Media I love

Living overseas, I am blocked from watching videos on numerous sites based in the US. An annoying message pops up while the video is trying to load that says “Sorry this content is not available in your area”. I will not even begin to try to understand why… but it is very frustrating and incomprehensible to my logic. It keeps me from seeing news clips, movie trailers, etc.
A site that *never* does this is YouTube, and I totally dig it. Finding old music from my childhood, watching excerpts of my favourite films, keeping up with hilarious incidents like the Sarah Silverman/Jimmy Kimmel “feud”, I can spend hours and hours here.
Another site that does not block us “foreigners” is Ellen Degeneres’ TV show site. I LOVE Ellen. If I were a lesbian, she would be my dream girl. As I am a flaming heterosexual, she is my dream best friend. I have never seen anyone so funny in my entire life. Her show never fails to make me laugh out loud. I think she is a comic genius. I worship and adore her. She even manages to make me like people I think I hate (such as when she had Jenna Bush call up GW at the White House). I admire her intelligence and subtlety. Watch how she handles this total nutcase who is actually an elected politician, a representative from Oklahoma, which should scare every American on the planet “more than terrorism, more than Islam” to quote this total wackjob.

American Humour

Although everyone often jokes that I am more French than the French, I know that deeep-down, I will always be American when it comes to my sense of humour. This video cracks me up and I can't get enough of it, but I doubt that most of my French friends would get it...
The Jimmy Kimmel/Ben Affleck response is also funny, but not as much as this original zinger.

Winter in southern Burgundy

In the past month, we’ve had three (3) days of less-than perfect weather. Otherwise, it’s been week after of week of brilliant blue skies propped up by the massive branches of centuries-old trees that are still gorgeous even without their leaves and awe-inspiring landscapes that still move me to tears (not an exaggeration) even though I’ve been here for almost a year now…

Numerous people had warned me against the winter season, the dreary cold, the boredom for lack of cultural stimulation, desolate scenery, etc. I’ve had none of it. This winter has been one of the happiest I’ve had in years, and would have been perfect if only Sheba were still here…

Now that I’ve made it through the first winter, I’ve decided to give up the apartment in Paris after April or May (so if you’ve been thinking about coming for a visit and wanted to spend some time in the big city for free, better buy your tickets asap!) I’m experiencing some financial uncertainty and job precarity (you might have heard of the €5bn problem at my main client, Société Générale?) so I can no longer afford to keep paying rent on an apartment I never use. (And if you know of anyone who needs a French to English translator, please speak up! I’m desperate for work and feeling like Dustin Hoffman’s character in The Graduate:
I’m a little worried about my future…)

Other than that, I haven’t updated the blog recently because I didn’t have the words to express exactly how I’ve been feeling here, in my house and new region. But luckily for us all, some people do have the right words and one of my all-time favourite poems (thank you Michael S for introducing me to it almost 20 years ago) sums up my newfound bliss perfectly, so I’d like to share it with you, along with some images from the past couple of weeks. You could change “Rochester, Minnesota” to “Cormatin, France” to get the picture. Enjoy!

A Blessing
by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

Expresso doses of wisdom, coolness or fun

My cousin Shauna turned me on to this website, which sends a tasty daily snack of a newsletter that I really enjoy. It often whets my appetite for more, but mostly it's the perfect little nugget that gives your day a boost. Although it might just be a chick thing...

One of my recent favourites: http://bethree.com/2007/12/31/every-time-you-open-a-door-you-close-one/

Check it out!

After reading the following article

I might change the name of my blog to "A Migrant Worker Life"...

http://www.gadling.com/2007/12/29/how-is-an-expat-different-from-a-migrant-worker/

Meanwhile, an image from New Year's Day in the park that runs behind my house.

Happy 2008!!

Signs that at 39, I’m still very immature

I could probably draw up a top 10 (or even top 20!) list of all the signs that show that I am still very immature for someone of such an advanced age, but this link right here probably sums them all up in a nutshell:

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1719818773

Happy Holidays!!

The scary and sad state of US public education, proof 3

The scary and sad state of US public education, proof 2

The scary and sad state of US public education, proof 1

Book clubs: chic or clique?

