I've no excuse. Ok, I've got one, but not a good one. Things have been a little hectic here and not in a good way. I got a little down when we knew we were coming back to Illinois, so I quit writing. Honestly, I started a few, but my heart wasn't in it and I kept finding myself complaining. Since that's not my style, I decided to quit writing until I could get out of the funk. The good news is, I have plenty of stories to tell, so I'll be updating the blog shortly. They just may not be the most timely of stories.
In the meantime, here's a funny tidbit that has nothing to do w/ France. I've been searching online for U.S. cars lately (since we can't bring our VWs w/ us), and I've been forced to send some emails to car salesman. Not a big deal except the last thing they need is encouragement. So, the one particular salesman sends me 3 emails in as many days, after I didn't respond to any he sent another that started like this.
Dear Matt
We must be just missing each other. I was curious if you have to choose where you are in the process would you way that you are in:
Now I've heard of the digital divide when it comes to the older generation using technology (or trying to), but never seen such a prime example. You'll be happy to know I sent him back an email explaining the difference between telephones and the internet. I'm sure he appreciated it.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
THE END IS NEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Two nights ago Lane was up most of the night coughing. In the morning, I offered him an unpopular treatment (with him that is) or we could go to the Doctor for some new medicine. He chose the home treatment, but I had been hoping he'd choose the Dr. I backtracked and said that I didn't want him to be up again all night coughing. He told me, "Dad, I won't be up coughing again. I can see the future". Strangely enough, I went for it. Guess what, he slept fine. We've since been to the Dr., but not for the cough. Seems he was a bit clairvoyant.
This morning, as a joke Dana asked him if he could still see the future. "Yep". So what's going to happen to day Lane? "The world is going to explode!".
I would tell you to get your affairs in order, but Lane doesn't seem all too worried. He even ate all the apple slices I gave him for breakfast. I don't think he'd do that if he knew that today was the end, he'd have been asking for ice cream or something. So, make of it what you will.
Bonne journee!
This morning, as a joke Dana asked him if he could still see the future. "Yep". So what's going to happen to day Lane? "The world is going to explode!".
I would tell you to get your affairs in order, but Lane doesn't seem all too worried. He even ate all the apple slices I gave him for breakfast. I don't think he'd do that if he knew that today was the end, he'd have been asking for ice cream or something. So, make of it what you will.
Bonne journee!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Thomanns in Peoria?
Will you read it? Not quite the same sound to it, but it may have to be our new blog title soon. I'll continue to post, but looks like things may be changing soon. The level of my disappointment is hard to express. Times they are a changin', what can you do?
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
6 months since.....
Here's a list of a few things I haven't done in 6 months that would be high on my "to do" list if I woke up in the U.S. tomorrow.
- Eat hot wings. No BW3s or hooters here. Of course I could fix my own, but I haven't seen wings packaged in bunches here and I also can't find any jalapenos. I occasionally buy a whole chicken for roasting. I thought of cuttting the wings and saving them till I have enough, but I have a freezer the size of a dorm refrigerator.
- Go to a movie. They occasionally show movies in the original version over here, but it's spotty. We had plans to go see the new Bond movie a while back, but it was about 1.5 hours away and we didn't get around to it. And I did not want to see it in French. I don't think "Je m'appelle Bond, James Bond" would cut it.
- Eat a big fat corn fed steak. As a rule, the steaks here are not very big. The sad fact is that they are much more sensible about their protein distribution in a meal. You'll have as much starch and vegetables as you will protein. I've lost weight and I know it's better for me, but I really want a nice red 1 inch thick ribeye.
- Watch a live basketball game. I haven't brought myself to watch a French "professional" team. I saw some European basketball on TV the other day and couldn't hardly watch it. I'd love to go catch a good high school game or one of my brother's college games.
- Speak English to a stranger. I'm a bit gregarious. I like to talk to people just for fun. I've even taken to talking to strangers in French, and I don't mind, it's kinda fun. It's just tiring.
