would have enough eyes on me without wearing a yellow, see through, mid riff.

My first shot was not pretty. Not quite an airball, but it sure wasn't pretty. Did the nerves get to me? Not really, it’s just that a girl's ball just doesn't feel the same in your hands, especially when you aren't expecting it. Stupid of me not to be expecting it though as our merry band of cagers was almost half women. Open sign up for a basketball program in this little (but not that little) town yielded 6 men and 6 women.

That I followed my wife's career to France while taking care of our children should tell you everything you need to know about the level of my chauvinism; however, I think it's fair to say that their aren't a lot of women, at any level, that are strong enough to guard a man my size in the post. It's just the way it is. Add into this equation that 5 of the 6 women playing in this game were probably playing in their first game ever, and you can start to get the picture.

I certainly never guarded one of the women and none of the women guarded me, but they were still there, on the court and in the way. Again that's not chauvinistic, it’s dangerous. My 113.5 kg (still sounds better than 250 lb) can still move pretty quick, it just can't stop very quick. The men were really trying to stop me, so I'd have to use a quick step or spin move to get around them, which wasn't too hard. The real challenge was sidestepping the petite mademoiselle standing in the lane with her head turned the other direction clueless that she was about to be made into a pancake, or rather a crepe. Basketball, like many sports, is about knowledge. Sure it takes some athletic ability but just knowing where to be and where not to be can make you better and keep you from getting hurt. These girls had none of this.

A few of the men were certainly better but there was just something different about the way they played. I've watched kids playing soccer at Audrey and Lane's school, and am always amazed. They do some amazing things with their feet. I saw 8 year olds tossing up the ball to do a handstand and kick the ball in the goal while upside down and backwards. Yet, I'll bet they couldn't have dribbled the ball once around the playground. I'll have to do a search for any scientific studies on the correlation between foot/eye coordination and hand/eye coordination. More specifically, if you have a lot of one, does it mean you don't have one of the other? Gun to my head I couldn't keep a ball in the air with my two lower limbs for longer than 10 seconds, and if I tried to play soccer it would show. Well, its opposite for these guys. They just look awkward playing basketball, I don't know how else to say it.

"Perdon". It means "excuse me" and it was the easily the most commonly uttered word of the evening. Can you imagine it? Every time you accidently bump into someone on the court you actually pause and say "Oh, excuse me". It was slightly less physical game than I'm used to. And not just the accidental contact, there was almost no contact at all. They didn't set picks and forget boxing out. This worked for and against me. On one hand I reeled in about 3/4 of the rebounds. On the other hand I also reeled in a few close range passes an inch from my face while trying to set a ball screen. Along with this lack of physical play was their definition of a “foul”. If this coach would have been calling a randomly selected high school game back home, no player would have lasted more than a half.

One last thing. Lines. Every sport has ‘em. Boundaries, service line, distance markers, etc. and when they are used in their respective sports they make sense. However, when you put them all onto one floor you end up with something like this.

Honestly I think it would have been less confusing with no lines at all. It's certainly a multi purpose gym, not a basketball court. But , of course, I'd be even more dumfounded if they did have a gym just for basketball.

Well, that’s about all I can remember, but fear not, I’m planning on going back every week. I’ll get some exercise and I can always work on my shot. But the best part: Wednesdays just became a 2 for 1 special on blog fuel. How could I pass that up?

A missed opportunity

The potential for "blog fuel" today was huge. On Friday, Dana and I were invited to attend a little game on Sunday. It's a local co-ed "touch" rugby tournament. We were prepared to look like fools (even more so than usual), have some fun and probably offend some natives. Unfortunately, our weather here hasn't been much different than what most of you are experiencing now in the midwest. No joke, it has been raining for the last week. Not surprisinlgly the park was in no shape to have amateur Rugby morons running around on it. If it works out in the next week or so, I'll be sure to post the results. Not the score so much, but injuries and cultural faux pas.

The weather caused some other anxiety earlier this week. After dropping the kids off for school I sometimes drive into Grenoble for my French lesson. Then after 2 hours of mind wrenching translating I drive the 30 minutes back to pick the kids up for lunch. It's tight, but I usually make it with 10 minutes to spare. Well, on Friday I realized another major difference between roads here and back home. It's a lot of work to cut a road through the mountains, so they don't usually cut another one parallel to it a mere mile away. Once again this is one of those things that make sense, but you don't really think about until the rain causes some poor guy's driveway to move 10 yards downhill and on to the only road you know. Fresh from my French lesson, I attempted to talk to a French policeman in order to assertain if I could go past the barrier to access a side road that I thought would get me home. My French is improving quite well, but that is not a simple question to formulate when he is waving you on and a line of cars is honking behind you. I failed and made a right with the rest of the mob.

So let's reset the scene. I have 20 minutes to make it to school to pick up two kids who have been told, "Do not go to canteen today, I WILL be there to pick you up". I have just been shooed off the road that will get me there in 10-15 minutes and have no idea how long it will take me to get there via the detour. (I use the word "detour" lightly. They use a similar word, but it is only a detour in the sense that it keeps you from using the intended road. I was initially hoping to follow the signs to get me around, the problem was that there was only a sign. We don't care where you go, but you can't go here) My trusty Tom Tom was helpful, but not that helpful. I had to drive for 10 minutes in a randomly selected direction before "turn around when possible" became something more useful.