My friend Amory has recently moved abroad, to southern Italy. In a savvy move to meet other expats, a rare breed in Puglia, she accepted an invitation to join a book club formed by local American wives. After attending one meeting, she was summarily informed that in fact, there had been a mistake and the club was actually “closed” and no longer accepting new members. Mind you, there’s only 5 people in this book club. What the f***?
This sort of childish behaviour really aggravates me. Obviously, these boring women who apparently never graduated out of junior high school social interaction and would probably fail miserably on “Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?” were intimidated by Amory’s acute intelligence, comely youthfulness and general coolness. But to make things worse, Amory described the one meeting she attended. They talked a little about urinary tract infections but then concentrated on the book, with nothing stronger than coffee on offer. My mind was blown:
What’s the point of a book club if you don’t drink wine and talk about sex?
After 39 years of life, I am still frequently bewildered by the comportment of American adults.

Meanwhile, for all of you might not be in a book club, here’s what I’m recommending this week:

For reading in French: L’élégance du hérisson by Muriel Barbery. Sadly for the English-only crowd, this has not yet been translated, and that will be a daunting task to try to convey the brilliance, poetry and charm of this delightful, moving, beautiful, simultaneously funny and sad book. Muchas gracias to Lisa B for loaning it and recommending it to me. Barbery's first novel, La Gourmandise, which *has* been translated into 12 languages but not yet English as far as I can find on the web, is now on its way to me as I write thanks to Amazon.

For reading in English: Interpreter of maladies, stories by Jhumpa Lahiri. A collection of short stories that once I started, I couldn’t put down, staying up til 3 am to finish. I can’t recall if a short story has ever moved me to tears before, but one of her gems did. I can’t wait to buy her follow-up novel The Namesake.

In my experience, children are a lot like cats. They are irresistibly drawn to people who are utterly allergic to them; they are wholly unpredictable, can smother you with boundless affection and then suddenly, inexplicably no longer be aware you exist. And of course, they are thoroughly lovable despite their flaws.
For reasons altogether unfathomable to me, children have become drawn to me over the past 5 years. I cannot think of a single child below the age of 7 that I met in my recent past who didn’t immediately take to me. While completely bewildered and surprised by this, I am also very flattered and humbled. I have no explanation for this curious phenomenon. And I hope I’m not jinxing myself by speaking of it!
My latest fan is Clémence, 21 months, the daughter of my friends Stéphane and Delphine. They stopped by the house unexpectedly last weekend for a short visit (Stéphane’s family lives in nearby Cluny). Clémence was a hoot. And in one of those child/cat parallels, as soon as her dad wanted to take a photo of us together (she insisted the only suitable place for her to sit during the entire visit was right next to me) her finger was glued to her nose, much to her lovely parents’ chagrin. I of course found it hilarious and consider Clémence to be something of a kindred spirit.
Sadly in the photos her beautiful blue eyes came out demon-red and the red-eye reduction filter couldn’t do a lot to help. Still, I found them worth sharing for the laugh. Note that she is an ambidextrous picker!

Falling

into a vibrant palette of flaming reds, oranges and golds, the Charolais fields remain vibrant green and the glorious sunshine against the robin’s egg-blue sky has a special autumn glow that I’ve never seen anywhere else. I think it is safe to say that October is my favourite time of year in the Saône et Loire.
It’s been a long time since I posted anything here, my absence stemming from a variety of reasons, mostly a lack of time and a sort of paralysis of the soul. After Sheba died, I went to the US for three weeks and avoided my grief by working tons, injecting money into the US GDP in shopping expeditions, and rafting down the Grand Canyon. Then I escorted my mom and soon-to-be-94 grandmother back to France for a two-week visit.
While we all about drove each other batty from a little too much family togetherness, I am so glad they came. Having them here kept me from lying around in bed all day, crying all the time over Sheba’s absence. This huge house seems barren and empty without him. So instead of mourning my devastating loss for days on end, immobilised by the pain, I was running around rearranging furniture, painting, sightseeing, shopping for the house, etc. There was no time for weeping, so I usually got some in at night when I went to bed. Every time I realise that I will never see him again, the pain is crippling. It still seems unreal to me. Thanks to all of you who have written with their condolences and support, which has been wonderful. And I want to extend special thanks to my mom and grandmother for putting up with my bouts of high tension, which they may or may not have realised stemmed from me trying to bottle up my grief, a task that often proved too much for me, with my sadness quickly erupting into anger.
Immediately after their departure, my friend Chris (aka CW) and his parents Lloyd and Carla came for a visit. Now that the house was in better shape thanks to all of Mom’s hard work, we were able to enjoy the fabulous weather and do some sightseeing, wine tasting and indulging in delicious meals – the best of Burgundy!
The heating system has been successfully installed and improvements are made to the house every week. I’m still taking reservations for this winter and have no plans for Christmas yet… If the insulation gets installed in time, I would love to have a huge New Year’s bash, so stay tuned…
Meanwhile, some photos to accompany the above text.