- Go hunting. Lots of outdoor activities here. Hiking, biking, skiing, etc. The list goes on. The French are very inventive at finding things to do outside. I just missed hunting this past season and I'd love to go. Maybe next year I'll get it worked out to go.
- Drink a Dr. Pepper. Ok, I actually had one 2 days ago, but officially I went 6 months w/out one. Oh, it was good. Dana happened to spot them in a specialty store and went nuts. We bought several for about $1.50/can. Now I just need to take one in to McDonald's with a glass of ice. You won't find the Dr. Pepper or the ice there. MickeyDees is not the same with out it.
- Sausage. Plain old breakast sausage or "italian" sausage like we know it. No Bs and Gs (biscuits and gravy), no sausage w/ pancakes, no sausage mushroom pizza. I've tried to find and create substitutes but they're not the same.
- Bacon, while we're on the subject of pork. They don't cure and smoke bacon like we do. They have something similar, but.....you get the idea.
- Tune into a country station. Sure I can do it on the internet or plug my iPod into the car, but I can't tune into a country station while I'm driving down the road. I miss driving down the road and having an old favorite come on. They play quite a bit of American music here, but no Country music.
Ok, I know I've mentioned a lot of food. It's funny, you move to a country with one of the most highly regarded cuisines in the world and you end up missing something like boxed macaroni and cheese. I guess that's why they call it "comfort food". There can never be anything that replaces what we grow up with.
By the sounds of this, you're probably thinking I can't wait to get back. Not so. It sounds odd, but I like missing these things. It makes you realize that you've done something different with your life. That you've broken away from the ordinary, and I like that feeling. I can already tell that this experience will have a profound impact on the rest of my life and the lives of the rest of my family. While you can't all pick up and move to France ( I know how lucky we are for the opportunity), I would encourage all of you to not be afraid to break out of the mold. Do something different. It's the different things that lead to memories, which is what it's all about.
Monday, January 19, 2009
A week to forget
If you've been keeping up, you know we've had lots of funny experiences. The last 7 days or so have been filled with some more, but a different kind of funny. The latest memories have been a little like French wine. It's really hard to enjoy them when they're made, you have to wait a while to truly appreciate them.
It started gradually. My nagging backache started to go from nagging to complaining loudly to screaming in my face. I made an appointement with someone to see if they could help. I say "someone" because I really didn't know if this person was a chiropractor, a physical therapist, or some sort of tribal shaman. My GP gave me a reference, so I went with it. The amount of faith you have to operate with on a daily basis, cannot be described. That feeling of being in control of your world is not one you have often. It certainly takes some getting used to, but it doesn't happen without flirting with a nervous breakdown
The cause of my back pain wasn't certain, but I had some ideas. At the front of the list was a hard fall on the slopes. I go with a "learn from your mistakes" style while skiing. Not sure what I'm going to learn from that one, but it may be that I should think about not skiing anymore.
So I showed up at the witch doctor's door on Tuesday to find that she was actually a physcial therapist. I was hoping for a good 'ole fashioned back cracker but I wasn't going to turn down anyone who was a) liscensed in some sort medical field and b) willing to try and make me feel better. The ability to speak English was not a requirement, which was a good thing, because she didn't.
After mumbling and bumbling I was able to convey what was hurting and why I thought it was like it was, she finally layed her hands on me. 2 seconds after first touching my back she said "Ooh la la, c'est terrible!" No translation necessary. Great. So she pushed and prodded and had me do all sorts of exercises. This gave me time to formulate a question in my head. For sanity's sake, I asked her if she could understand why it was that I was in so much pain. "Bien sur" - Of course. It was good to know I wasn't dreaming it. I left feeling better, things were looking up.
I'd never been to a Physical therapist before, but after talking with my sister I found that my experience the next day was quite normal. The pain I'd been experiencing was mild in comparison to the day after my visit. I could hardly move. Apparently putting things back into place after 4 weeks of negligence is painful.