To make matters worse, I was also trying to call someone to pick up my children so they wouldn't be wandering around outside the school searching for their dad who's told them to "I will be there, don't ever go with anyone else". Now, the technology on my new iPhone is awesome but it could be better. For instance, it can hold the numbers of every contact I have ever known, but it cannot look into the future and store numbers that I "am going to put in as soon as I get home". The only numbers I had were of people who had called me, and only one of those was useful. Not because she was a parent of kids at my school, but because I knew she would have someone's number. Never mind that she's in Italy watching the practice for a Formual One race, I need help. So, a couple calls back and forth over the border and I had someone to monitor my children until I could arrive.

The events of the last three paragraphs was stressful enough, but the French have a way of making such events even more stressful to us untrained Americans. Manual Transmission. "Oh, I can drive a stick" is what you are saying right now. Well, me too, but it sure doesn't make things any easier. In fact, it's a real pain sometimes. Have you ever seen a game show where people can't answer simple questions while under physical strain? That's what it feels like. My train of thought was being derailed every 10 -20 seconds.

The rest of our weekend was not as eventful. A couple from the UK has two boys, one in Lane's class and one in Audrey's, so it worked out well that they invited us for dinner. Surprisingly, having dinner in France with a couple from the UK was almost identical to you inviting my family and I over to your home. The only notable exception being that at home my wife doesn't spend the entire night laughing at your 4 year olds adorable cockney accent. She wasn't being mean, of course, but it did give us away as Americans.

Since we stayed out till 11:00 with the kids on Friday, Saturday consisted of resting and a quick trip to the mall. Which was fine because it rained all day, again. I feel like I bit on a time share scam in which they take you to the location during the only week of good weather for the year. Ok, not really, but the weather stinks. I spoke with the owner of the house today and I think he feels directly responsible. Which he shouldn't, but on the other hand, it is early September and he was walking me through the heating system for the house. We didn't need it yet, but I've always thought that a time of neccessity was a poor time to make sure your heating works. Besides, it was down to 62 degrees or so in the house this morning because it was below 50 outside last night. A little heat wouldn't hurt anything. So today on the 14th of September......

Carrefour

I snapped this pic on my phone this afternoon at Carrefour. What is Carrefour you ask? Some exotic fish market? Nope. Carrefour is France's version of a Super Wal-Mart. There are 2 or 3 in the immediate area. Food is different here, that's all there is to it and the Carrefour is a great place to notice this.

There are 4 different sections in which I can find cheese. One is pre-packaged cheeses that they cut in house, another is with a worker behind the counter that takes orders, the third is a section of brand name pre packed cheeses more like you would see in the U.S, and the fourth is an isle of fresh cheeses like fromage blanc (think cottage cheese put in a blender) Amazingly, each one of the first of these 3 sections has more options than any U.S. Grocery store I have ever been to.

Right now you're probably saying "The French love cheese?! What a news flash". I know, I know it's no secret, but you have to see it to even try to understand it.

The bad news is that we are probably going to O.D. on cheese very soon. I took this picture of my pint sized refrigerator the other day just for fun. I have a shelf that holds nothing but cheese. Now, a true Frenchman would be gasping right now, becuase they don't normally put cheese in such modern equipment. They leave it out with their eggs like normal people. ???? Still haven't wrapped my brain (which contains a semester of Microbiology) around that one.

Anyway, at the time of the photo, my "cheese shelf" was holding the following. Gruyere, Comte, Parmasean Reggiano, baby bella's (for the kids), Roquefort (France's most popular bleu), some form of chevre (goat cheese) and a camembert. We all eat these regularly, except for the camembert. I'm really the only one who eats this. It stinks a little. I accidently bought a special camembert. It had been soaked in some sort of cider and aged. It tasted fine as long as you only breathed through your mouth. Eventually I had to throw it out because it made the house stink everytime I opened the refrigerator. Actually I only indirectly threw it out. I first tried to use it on a potato dish, then, after much complaining by Lane, I threw it out.

Back to the Carrefour. It's an adventure everytime I go, uless I'm only searching for things I previously found, but what fun would that be. Take today's trip for example. I decided to buy some lettuce. A simple task, except I knew that at Carrefour you must weigh and tag your own produce prior to heading to the checkout. I've never forgotten to do this simply because I fear hitting the checkout line and having to converse about the problem. The problem today was that lettuce is sold by the piece. So do I need to tag it or will they know it at the checkout? Not wanting to experience the aforementioned conversation, I employed a technique used by many a imported citizen. Wait and watch. Luckily I noticed a woman who appeared to be in the mood for some lettuce. Unluckily she was undoubtedly French. Frech women pick out produce like most people pick out cars. They kick the tires, take it for a spin, and get a good whiff. I had to pretend to look at shallots for a good 4 minutes while she selected the right head of lettuce. Then just as she was about to do so, a stock boy roars in with a cart of onions, which, as you know, go right next to the shallots. I didn't get the chance to see if she tagged it because I and my (4 wheel pivoting) cart were fleeing for our life. I did not wait around for another French woman to come along, as I had to pick up the kids in an hour.