Mom and me at her house in Scottsdale

Mom and Gramma at dinner our first night in Paris with Roland.

An image from Jan Brueghel the Elder's Chateau de Mariemont, which although in Belgium, looks exactly like some of the landscape around here. (Photo I took without flash in the Dijon museum)

CW, me, Carla and Lloyd at La Potence.

The church in Juliénas.

Eric Clapton - Tears In Heaven

Autumn has arrived early this year, with cooler temperatures and soft rain falling on this late August day. Oddly, the sun is shining despite the nonstop rain. Somehow, this is appropriate.

A very kind young woman vet is on her way to my house to put Sheba to sleep.

For 17 years, he has been my closest companion, and the idea that he will no longer be accompanying the adventure of my life is unbearable to me.
His unique personality, amazing green eyes and bundle of warm love have gotten me through almost two full decades, pretty much my entire adult life. He has been a constant source of joy. Every day he has been waiting for me by the door when I come home, every night he has curled up beside me (or on me, depending on his mood). He is the smartest, most adorable, most affectionate and most beautiful cat I have ever known. To say I will miss him does not even come close to the truth.
My heart is breaking, a part of me is leaving forever.
My grief is boundless.
This is the worst day of my entire life.

Told you so, told you so, told you told you told you so!

After years of my raving about these wines, finally some experts are also starting to see the light. Unfortunately, this probably means prices will go up!
http://www.iht.com/articles/2007/07/25/arts/trmacon.php?page=1

August already

Somehow summertime seems to speed by faster out here in the country, since there is always something to be done on the house and garden, in addition to a steady stream of houseguests and the usual July in-pour of work for me, and I can’t believe it’s already August. Right now I am drowning in fruit ‑ free «peche de vigne» (tiny red-fleshed peaches) and «reine-claude» (small, green plums that are very sweet!) for anyone who wants to come and pick them!! I can’t keep up. Even if I knew how to make jam or jelly and pies, there would still be too many, and since I don’t know how to make jam or jelly or pie, and don’t have the time to learn with my current workload, my garden overfloweth. I’ve even had the neighbours come and pick as much as they want (and was rewarded with a lovely reine-claude tarte in exchange!) and given some to my favourite local restaurant, but my fruit trees are like rabbits these days. The unfortunate aspect of this, besides my nagging guilt for wasting good food, is that the garden is buzzing with flies, wasps, ants and bees and other insects looking to benefit from all the spoilage, and walking through the grass is like trying to avoid land mines of rotting fruit instead of the pleasant, calming stroll it once was. There are obviously worse problems in the world, and really, I can’t complain. I’m so happy here that I’m seriously thinking about giving up the Paris apartment soon.

Very soon.
Meanwhile, some of the latest images from life in Cormatin.

Someday surely we will have the technology to upload scents the way we do images and sounds, and then you will be able to drink in the amazing perfume of this rose, or the unmatchably beautiful smell of the freshly rolled haystacks…

Until then, you can just click on the pics for a closer look.

How does your garden grow?

The most obvious cultural difference between France and the US is the language, and within the language, expressions we use. Although sometimes expressions are surprisingly similar (we say “knock wood” for luck while the French say touch wood ("touche bois")) often they are quite different. Lately it’s been raining cats and dogs, but according to the French, those are ropes falling (“il pleut des cordes”). The expressions can also be a reflection of underlying mentality: Anglo-Saxon positivism is clear in “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” whereas the same Biblical phrase is transformed with a solid dose of French negativity (or in keeping with this entry’s title, contrariness!) into “don’t do to others what you don’t want them to do to you (“ne faites pas à autrui ce que vous ne voudriez pas qu'il vous fît”.)
An expression shared by both languages refers to gardening. In English, you have a “green thumb” although in French, it’s your whole hand that’s green (“la main verte”). I have always joked that I have a “black thumb” but now that I have such a fantastic garden, I hope that is about to change. Just this week I learned how to cut back my rose bushes (according to my gardener, Luis, below the dead blossom you find the first branch that has exactly 5 leaves and you cut just underneath it.) And tonight, I planted my first bushes ever: basil and cilantro. I had them in pots on the balcony but they weren’t doing so hot, so Luis* indicated a good piece of soil, in between the chives (which I didn’t even realize were there until Gardener showed me!) and one stretch of rose bushes, where they might do better. I was quite pleased with myself for digging the holes (I only accidentally killed one earthworm, mea culpa) and putting the herbs in the ground, covering them up with the displaced soil, and then giving them an initial round of water. There is something very fulfilling and life-embracing in such a simple act…
Cross your fingers (croiser les droigts, another identical expression!) that they survive.