I went back Friday morning for another visit, hoping that her hands on work would eventually prove to make things better. Problem was that no sooner than I left her office, I started to feel progressively worse as the afternoon wore on. It wasn't until I noticed my fever that I realized maybe something else was to blame.
The French call it "La Grippe", which may sound more romantic than calling it the "flu". Trust me it doesn't matter what you call it, it's awful no matter which continent you inhabit. The only difference for me this time was that the aches normally associated with such a malady were magnified due to my already aggrivated back. I also had all the other joys associated. I barely slept Friday night and slept only about 10 minutes on Saturday night. By Sunday I was a bit, well, let's call it "off".
Humorist Dave Barry once said, “Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night”. Now I hadn't been taking laxatives, but intestinally speaking, things wouldn't have changed much if I had been. After 2 nights with almost no sleep and a comfort level that didn't seem conducive to getting any on night #3, I was really considering a sleep aid for the evening. I had a decision to make. To Mr. Barry's dismay, I rolled the dice.
I'm proud to tell you that I slept like a stump with no "surprises". My good wife, checked on me periodically during the night. She was concerned since I normally don't sleep like I'm in a coma and because she was aware of my tempt of fate. She admitted to me that she would "sniff" when she checked on me. I asked her if she would have woken me if she'd smelled something. She didn't have an answer.
I'm still not 100% recovered from "la grippe", but since Monday I've been much much better, which is good because I had to deal with the other card that had been dealt us on Sunday afternoon.
Although not wanting to burden me further, Dana came to me on Sunday and said sheepishly, "Ummm, we don't have any hot water". After investigating, we found that our propane tank was just a tank, in that it actually no longer held any propane.
That we should have checked the level, was obvious, but we did have a reason for being oblivious. Our friendly, but apparently inefficient, agent from the relocation company had told us that we had a contract with a gas company that would track, monitor, and fill our tank as needed. We only needed to stay warm, take hot showers, and pay the bill. I had no reason to doubt this as I had the same deal in back in the Red White and Blue. It turns out she was as wrong about the part where they monitor the tank as she was about the part where we even had a contract. The gas supplier had never even heard of me.
Occasionally, I'll do business with someone who speaks some English and they are always willing to use/practice it. Problem is that my French is usually better than their English, which means that their English probably shouldn't be used to conduct business. Such was the case with the woman from the gas company.
Here's what I was able to determine before we hit a snag. I wasn't a registered customer. To recieve a full fill up, I needed to be a registered customer. I could become registered via mail correspondence, meaning it would take at least 5 days or so before I could even order any gas. Not good. But, I was in luck. They will do a set amount delivery to "unregistered" customers. Here's where we encountered our first linguistic hurdle. An amount of propane would be delivered for "4 thousand Euros". As a Euro is worth more than a dollar, I almost swallowed my tongue. It seemed my choices were A) get really ripped off or B) wait who-knows-how-long for heat and hot showeres.
I'd had enough so I switched to French. I started asking how much it would normally be, what my other options were, etc. Suddenly, she muttered "oops". In French "cent" means "hundred"and "mil" means "thousand". She had switched the two making a just a slight 10 fold error. My "unregistered" fill up would cost me 400 Euros and would fill my tank to roughly 22%. I breathed a sigh of relief. I told her I'd take that option and fill out the paper work to become registered.
I then had the audacity to ask when I could expect the delivery. "Oh, anytime between tomorrow and (wait for it)the next seven days". Then she added "We also recommend that you call for a refill when you hit 20%". Are you able to see how funny this is?
Sometime in the next week I will quit using a one room fireplace to heat my entire house and I will quit taking "cup showers" with water heated on an (thank goodness) electric stove, because I will have recieved my shot of propane. At about the same time my paperwork will go through and I will recieve the coveted registration. Meaning that I will be able to call for another fill up of propane at about the same time that the truck from the last fill up is pulling out of the driveway.
Ahhhh, France.
It started gradually. My nagging backache started to go from nagging to complaining loudly to screaming in my face. I made an appointement with someone to see if they could help. I say "someone" because I really didn't know if this person was a chiropractor, a physical therapist, or some sort of tribal shaman. My GP gave me a reference, so I went with it. The amount of faith you have to operate with on a daily basis, cannot be described. That feeling of being in control of your world is not one you have often. It certainly takes some getting used to, but it doesn't happen without flirting with a nervous breakdown
The cause of my back pain wasn't certain, but I had some ideas. At the front of the list was a hard fall on the slopes. I go with a "learn from your mistakes" style while skiing. Not sure what I'm going to learn from that one, but it may be that I should think about not skiing anymore.
So I showed up at the witch doctor's door on Tuesday to find that she was actually a physcial therapist. I was hoping for a good 'ole fashioned back cracker but I wasn't going to turn down anyone who was a) liscensed in some sort medical field and b) willing to try and make me feel better. The ability to speak English was not a requirement, which was a good thing, because she didn't.
After mumbling and bumbling I was able to convey what was hurting and why I thought it was like it was, she finally layed her hands on me. 2 seconds after first touching my back she said "Ooh la la, c'est terrible!" No translation necessary. Great. So she pushed and prodded and had me do all sorts of exercises. This gave me time to formulate a question in my head. For sanity's sake, I asked her if she could understand why it was that I was in so much pain. "Bien sur" - Of course. It was good to know I wasn't dreaming it. I left feeling better, things were looking up.
I'd never been to a Physical therapist before, but after talking with my sister I found that my experience the next day was quite normal. The pain I'd been experiencing was mild in comparison to the day after my visit. I could hardly move. Apparently putting things back into place after 4 weeks of negligence is painful.
I went back Friday morning for another visit, hoping that her hands on work would eventually prove to make things better. Problem was that no sooner than I left her office, I started to feel progressively worse as the afternoon wore on. It wasn't until I noticed my fever that I realized maybe something else was to blame.
The French call it "La Grippe", which may sound more romantic than calling it the "flu". Trust me it doesn't matter what you call it, it's awful no matter which continent you inhabit. The only difference for me this time was that the aches normally associated with such a malady were magnified due to my already aggrivated back. I also had all the other joys associated. I barely slept Friday night and slept only about 10 minutes on Saturday night. By Sunday I was a bit, well, let's call it "off".
Humorist Dave Barry once said, “Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night”. Now I hadn't been taking laxatives, but intestinally speaking, things wouldn't have changed much if I had been. After 2 nights with almost no sleep and a comfort level that didn't seem conducive to getting any on night #3, I was really considering a sleep aid for the evening. I had a decision to make. To Mr. Barry's dismay, I rolled the dice.
I'm proud to tell you that I slept like a stump with no "surprises". My good wife, checked on me periodically during the night. She was concerned since I normally don't sleep like I'm in a coma and because she was aware of my tempt of fate. She admitted to me that she would "sniff" when she checked on me. I asked her if she would have woken me if she'd smelled something. She didn't have an answer.
I'm still not 100% recovered from "la grippe", but since Monday I've been much much better, which is good because I had to deal with the other card that had been dealt us on Sunday afternoon.
Although not wanting to burden me further, Dana came to me on Sunday and said sheepishly, "Ummm, we don't have any hot water". After investigating, we found that our propane tank was just a tank, in that it actually no longer held any propane.
That we should have checked the level, was obvious, but we did have a reason for being oblivious. Our friendly, but apparently inefficient, agent from the relocation company had told us that we had a contract with a gas company that would track, monitor, and fill our tank as needed. We only needed to stay warm, take hot showers, and pay the bill. I had no reason to doubt this as I had the same deal in back in the Red White and Blue. It turns out she was as wrong about the part where they monitor the tank as she was about the part where we even had a contract. The gas supplier had never even heard of me.
Occasionally, I'll do business with someone who speaks some English and they are always willing to use/practice it. Problem is that my French is usually better than their English, which means that their English probably shouldn't be used to conduct business. Such was the case with the woman from the gas company.