*according to CW’s book on etiquette, I’m just supposed to call him “Gardener” but I prefer to switch back and forth.

Meanwhile, some shots to give you an idea of how my garden grows!

As a reminder, you can always click right on the photo to get a closer view !

It's so rare that a news blurb makes me laugh...

but this one did, so I thought I'd share. My favorite bit is Stone's response.

Iran president rejects Oliver Stone documentary
Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has rejected a proposal by Oscar-winning movie director Oliver Stone (Born on the Fourth of July, Platoon) to make a film about him because Stone is part of the ''Great Satan'' cultural establishment, a semiofficial news agency reported.
''I have been called a lot of things, but never a Great Satan,'' Stone said in a statement. ''I wish the Iranian people well, and only hope their experience with an inept, rigid ideologue president goes better than ours.''
The term the ''Great Satan'' dates back to Iran's late leader, Ayatollah Khomeini, who first called the United States that after the 1979 Islamic Revolution overthrew the country's U.S.-supported shah. (AP)

Back soon

Gentle readers,

Sorry for my extended absence but I have been busy entertaining houseguests and showing them around my beautiful region. Have you booked your weekend yet? The calendar is filling up fast!
At this point, I might be able to squeeze you in between Halloween and Thanksgiving...
I'm not kidding...

For entertainment, here is my horoscope today. I like it.

It's hard to turn down an offer now, for you can see so much potential wherever you look. A decaying pile of compost appears as soil for a beautiful garden. A relationship that is having problems can still show clear signs of hope. Undying optimism is your main strength, but temper it with enough reality to keep you on track.

Soon to come: a call for boycotting British Airways after their unbelievable incompentency at handling luggage (or should I say their great competency at losing luggage?)

Why we love France

After what can only be politely termed as a rather hellish first few days in Europe for Mom and Roger, on Sunday we celebrated the arrival of half of their luggage and Mom’s recovery from food poisoning with a four-hour lunch at La Marande, a charming little restaurant just outside Montbellet, which is in between Tournus and Macon (get out your maps, people!)
We began with Kir Royal à la mûre (champagne with blackberry liqueur) and amuse-bouches (mouth entertainment, in this case, an avocado purée soaking in gazpacho dotted with diced cucumber) and went on to shredded crab over guacamole with a few saffron potato slices, accompanied by a local Macon Igé white for mom and me, while Roger opted for a red St Joseph. Mom and I continued on with a fabulous veal loin in a morel mushroom cream sauce (I had to get her a spoon so she could lick up every last drop) while Roger chose duck breast in a sweet pine sauce. He followed up with fromage blanc with cream and sugar, while Mom and I could not resist the temptations of the cheese platter. Gail discovered the delights of Reblochon and Brillat Savarin, but gave her rather masculine Comté to Roger. I selected an assortment of 5 different goat cheeses and a small piece of Reblochon, also one of my favourites. Amazingly, at this point our guts were not exploding, so we gladly dug into the almond-flour cookie flavoured with pistachio, topped with perfectly ripe fresh strawberries and just the right drizzle of dark chocolate, with a side of homemade vanilla ice cream that put Blue Bell to shame. Thankfully, Roger captured the moment here (that's a sugar-crusted rose petal on top of the ice cream).


With our espressos, we finished off with some home-made chocolate, candied apricot and a sugar-coated Marc de Bourgogne bomb, literally an explosion of liqueur wrapped in sugar.
Here we are at our arrival at 12:15, several pounds lighter than our departure at 4:00 pm.








We did not mind that, for the first time since their arrival, the weather was not perfect. We stopped off on the way home to admire the Roman church in Uchizy and the cold front on the horizon.






Remember, you can always click directly on the photos for a close-up and improved view. A description of the aforementioned hellish first few days to follow, once our digestion is complete.