Here's what I was able to determine before we hit a snag. I wasn't a registered customer. To recieve a full fill up, I needed to be a registered customer. I could become registered via mail correspondence, meaning it would take at least 5 days or so before I could even order any gas. Not good. But, I was in luck. They will do a set amount delivery to "unregistered" customers. Here's where we encountered our first linguistic hurdle. An amount of propane would be delivered for "4 thousand Euros". As a Euro is worth more than a dollar, I almost swallowed my tongue. It seemed my choices were A) get really ripped off or B) wait who-knows-how-long for heat and hot showeres.
I'd had enough so I switched to French. I started asking how much it would normally be, what my other options were, etc. Suddenly, she muttered "oops". In French "cent" means "hundred"and "mil" means "thousand". She had switched the two making a just a slight 10 fold error. My "unregistered" fill up would cost me 400 Euros and would fill my tank to roughly 22%. I breathed a sigh of relief. I told her I'd take that option and fill out the paper work to become registered.
I then had the audacity to ask when I could expect the delivery. "Oh, anytime between tomorrow and (wait for it)the next seven days". Then she added "We also recommend that you call for a refill when you hit 20%". Are you able to see how funny this is?
Sometime in the next week I will quit using a one room fireplace to heat my entire house and I will quit taking "cup showers" with water heated on an (thank goodness) electric stove, because I will have recieved my shot of propane. At about the same time my paperwork will go through and I will recieve the coveted registration. Meaning that I will be able to call for another fill up of propane at about the same time that the truck from the last fill up is pulling out of the driveway.
Ahhhh, France.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
Bonne Annee!
(I want to start with an apology to my in-laws, Bob and Cheryl, or as the French say with tongue firmly in cheek, mes beau parents (my beautiful parents). I failed to mention, and this goes for future guests, that when you stay in our guest room you become potential subjects in the stories for our blog. )
If my blog fuel from the past 3 weeks were a pile of dirty laundry, we'd have nothing left to wear. Unfortunately, it's not, meaning that I don't have something motivating me to deplete the pile. As it is, it just keeps piling up. I have more stories from the Christmas vacation than I could ever hope to tell in one blog entry. So, instead I'll tell as many as I can over the next few days.
If my blog fuel from the past 3 weeks were a pile of dirty laundry, we'd have nothing left to wear. Unfortunately, it's not, meaning that I don't have something motivating me to deplete the pile. As it is, it just keeps piling up. I have more stories from the Christmas vacation than I could ever hope to tell in one blog entry. So, instead I'll tell as many as I can over the next few days.
10th Anniversary
Much to my surprise, Dana has been able to stay married to me for 10 years now. Our anniversary was on the 19th of December, and I wanted to do something special. I had joked for a while that I would be sure to take her to a French restaurant for the special occasion, which, considering where we live, could have been McDonalds. Instead I decided that the two of us would spend the day on the slopes. We would begin by taking a lesson together and then spend the day skiing and hanging out at the ski lodge. It was sure to be memorable if not romantic.
I don't mind saying that we were amazing. A local artist was so impressed that he created for us his interpretation of the day.
Ok, a bit of an exaggeration. But it looks much better than the truth: Dana searching for her skis and poles after smacking her head on the ice and me yelling at our instructor for being vague and lazy. I'm quite certain that learning to ski would have been much easier in our pre-30 something days. Eventually, we got the hang of it and enjoyed ourselves, but it took some work. What didn't take work was lunch, we're experienced veterans in that category. Hot chocolate and delicious mountain food full of cheesy calories goes good anytime, but is perfect after a morning of careening down a mountain in a mixture of vertical and horizontal positions. The bottom line is that we certainly had a memorable anniversary and we have even been back once since. Maybe we'll have it figured out by our 20th anniversary.
Christmas goodies.
Like any good culture, the French mark popular holidays with food. There are a couple of Christmas traditions worth mentioning. First, for Christmas and the days preceeding, there are the buche de noel or Yule log. It is a traditional log shaped cake. Absolutely delicious and worth the high prices paid for the hand made versions.
The second tradition may not be as delicious, but is certainly more interesting. It is the Gallete des Rois or Cake of Kings. It is odd that a country with substantially less Christian influence than the U.S.A would have a religious tradition that is non existent back home. It is a cake or pastry meant to commemorate the 3 kings visit of baby Jesus. It is even somewhat chronologically correct in that the you eat the treat after Christmas, which is probably when the kings arrived rather than on the same evening, which is often suggested by the ubiquitous nativity scene.
Despite the strong presence of Christianity in the U.S.A, this tradition could never be adopted there. Not for religious reasons but for litigious ones. The cake comes with a gift (remember that's what the 3 kings were about) baked into it. The person who finds the prize gets to wear a paper crown that comes with the pastry. The toy is usually a ceramic rendition of a king or some other character and it is roughly the same size and shape as your tracheal opening. In America a parent would have their children taken away by DCFS for letting their children play with a toy of this size and in France it's baked into this tasty treat that kids will devour with gusto.
I don't know that much about the presence of lawyers in France, but it must be considerably less. They've either never let them get such a foothold or they've followed through with that joke about 10,000 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean being a good start. Either way, its refreshing, that they call an idiot an idiot and don't let someone sue for not expecting coffee to be hot.
Eating out
In lieu of a vacation over Christmas we decided to visit various locations within a 2 hour radius of our home. This translates, happily, into many meals eaten at various restaurants. This list of new things tried by ourselves and Dana's folks is long and delicious. The oddest of all was a delicacy that I have mentioned previously. Tripe, or cow's stomach. Other's tasted it, but, obviously, I was the one who ordered it. It was battered and fried with garlic and parsley. It tasted like garlic and parsley with a slightly chewy and crispy texture. The tripe itself had bascially no taste. It was neither delicious or disgusting. I'm guessing that it became a delicacy of Lyon, France simply because it would be unique. Nobody else would bother to make a big deal about it, so it becomes your "thing".
No offense to my in-laws, but any slight chance that Dana and I have of not appearing to be non-natives disappeared when they were along for lunch. It takes a little time to even be able to say "Bonjour" without it being a dead give away. If you just come to visit, chances are you won't get it down. Dana and I can just now say it without being dead give aways. Now, it's not a big deal, everyone is friendly regardless. However, we did experience some problems that I had been warned of in the guidebooks.
The French are big on "menus". You pay one price for a 3 course meal, but you get to select among different entrees, plates, and deserts. A great idea and it normally works well. The problem is that 3 different times our desserts were added on top of the menu price that was supposed to include the dessert. I have become an expert at the french version of the following phrase "Doesn't the menu price include dessert?". It always resulted in a surprised look, an apology and an adjusted bill. Again, this never happened close to home, only in "touristy" locations. I'm not ready to stop going out to eat, but it was frustrating nonetheless.
Roman Ruins
Nothing too funny here, just amazing. We live 2-3 hours North of the region of Provence. The city of Nimes if full of Roman ruins. While they have less ruins than Rome, they are actually in better shape. Not too surprising when you consider that Rome has been burned and sacked plenty of times in the last 2 millineums. The southern French portion of Gaul has been quiet by comparison.
The first, and most impressive, that we saw was the Pont du Gard. It's an ancient Roman aqueduct. As I read a plaque at the site Audrey asked me,"How old is it daddy?" I was even surprised when I replied "Well, they started building it 20 years after Jesus was crucified."
50,000 ton of stone and no cement. It's amazing. I won't bore you with more details but here's a link.
The other amazing "ruin" is the ampitheater. The word "ruin" isn't really correct because it's still used today. It's half the size of the Roman Colliseum, but in much much better shape. Back in the day, 24,000 could cram into it to watch gladiator battles. Now it is used during the spring and summer for bullfighting. (Remember, it's only about 3 hours from the border of Spain).
Again, here's a link. I plan on going back for some of the bull games.
Well, that's enough for now. I'll try to do some more in the next day or two.
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